6. Lucas
Lucas
6
When Ezrah finally looks up from the carrier, the first thing he does is race over to me with a wide smile that I’d never seen from him before. It’s like someone cut away part of the facade he kept up, letting the light pour out. He holds the carrier out so I can see the small person inside.
“Look at her,” he breathes in pure awe.
I smile down at the baby, still out like a light. “She’s cute. Does she look like her mother?”
“She’s practically her twin.”
I hum. “Little small to be a Delilah.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Maybe Dil for now?”
“Baby Dil. Has a nice ring to it.”
She lets out a small gurgle and blinks, slowly waking up. “Why don’t you go show her the toys you got her while I start on dinner?”
“It’s not even two?”
I lean in, pushing back the thought of what it would be like to brush my lips against his forehead. “That’s just enough time for me to get everything ready for tonight.”
And so a short time later, I’m behind the counter, pretending I actually have preparations that will take that long, while Ezrah hesitantly offers Dil various toys only for her to swat them across the room.
Gone was the tranquil cherub who’d first arrived. She isn’t crying yet, but she’s well on her way, chubby limbs pushing and kicking anytime Ezrah gets too close, unhappy grunts slipping from her mouth. Beatrice takes one look at her, ears flat against her head, and struts into my room, never to be seen again. (At least not for the rest of the day.)
“Are you doing okay over there?” I ask.
“We’re fine,” Ezrah insists. “Just getting to know each other.”
She lets out a small cry that threatens to become a wail.
“You sure?”
“Yes I’m sure!” he snaps.
That was a mistake.
Delilah takes a gulp of air and then lets out a cry that makes my ears ring. I bite back a laugh at the look of shock and horror on Ezrah’s face.
He scoops her up in his arms and begins an awkward attempt at rocking her while babbling some kind of baby talk at her.
I give it another ten minutes of her getting progressively more and more irate. When we cross the threshold into a full-blown tantrum, I try again.
“Are you sure you don’t want any help?”
He turns to me, a pout on his face that damn near matches hers. “If you think you can do a better job, come take her!”
I chuckle, coming to take the squalling infant from his arms. “Hey there, Dil pickle,” I whisper, bouncing my weight between my feet. “What’s got you so upset?”
Ezrah watches with narrowed eyes as her cries quiet.
“Can you get me the bottle in the kitchen?” I ask.
The second she’s done feeding she’s all smiles. I move to hand her back to him. “You should have at least forty-five minutes before she gets fussy again. Better make the most of it.”
“How did you do that?” He takes her from my arms, looking at me like I’d just done witchcraft or wizardry.
I shrug. “We haven't had her for long, but she did just make a long drive. Figured she might be hungry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I roll my eyes. “By the time you wanted my help, she was already melting down. Go on and spend some time with her. It’ll be time for a change and a nap soon.”
“For her or me?”
“You’ll both probably need it.”
“That sounds good. Let’s plan for both.”
I go back to working on dinner, giving him time to bond with his new charge. By the time I’m sticking the casserole dish in the oven, she’s getting fussy again. This time Ezrah is ready.
He takes a deep breath, turning to me with a determined gaze. “You said she needs a change and a nap right?”
“Probably. Do you want help?”
He scoffs. “I think I can handle it.”
I bite back a smile. “If you change your mind you know where to find me.”
I turn my attention to cleaning the kitchen. Less than five minutes later, I feel a pair of eyes on me from the doorway of Dil’s room.
“Did you need something?”
“I can figure it out, but it might be faster for you to do it just this once.”
“Of course. Just this once.”
A little while later, we’re sitting across from each other in the living room, eating the baked potato casserole.
“It's not that I can’t take care of her,” Ezrah grumbles.
“I don’t think anyone thinks that. You wouldn’t have her if you couldn’t do it.”
He rubs a hand over his face. “That’s not a good way to tell. Plenty of people have kids who don’t know what they’re doing.”
I set my plate aside. “I don’t think it's a question of knowing what you’re doing. No one raising kids knows what they’re doing.”
He huffs, avoiding my eyes. “Sure seems like you know what you’re doing.”
“Not really. I’ve just been around babies so I know the basics. You will too, soon enough. It's not like you knew this was coming so you could prepare.”
“Could have done research instead of just going shopping.”
“No reason you can’t do research now, and I’m here to help you in the meantime.”
His eyes dart away. “So how’d you learn all this?”
“I was in some big families. I liked to help.”
“Wait, families?”
“I was in foster care after age six, and I mostly had good families, but they were all happy to have a helpful kid.”
“Wow," Ezra says. "That's a lot." He pauses, and I can tell he wants to ask, so I save him the trouble.
"My mom had a drug problem before I was born. She didn't know who my dad was. She cleaned up for a while when I was little, then relapsed when I was about three. What I remember from three to six sucked pretty bad. The state took custody of me at six, and she died from an OD when I was eight. I was mad for a long time, but as I got older and did some learning about addiction, I figured out that it wasn't about me, and that made it easier. Dil is lucky with you. You'll be able to tell her all kinds of good things about her mom, and that she loved her enough to make sure that Dil had a good home." I let it all out at once, without giving Ezra space to ask questions. I wasn't bitter about it anymore, but it was still a hard topic. Ezra looks shellshocked and unsure about what to say to my revelation, so I make it easy for him and change the subject. "What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you have any siblings or family you’re close to? Jamie left you her kid. The two of you must have been close.”
“We used to be, then things changed. I changed. I always meant to get back in touch with her but…” he trails off shaking his head. “I wish I could have at least gone to the funeral, you know.”
“I’m sorry for your loss. I know it's not the same thing, but I missed some funerals when I was on active duty. It's hard. I’m here if you need anything. Do you have any friends or anything? They can’t come visit for safety reasons, but it might make you feel better to give someone a call.”
He lets out a forced laugh, “Before Delilah, it was just me and Beatrice against the world. What more did I need?”
“That sounds-”
“What? Pathetic?” he glares. “Beatrice is a better friend than most people could ever hope to be.”
“No argument from me there. She slept in bed with me last night. I’m glad she doesn’t hate the place, but I did see her hissing at birds out the window earlier. I was going to say it sounds lonely.”
“Yeah, well, no one asked you.” he stands abruptly. “I’m going to go eat in my room. I’ve got work to do.”
“Alright, I’ll be here if you need anything.”
“I won’t.”
His door slams shut. Fortunately, Dil seems to be a sound sleeper.
I groan, letting my head fall against the couch. “Why did I say that?”