50. Laila
50
LAILA
People who say they “slept like a baby” have clearly never met a baby. They’ve definitely never put one to sleep before.
Because it’s warfare, and I’m fresh from the battle.
My hip aches from pacing a marathon across the room—back and forth and back and forth. Nina’s eyes would drift closed, and I’d just merely think about considering the possibility of laying her down, and then wham , they’d snap right open again.
Then, for no discernible reason, she went from perfectly content to screeching at the top of her tiny but powerful lungs.
My daughter is a perfect angel sent to us to make Earth a better place, but the hot and cold thing—she gets that from her father.
Finally, after an hour of pacing and bear-hugging her to my chest so she couldn’t fight her way out of my arms and go splat on the floor, she crashed out. I’ve just nestled her into the bassinet and backed away slowly when there’s a knock at the door.
Panic that she’ll wake up and this entire process will start all over again is the only reason I wrench it open without checking to see who is on the other side.
Arsen takes a step back as I whirl into the hallway and shush him. “I just got the baby to sleep. So help me God, if you wake her up…”
He glances past me into the room. It was supposed to be our room—mine and his—but it’s mine and Nina’s now. I pull the door partially closed behind me.
“You have a minute?” he asks when the silence has fallen again.
“I never have a minute anymore. I’m supposed to sleep when the baby sleeps.”
Yet another saying that reeks of people who don’t have children. If I sleep when she sleeps, when do I shower? When am I supposed to change my clothes or brush my teeth or eat something that isn’t a stale cracker wedged in the cushions of the rocking chair?
“It won’t take long.”
Compared to what? I have no sense of time anymore. It’s been a week since Nina was born—a week since Arsen took me out to dinner, a week since we came back and had sex on the couch, a week since he abandoned me in the hospital with our newborn—but it might as well have been six months.
I shrug. He can go ahead if he must. It makes no difference to me.
“I had a talk with your father.”
Okay, that might make a little difference to me.
“Why do I get the feeling that it was less of a conversation and more of an abduction?”
I don’t expect him to tell me anything, but he slides his hands into his pockets. “I set his car on fire.”
“You what?”
“I made sure he got a front row seat to the fireworks, too.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I can only hope he understood the message. But just in case he’s thicker than I suspect and he tries to contact you again, I need you to tell me right away.”
I blink. It’s a lot to take in at once. A week ago, my father reaching out would’ve been a five-alarm meltdown. But after countless hours of lost sleep and dirty diapers, it barely registered on my radar. I had almost forgotten about it until now.
“Your old house and the land it’s on are my responsibility now. If you give me a copy of the deed, I can make sure it’s ironclad. Charles won’t even be able to dream about that house without raising an alarm.”
“I’ll get the deed to you tomorrow.” I step back into the room, ready to close the door on him. “Thanks for taking care of it for me.”
“It’s my job.”
How’s that for a reminder?
All of this has been for work. Just business. Logistics. I want to point that out, but I bite my tongue. I’m too tired for a fight tonight. I don’t even know what we’d be fighting about.
Arsen sees me as a responsibility—another item on his long list of chores.
Fine. I’m not going to beg him for more.
“Goodnight, Arsen.”
I push the door closed, but his foot wedges into the crack. “I need to say something to you.”
“And you have to say it right now?”
Of course he does. Because my guard is down and I’m dead on my feet. He has a sense for his opponent’s weaknesses. When Arsen and I finally opened this can of dysfunctional worms, I wanted to have more than three hours of sleep under my belt. But things rarely go the way I hope they will.
“Fine. Go ahead.”
“I want you to know that you can come to me for anything. You can count on me for anything. I’m here. I’m always going to be right here.”
“Always, starting now?” I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. “Because you sure as hell haven’t been here the last week. Was that an exception? Should I expect a lot of those moving forward? Always means always . There’s no in-between.”
He sighs, his cheeks hollowing as he swallows. “I know I’ve been an asshole. You deserve better. So does Nina. But that’s going to change now.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t hold my breath.”
I try to shut the door, his little piggies be damned, but apparently, his foot is just as dense as his head.
“Let me explain, Laila.”
“Oh, now, you want to explain?” I shove the door again, not minding if I snap a few of his toes in the process. “Well, I’ve been up with an infant all night, and I’m tired. It’s not like I have a husband to lean on or anything.”
“Tonight, you do.”
“Excuse me?”
Taking advantage of my surprise, he pushes his way into the room, taking me with him, and closes the door behind him. “Go to sleep. I’ll take care of Nina.”
I snort through my nose. “Right. Like I’m letting you take care of my baby.”
“She’s mine, too, Laila.”
“Since when, Arsen?”
Anger burns in his eyes, but he blows out a breath and it disappears. To his very limited credit, he seems to know he has no right to be angry.
He takes a deep breath, his eyes fluttering over my face. “I got scared,” he explains softly, causing my heart to take off like a hummingbird on a mission. “I watched my mother die, roza . Weeks later, I watched my father die, too. It was the darkest time of my life.”
As hard as I try to remain detached, I find myself straining toward his words. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t need your pity. I don’t want it. Don’t deserve it, really.” He tugs a hand through his hair, and I get the sense I’m witnessing an Arsen Adamov first: an actual, genuine apology. “I’m the one who’s sorry . I failed you when you needed me the most. But know that it had nothing to do with you. It was about me.”
I stare at him, wishing so badly that I could just sweep everything under the rug and give in. But when it comes to fear and heartbreak, there’s more than enough for the two of us. I won’t hand my heart over so easily.
“I appreciate the explanation,” I concede. “But you’re still not spending the night here.”
“You’re dead on your feet. You need help.”
“I’ll get Polina. Or my mom. Or, hey, you mentioned a nanny. Call one up and?—”
He grabs me and pirouettes me into his arms. Before I can fight, he buries his nose in my hair and breathes me in.
God, I’ve missed him.
“You need to leave, Arsen.”
I must be speaking a different language. Because he interprets “leave” as “hold me tighter and never let me go.”
“Arsen…” I struggle not to surrender my weight to him. Not to let myself sink into the solid warmth of his chest.
But his arms are like vise grips around my body and after a few seconds, my willpower drains away with the rest of my energy.
I’m so tired. And it feels good to stop fighting.
He walks me back to the bed and settles me into the mattress.
For the first time since Nina was born, I sleep like a baby.