18. Porter
18
porter
“Come on, Grace…I really need you to stop crying, baby girl. If you do, I’ll buy you a pony. Or a car. Literally whatever you want. Just please…stop crying for Uncle Porter.”
In the thirty-six hours I’ve had Grace, I’ve learned so much about her. I’ve learned that she might be cute but her shits are vile. I’ve learned that her little laugh might be the best sound in the world. On the complete other side of the sound spectrum are her cries.
Also, who knew that babies have different cries? There are the little ones. Then the ones that come and go in a matter of seconds that confuse me more than anything. And then there’s this cry, a pure wailing that hasn’t stopped for hours, and I’m about to cry along with her because I can’t figure out what’s wrong.
I’ve changed her diaper. I’ve tried to feed her but she keeps shoving it away. I’ve tried to rock her. I’ve tried to bounce her. I just tried to even lay her down, wondering if she’s just over me and needs her space.
None of it has worked. It’s now two in the morning, I don’t think I’ve slept in twenty-four hours, she won’t stop drooling, and if this keeps going, I’m going to have my own breakdown.
I continue pacing back and forth with a crying Grace in my arms, her distress physically stabbing me in the chest because I don’t know what’s wrong with her.
Maybe I can’t do this. I know if Quinn were here, she’d tell me that it’s okay because I’ve been doing this for a day. But maybe this is a sign… Grace’s way of telling me that I’m not really cut out for this and to take all of the baby items back to the store while I can still get my money back, because there’s no timeline or dimension on this planet, or any other, that I’m equipped to be a dad.
No. Guardian. Uncle. Stand-in dad? Wait. Why am I thinking about my title when right now the only one I deserve is “moron who can’t get the baby to stop crying.”
“Is everything okay?”
I spin around to see a concerned Quinn standing in my living room. I had her work the bar tonight because I didn’t feel right about pawning Grace off on her—and I wasn’t ready to face the firing squad of my customers. But maybe I should’ve sucked it up and gone. Clearly I’m doing a bang-up job here.
“Yup. Great. Just having a middle-of-the-night scream party. I read on a baby blog it’s good for their lungs.”
Quinn laughs, even though this is not a laughing matter. “I didn’t realize a sleep-deprived Porter had my level of sarcasm.”
“Well, stupid questions get stupid answers,” I bite. “Clearly I’m not doing okay and neither is she.”
Quinn puts up a hand. “Okay, first, I know you’re tired and apparently are dealing with a screaming baby, but there’s no need to bite my head off.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I say as Quinn comes over and relieves me of my Grace holding duties. Unfortunately though, Grace doesn’t stop crying, though the way she curls into Quinn’s shoulder at least lets me know the child is seeking comfort. We just can’t find it. “She’s been like this for hours.”
Quinn’s eyes are double the size as she turns to me. “Hours? Porter. Why didn’t you call me?”
I fall to the couch and run my hands through my already disheveled hair. “Because I can’t call or run to you every time she cries. Grace is now my responsibility. Not yours.”
“You dumb, stupid, man.” Quinn quits talking and I fall over into a lying position, closing my eyes as I try to even myself out. Which is hard, because just as it seems like Grace’s cries are coming to a stop, she starts all over again.
“Hey, take her,” Quinn says, and just as I’m opening my eyes, Grace is laying down next to me and Quinn is…texting? What the fuck?
“What are you doing? Who the fuck are you texting now when we’re in the middle of a crisis!”
“Calm your tits. I’m going to go raid your kitchen. Because if me, Ainsley and Google are right, you’re about to owe us for life. Also, do you have any bananas?”
“Yes?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure even if I wasn’t on the edge of insanity, I’d be confused by her question. And really that whole monologue in general.
“Great. Be right back.”
I just lie on my couch, a crying baby next to me, as Quinn disappears into my kitchen.
“What is she doing?” I ask Grace. Not that I was expecting an answer, but the fact that she’s quieted down a little does make me think that she’s also in a state of confusion.
“Here we go,” Quinn says, bringing back what looks like to be a washcloth and a cup of ice water. “Can I try?”
I pass Grace back to her. “Try whatever you want. Please.”
Quinn positions Grace in her arms so she has access to her mouth, dips the washcloth into the ice water for a few seconds, before inserting it into Grace’s mouth. She protests for a second, trying to push Quinn away, but soon she stops squirming. She stops fighting.
And even more amazing, she stops crying.
“What in the Hogwarts shit did you just do?”
My comment seems to surprise Quinn. “Okay, when we’re not in the middle of the baby crying torture chamber, we’re definitely having a further discussion on that reference. But we have much more important things to do.”
I watch as Quinn continues to dip the wash cloth in cold water, then go back to putting it in Grace’s mouth.
“She’s teething,” Quinn explains. “The cold compress helps with the gums to numb them a bit because you try being a baby and having things pop out of your mouth suddenly. You’d be screaming, too.”
I’m in awe as I watch this unfold. “How did you know she was teething? And how did you know how to fix it? Also, why did you ask me if I had bananas?”
“I really didn’t know for sure,” she begins. “I remember a teacher friend a few years ago talk about when her kid was teething that it was the worst cries she ever heard, and she included herself giving actual birth in that comparison. There was a bunch of drool coming out of her mouth, so I took a guess. Now the next part, I can’t take credit for. That was Google and Ainsley. Also, get on Amazon right now and order teething toys. You’re going to need them.”
I do as she says, ordering ten different kinds because I don’t know the difference and I’d spend a million dollars if I thought it would make her never cry like that again. “How was I supposed to know that she was teething?”
“You weren’t,” Quinn says, holding Grace as she continues to dip and dab the washcloth into her mouth. “The fact that she barely cried since she’s gotten here wouldn’t have given you a clue, but yeah, if she’s about ten months like Missy said, Google says this is prime teething time.”
I fall back into my couch, thankful the cries have stopped, but horrified that I didn’t think to use things like a search engine. “I’m fucked, Quinn. I can’t do this.”
“Porter, you have?—”
“No! Don’t give me your bullshit,” I say as I stand up off the couch, starting to pace in circles, which is apparently what I do now when I’m freaking out. “I can’t do this. I learned to change one diaper today, thought I was a fucking pro, and told you go to cover the bar. And look what happens!”
“She was teething, Porter. I’m sure her diaper is fine.”
“It wasn’t! I fucked it up six times before I got it to go on.”
“Is it on now?”
I snap my gaze to her. I know she has a habit of cracking jokes, but this isn’t the time. “This is serious, Quinn. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. I’m not equipped for this. I thought that an industrial size box of diapers was going to last me months, not days. When does she eat? When do I do formula and when do I do food? Ainsley can’t keep making me a list forever. And how do I know she’ll like it?”
During my pace I happen to take notice of an outlet, also known as a death trap for babies according to one blog I read today during hour two of the crying. “Oh! And then there’s the fact that my house is not baby proofed in the slightest. It’s essentially a walking death trap.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Quinn says. “And you can get socket covers. Did you already put in the Amazon order? Add some to the cart.”
I stop mid-pace to look at her. “How are you making jokes right now?”
“They’re not jokes,” she says as she starts rocking Grace a little, who seems to be starting to doze off. “If they come out that way, I apologize. But nothing I’ve said isn’t true. You can buy socket covers. You can call over a few guys and have this place baby proofed in a day. You found out about her yesterday, Porter. Yesterday . In what universe were you going to be ready for this? None that I’m aware of. So give yourself some grace and give yourself some credit for the wins you have today.”
She’s right, but my stubborn ass refuses to admit it. “Wins? What wins?”
“Well, let’s see. She’s alive. Always the biggest win of the day when it comes to kids.”
“I told you no more jokes.”
“And I’m not joking. Ask any parent, teacher, or babysitter. Rule number one of every day is keep the kid alive. And you did it, Porter. Congratulations. And let’s not forget that both of you are probably confused and scared shitless right now for this new world you’ve suddenly both been thrust into.”
I fall back to the seat, my hands all but scrubbing my face as I try to make sense of this new reality. “I didn’t know anything. She’s just a baby. And I–I’m fucking this all up.”
Quinn doesn’t say anything immediately, which makes me think for once she’s going to agree with me. But then I look up to see Quinn taking a finally calmed down Grace to the pack-n-play Maeve dropped off tonight, laying her down in there. I try not to stare as she bends over, but that’s hard to do. I try to push aside how beautiful she looks as she maneuvers Grace into what I’ve learned is a sleep sack. But what I can’t push aside is how much of a godsend she’s been to me these past two days, and how I don’t know if I could ever do this without her. Sure, I could’ve called Wes or my aunt. I’m sure Jenny would’ve known what to do, or maybe a few others at the bar who I know are parents, but I didn’t want any of their help. No. Somehow I knew Quinn could help me. And somehow tonight, she knew I needed her, even when I was too stubborn to ask for help.
“Are you okay?” she asks as she sits next to me, taking my hand in hers.
I shake my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know anything. And then you…you just walked in out of thin air and knew everything to do.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch.”
“It isn’t,” I say. “You’ve known everything. You knew she was teething. You knew what to get her last night. You knew what to buy today.”
“That’s not because I’m some sort of baby whisperer. I have friends with kids. I’m an aunt to two, and their mothers talk a lot about baby growing stages. And I babysat three times in high school when families really wanted Maeve but she wasn’t available. That barely qualifies me as some sort of genius.”
I fall back into the couch. “What am I going to do, Quinn? She would’ve been crying all night if you wouldn’t have showed up.”
“Well, then, you’re lucky I did,” she says, looking over to Grace, then back to me. “She seems to be out for a bit. The banana, per your question earlier, is for her to chew on when she gets like that again. It’s currently in the freezer for when you need it.”
She starts to stand up, but I pull her back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Home?”
“Why?”
Her eyes are darting around the room like she’s looking for an answer. “Because I’m tired? And it’s where I live?”
Panic races through me. She can’t leave. Not now. Not ever…
“Stay. Please.”
I know I sound desperate, but that’s what I am right now, and I’m not afraid to play the tired new-dad card.
And if it comes down to it, the “I’ll never give her another orgasm” card.
“Fine,” she says with an exaggerated exhale. “I’ll stay another night. But I’m going to need clothes again. These fucking stink.”
“No,” I say hurriedly, now pulling her back to the couch with me.
“No, I can’t have a T-shirt and shorts? Come on, Porter. I’m not the girl who’s going to steal your hoodies.”
“No. Take them all. I don’t care. I just…move in with me.”
There have been a few times in the course of our…history…that I’ve scared Quinn Banks speechless. Until now, the most frightened I’ve ever seen her was the first time I asked her to stay the night. The immediate panic that flooded her eyes would’ve been laughable if it didn’t stab me straight in the heart.
However, that night has been replaced by this. Because I’m pretty sure Quinn is as white as a ghost, and I’m not sure if she’s breathing.
“Quinn?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I explain my reasoning?”
She starts nodding like a bobblehead—all while still not breathing or blinking.
“You know way more than I do. And when I’m thinking clearly, which might not happen again until she turns eighteen, I’m going to be playing behind the eight-ball. You know more than I do. You can help me curve this gap. I need you, Quinn. Grace needs you.”
“Porter, I can be here?—”
“Yes, I know you can be here when I ask. But what if I take the asking out of it? Move in. Please.”
She doesn’t respond right away, which I’m glad for. Because while she’s coming up with a million reasons why she can’t, I’m coming up with a million reasons why she can.
“You know I don’t know how long I’m staying in Rolling Hills,” she begins.
“That’s fine. For as long as you’re here, or I actually get a grasp on this, will be the timeline. Whichever event happens first can be your out.”
Judging by the look on her face, she wasn’t planning on me having a comeback that quick. And honestly, I’m kind of proud for being this on top of it with the lack of sleep I’m currently operating on.
“If I come, it’s with Turtle.”
She has a turtle? “When did you get a turtle?”
“No, Turtle is my cat.”
“Your cat’s name is Turtle?”
“That’s what I said.”
“You couldn’t have named it Whiskers or Baxter?”
She narrows her eyes. “First of all, do not talk about my son like that. Second, is this really the time to bash the name of my pride and joy, considering what you’re asking of me?”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “No, you’re right. Turtle is more than welcome.”
Judging by the look in her eye, I think she thought that was going to be her out. I’m trying not to get my hopes up, but I’ll literally say yes to anything right now if it means she’ll move in.
“If I say yes—and that’s still a big if—there’s one rule that I need to put down. And you can’t say no.”
“Anything.”
She’s quiet for a second before her eyes meet mine, more serious than I’ve ever seen them in my life.
“You. Me. If I move in, we have to be over.”
Shit…I didn’t think of that, that’s how fucked my head is right now.
“You’re probably right.”
“Not probably. I am.” She turns to look me straight in the eye. “If I’m going to be living here with you, what we’ve been doing has to stop. And this can’t be one of my empty promises, or us thinking we can keep things professional. This has more riding on it than just us and no real consequences. I’m doing this for Grace. You’re asking me to do this because you want the best for Grace. And I’ll do it, but you have to promise me that you know it’s temporary, and you have to know that what we were in the past is gone.”
For years, Quinn Banks has had the reputation of the wild child. The slightly unhinged Banks sibling. The girl who uses rules as loose guidelines. Which is how I know how serious she is about this.
But she’s right, it’s what I have to do. Because at the end of the day, I need help. And there’s no one else I trust more in this world than this woman sitting in front of me.
A woman I’ll have to fight not to touch every day.
A woman whose lips I’ll stare at, remembering every time I felt them against mine.
But if this is what I need to do for Grace, then I’ll do it. No questions asked.
“I promise.”