16. Porter
16
porter
“Get in here!” I whisper-yell, pulling a half-naked and fucking smoking hot Quinn inside my house.
She hurriedly ties back up her jacket, which makes me cry on the inside because I didn’t get to appreciate what she was wearing nearly enough. She follows me into the living room, where I sit the baby on the couch, encased by pillows so she doesn’t fall. I learned this trick an hour ago when she wasn’t having the baby carrier anymore and I was losing feeling in my arms.
“Porter. What the fuck is going on? Who is that baby? And, you know, why do you have a freaking baby?”
I start pacing in my living room, trying to get my thoughts together. When I stop to take a breath, I realize that not only Quinn, but also baby girl, are looking at me with similar confused expressions. It’d be hilarious if this whole thing wasn’t absolutely insane.
“She—her—the baby…on my desk…in the bar…”
Quinn snickers. “There was a baby? In a bar?”
“Yes. Didn’t I just fucking say that?”
Her laughter is now gone from a snicker to a snort. “Why are you laughing? This isn’t a joking matter, Quinn!”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her laughter escalating. “When we get this figured out, I need to have you watch Sweet Home Alabama.”
I shake my head in frustration, confusion, and hoping that if I shake it hard enough, I’ll wake up from this dream. “This isn’t a joke, Quinn. Wait. Why are you here? And why are you dressed like that?”
I didn’t mean for it to come out biting, but this whole situation has me losing my cool. Especially when I see Quinn look at me like I’m the dumb one.
“You told me to,” she says. “You texted me.”
“Yeah. We both did. But I didn’t think you’d take that as come over now ?”
“No. You texted me an hour ago. I took it as you were ready.”
“I promise I did no such thing, because for the last three hours I’ve been trying to figure out what the hell to do with a random baby that showed up in my office!”
“Oh my God, Porter! I’m not lying!” She grabs her cell phone out of a tote bag. “See!”
She hands me her phone to a text string between us. And she’s right. After our promise to meet later tonight, is a whole new set of random emojis.
“I promise you I never sent these,” I say. “I never use emojis. I don’t even know what this means.”
“Really, Porter? Then who sent them to me? And who else would send an eggplant and a peach back to back? Also, if you’re into that sort of thing, just let me know. I’m not opposed, but we need to talk about a lot of things in regard to that. Mainly prepping.”
“Quinn, I promise you, I didn’t send these. I don’t even know who would or how?—”
Before I can finish the sentence, the sound of babbles and incoherent sounds come from the couch. She’s even clapping like she’s trying to tell me something.
And that’s when I remember…
“No…” I say, going to sit down next to my unexpected guest.
“No what?”
“This little one, a little over an hour ago, I put her down because my arms were tired. And I needed to go to the bathroom. I had my phone out because I was looking up if I could leave a baby alone. I couldn’t find the answer I was looking for when I was about to call you in a panic. She was on her stomach, and it was sitting next to her before I walked out of the room…”
Quinn’s horrified look quickly turns into a fit of laughter. “Okay, I don’t know who this kid is, but she’s officially my favorite.”
I let baby girl take my finger as I stare at her. “I wish I knew who she was, too.”
Quinn gasps as she sits across from me on a chair. “What do you mean? How do you not know who she is?”
“I have a feeling who she came from, but that’s it,” I say. “I was getting ready to leave the bar. I walked down the hall and noticed the office door was open, which I knew I’d shut. When I opened it up, there she was, staring at me like she’d been waiting hours for me. Then I panicked, grabbed her, and raced back here. The rest is a blur.”
“Okay, then.” Quinn trails off as she looks over to the baby. The two of them make eye contact, and Quinn gives her a little wave. Baby girl is all smiles toward her, which makes me relax slightly. Then the loudest, and smelliest, fart I’ve ever heard comes from my cute guest.
“What the fuck was that!” I yell, coughing once the scent hits my nose.
“That, my friend, was her letting us know loud and clear that she needs a diaper change.”
“A what?”
Quinn’s staring at me like I grew a second head. “Her diaper, Porter. She’s wearing a diaper. It needs changed. This is where you come in.”
“Oh no!” I say, jumping up from the couch, hands up in surrender. “I don’t know how to do it. What if she poops on me? It’s going to fucking smell. I can’t. You do it.”
Quinn lets out a sigh before standing up and picking up Baby Girl, which is her name until further notice. “I’ll do this, but at some point I’m going to be teaching you. It’s not like I can be here twenty-four-seven, on diaper duty.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, sitting back down because my head is spinning. I watch as Quinn picks up the bag that was left next to the baby carrier and starts digging in it for Lord knows what. I’m going to assume diaper things.
I’m not a baby kind of guy. I wasn’t around when Missy was a baby. I barely held Wes’s kids when they were young. Hell, I specifically didn’t take home economics in high school because I didn’t want to do the weeks where we had to take the baby doll home. I knew even back then I didn’t want kids.
I watch in awe as Quinn—wearing nothing but lace lingerie and a rain coat—kneels on the ground as she spreads out some sort of pad before laying the baby down on it. She then reaches back into the bag and grabs a diaper and some sort of wipes before pulling out an envelope.
“Did you see this?” she asks. “It has your name on it.”
“No. I never even opened the bag,” I say, reaching for it. And yup, clear as day, in pretty cursive handwriting, is my name.
I rip it open, and from the first word I realize who this is from. And suddenly, the events of the last two days make a hell of a lot more sense. And why baby girl’s green eyes hit me in the heart from the second I saw them.
Porter,
If you’re reading this, you’ve now met Grace. She’s going to be one in June. She’s your niece. And I need you to raise her.
I should start by saying that I’m sorry. This isn’t how I wanted to do this, but I couldn’t take the chance that you’d say no if I asked you the other day.
Because last year when I became a mother, I was scared. I didn’t want her, but I also couldn’t bring myself to have an abortion. You know our mother, so you probably know how she reacted to finding out my news. My dad said he was going to help, but he was sick and died soon after she was born. I thought I could do it on my own, but I can’t. I’m not built for this. And then, out of the blue, I met a guy who wants the same things I do. To travel. See the world. We want to live in a van and see every sight we can.
I wasn’t meant to be a mother. I don’t know how to do this. And I want to live my life. I can’t raise this baby. She doesn’t deserve me. She deserves stability.
Someone like you.
I don’t take a lot of stock into what Bonnie has said over the years, but one thing she once said always stuck with me. After your dad died, she went on a drunken rant about how “Porter has everything figured out.” She said you didn’t need her. Never did. She was trying to say it as a dig. But when something got to her like that, it’s because it was true.
So when I knew I couldn’t do this, when I had cried too many nights to count because I couldn’t do this, I remembered that. So I came here. Saw the life you’ve built for yourself. That you were those things Bonnie said.
Everything she isn’t.
Yes, I know we’ve barely spoken over the years, and I know this is the biggest thing I could ask someone, but I need you to do this for me. While I know I can’t do this, I also don’t want to put her in an unsafe situation. It might seem like I’m not, but I am doing this for her. And I need you to help me with that.
Please don’t try to contact me. All of the papers you should need are in this envelope. She’s yours, Porter.
I just ask that one day when she asks about me, tell her that I did what was best for her. Hopefully she’ll understand.
Missy
* * *
I don’t know how much time has passed. But I do know that I’ve read Missy’s letter no less than twenty times. I’ve stared at the birth certificate, immunization records, and a letter from Missy herself saying that she has given guardianship to me.
I feel the air hitting my skin. I see Quinn out of the corner of my eye holding Grace, letting her flip through a children’s book that makes noises. I even pinched myself a few times to make sure this isn’t some sort of fucked-up nightmare.
I’m not. This is real. So fucking real.
“You okay?”
I snort out a laugh, because I don’t know how else to respond.
“I’m sorry, bad question.” Quinn says. “I just…I don’t know what to say right now, but the more you don’t say anything, the more worried I get.”
I look over to Quinn, who’s since changed out of her lingerie and raincoat into a pair of my sweatpants and a T-shirt. I’m so fucked up in the head right now I can’t appreciate Quinn Banks in my clothes.
“I just don’t know what to say. Or think. Or do.”
“I get it,” she says, setting Grace on the floor with a few toys she found in her diaper bag, though she seems to be more interested in the remote control. “I mean, I’m rarely speechless, but a situation like this would cause it to happen.”
“I just don’t know what to do,” I admit. “I’ve never wanted children. Or at least, I never saw myself with one.”
“Same,” she says. “I’m built for the life of the cool aunt.”
“But that was then. She’s here. Missy is gone, and from the sounds of this letter, wants nothing to do with her or motherhood. If I don’t take her in, then what happens to Grace? Also, why would she think that I’m the guy for this job? She doesn’t know me.”
“An estranged relative who isn’t an axe murderer is better than foster care,” Quinn says. “I saw that happen a lot back in Arizona. Kids had parents who weren’t equipped to take care of them, and didn’t have family who could help out, went into the system.”
“No. Absolutely not.” I look down at Grace, whose big green eyes are already putting a vise grip on my heart.
Green eyes that seem to run in the family.
But it’s not just her eyes. Maybe it’s her full cheeks that have a little red in them. Or her small pink lips that are amazingly quick to smile. Or maybe it’s the part of me that knows she’s blood. And you do what you need to for family. Even if it wasn’t in the cards.
“And that’s why she picked you.”
I look up to Quinn. “What?”
“You asked why Missy, who doesn’t know you, would ask you to do this. Because in that one meeting you had, and the little she knew about you, she knew that you’d be a safe place for her daughter. She made an impossible decision, Porter. But I have a feeling she didn’t do this lightly. You don’t want her to go into foster care. And Missy is gone who-knows-where. So what are you going to do, Porter McCoy?”
I stare at Grace. I’m not sure how many words she knows, because I know literally nothing about babies, but I swear this little thing is staring at me and daring me to let her go.
And it’s in this moment that I realized I’m already fucked when it comes to this kid.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I say in a panic, as the realization of what I’m about to do takes over. “I’ve never changed a diaper. Hell, the only reason I have any idea of how to hold a baby is because of Wes’s kids. And even then I was always scared I was going to drop them. What does she eat? When does she sleep? How will I know when to change her diaper? She can’t talk. How do I know what she needs? And all of those things are just the generic things I know I need to know about babies.”
“You know more than you think,” Quinn says as she moves closer to me. “First-time parents only know what they read in books. And even then, there’s stuff that happens every day that they were given zero warning about. Plus, you did your first Google search about baby things. You’re basically a pro.”
“You’re not making me feel better about this,” I say. “What would’ve happened tonight if you didn’t show up? One second I’m panicking, next second I’m still panicking but you’re taking over and changing diapers and feeding her and doing things that I knew nothing about. If you weren’t here…”
“No. Don’t think like that,” she says. “Eventually you would’ve called me, or Jenny, or even Wes and Betsy. You’re resourceful. I did it because I was here, but you would’ve figured it out.”
“I think you’re giving me too much credit.”
“No, I’m not giving you enough.” Quinn takes my hand in both of hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s going to be hard. But you’re going to do this. You have people who love you who will help you. Family. Friends. Hell, you have built-in babysitters at the bar.”
This makes Porter laugh. “I have a feeling Grace will be watching Harry and George more than they’d be watching her.”
“Probably,” Quinn twists in her seat to look straight at me, but doesn’t let go of my hand. “But what I’m saying is that you have a tribe here. A village. And you have me. I don’t know a lot, but what I don’t know I can ask Maeve or Ainsley. Hell, Simon is somehow Dad of the Year, which means anyone can do it. You can do this, Porter. I know you can.”
My eyes lock with Quinn’s, and the look of pride and encouragement is overwhelming. I start to lean in as does she, the emotion of the day too much to keep us apart. And just when I’m about to take that bottom lip, a squeal makes each of us jump back.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, breathing a little heavy as I realize it was just Grace, who is very excited that she made the television turn on with the remote. “One day in my care and she’s turning on televisions and texting.”
“Kids these days, too much screen time.”
I know Quinn is trying to keep the mood light, but I’m panicked right now. “Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you…can you stay tonight?”
“Um…I mean…”
“Please, Quinn. I know it’s not part of our agreement, but I’m terrified right now.” I take her hand because I need her to know just how serious I am. “I need help. If she wakes up in the middle of the night, I won’t know what to do. And you never taught me how to change a diaper. What if she needs one changed tonight? Please, you need to stay. I’m begging.”
As if Grace is realizing what I’m asking, I watch as she half crawls, half walks over to Quinn, before falling into her leg.
“See? Even Grace wants you to stay.”
She leans down, picking Grace up. “You want me to stay, Miss Ma’am?”
Grace doesn’t say anything, instead just squishes Quinn’s cheeks with her tiny little hands.
“I think that means yes.”
Quinn laughs as she takes one of her hands and blows raspberries into her palm. “Okay. I can stay. But just tonight. We’ll get you settled in, go out tomorrow and load you up on essentials. Then we’ll go from there.”
I let out a sigh of relief, but that’s until Quinn hands me Grace and goes to get her keys out of her bag.
“Where are you going?”
“Relax. She needs food. Milk. A few more diapers, to be safe. I’m going to run to the all-night market to get us through.”
“Okay,” I say, trailing off. “That can’t wait until tomorrow?”
Quinn laughs. “Oh, Uncle Porter…I say this in the most sincere Southern way…but bless your heart.”