Chapter 37
Jack
Four Weeks
"There you go, Little One," I say softly, laying Erin on my bare chest and leaning back into the glider chair. "Doesn't that feel so much better?"
When I got out of the shower a half hour ago, I found Abby in the nursery staring at a drawer of baby clothes and on the verge of falling asleep standing up.
"She spit up on her clothes," she said groggily. "And she needs a diaper change. And probably some lotion."
"I can do that, pretty girl," I said, coaxing her out of the room. "Why don't you go lay down for a bit?"
"I need to shower," she groaned, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes. "And eat. And do laundry."
"You can't do any of that if you're too sleepy to even pick out cute baby clothes," I said, softly gripping her shoulders and stooping down to her eye-level.
"You know what I can do while you sleep?
Change her clothes. And her diaper. And make sure her perfect baby skin stays hydrated. And do laundry."
"Don't you dare," she argued half-heartedly, eyes drooping shut as she climbed into bed. "I can do it. I just need to close my eyes for a few minutes and then I'll do it."
"Whatever you say, pretty girl," I whispered, knowing full well that she was fast asleep before I even got my words out.
Is it outrageous to say that my life has been completely, permanently altered by this little girl?
Everything I thought I wanted seems so hollow and underwhelming compared to the feeling I get when I look at Erin.
It feels ridiculous to say, but it feels like all my future plans have unraveled before I even had a chance to plan them.
I don't know what I thought those plans would be exactly, but whatever they were is irrelevant now.
Any plan that doesn't involve this baby and her mama is inconceivable.
That's insane, Jack. You can't plan the rest of your life around a baby who isn't even yours.
And I know that, I do. I can tell she's got all the best features of both her mom and dad, even at three weeks old. I know she's Abby's. I know she's Aaron's.
But goddamn if she doesn't feel a little bit like mine, too.
***
I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch, halfway through folding the second load of laundry in the hamper next to me, with Erin sleeping soundly in her portable bassinet in front of me, when I hear shuffling footsteps.
"What's that buzzing noise?" Abby grumbles, blearily rubbing her eyes. I point at the white noise machine, which I brought into the living room with us.
"Oh, right," she yawns, plopping down directly on top of a neatly folded pile of baby clothes.
She looks down, confused by the lump that should be the couch cushion.
She looks around, eyes widening on the mountains of folded laundry scattered throughout the living room.
"Jack, I told you I would do this when I got up. "
"You also said you were only going to close your eyes for a few minutes," I counter, looking down at my watch. "About three hours ago."
"Oh my God," she groans. "Why did you let me sleep that long? How is she?"
"Because you were tired," I say. "She's perfectly fine, snug as a bug."
She peeks over the edge of the bassinet, a content, almost blissful smile on her face as she watches her daughter.
"She's so perfect," she gushes, reaching down to stroke her cheek with a gentle finger. "You're so good with her," she adds, gaze still fixed on Erin. "And so good to us both."
"Easiest thing in the world," I say quietly. "Being good to you."
"How did we get so lucky?" she murmurs, seemingly to Erin, and to herself.
After a few minutes, she gently wakes her, taking her into the nursery to feed her.
I busy myself with the remainder of the laundry, putting away everything that doesn't go in the nursery and ignoring the ache in my chest that always comes with thinking too hard about my place in this.
It's afternoons like these, when I get extended periods of time just Erin and me, when it's a little too easy to forget that we're not a family.
To forget that this isn't how it's supposed to be.
I'm an intruder here, in this home and in their lives.
I might be invited, and appreciated, welcomed, even, but that doesn't stop the voice in my head that constantly reminds me that I do not belong here.
That the only reason I'm here is because of a cruel tragedy.
Guilt roils in my stomach at the thought.
I shouldn't be so comfortable, so happy in a place that should belong to my best friend.
It shouldn't feel like the highlight of my life.
"Thank you," Abby's voice behind me snaps me out of the spiral of confusion threatening to pull me under. "You really didn't have to do that."
"I know," I say, turning around and leaning against the kitchen counter. "But I'm happy to do it. I'm happy to help however I can."
Her brows are furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, and she twists the bottom of her shirt anxiously.
"You okay, pretty girl?"
"Yeah," she says slowly. "I really hate to ask, and please tell me if this is too much—"
"You can ask me anything," I say emphatically. "And nothing is too much, not for you."
"I'm just so tired," she says, lip trembling and eyes filling with tears.
"Hey," I say, pushing off the counter and hurrying over to her. "What's wrong? What do you need?"
"I need to take a shower," she says.
"Okay, that's fine, go take a shower. I've got Erin."
"That's the problem," she says, voice cracking. "I'm too tired. I can't do it. But I feel so gross, and my hair is disgusting, and I'm going to freak out if I can't get the layers of spit up off of my skin."
"What can I do?" I ask. "You name it, I'll do it."
"I would ask Ellie, but she's so busy at work after taking those first two weeks off to take care of me, and—"
"Abby. Ask me. I'm right here."
"Will you wash my hair?" she asks timidly. "I'll wear a bathing suit and whatever, but I just want to lay in the tub and feel clean again, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."
"Of course I will," I say, brushing her hair out of her face. "Is that all? I thought you were going to ask me to commit a war crime or something."
"No, I would definitely ask Ellie if that's what it was," she chuckles feebly. "Are you sure? That isn't too weird?"
"There's nothing you could ask me that I wouldn't do for you," I say. "Including war crimes. Washing your hair is nothing."
"I would never ask you to commit a crime, Jacky boy, you're too pure," she says, leaning her forehead against my chest.
"And you don't have to dig a bathing suit out if you don't want to," I add, albeit hesitantly. "Do whatever is going to make you most comfortable, don't make more work for yourself."
"I promise I'll add so many bubbles, you'll barely be able to find me," she says, looking up at me. "I'll do my best not to scandalize you."
I take deep breaths, pacing nervously outside of the bathroom while the water runs, trying not to think about the fact that a very naked Abby is on the other side.
Get your shit together. Don't be weird. It'll be like in the hospital, just focus on her face, you won't even notice the rest.
"Come in, Jack Robbit," she calls, and I open the door slowly.
"Don't call me th—" I start, but my jaw drops at the state of the bathroom. There are bubbles everywhere. And I really mean everywhere.
"How did you get bubbles in the toilet?" I ask, flushing the suds down the pipe.
"I had to scoop out a place for my head," she says sheepishly, her head resting on an inflatable bath pillow attached to the end of the clawfoot tub. "I went a little overboard."
"You think so?"
"You better be careful or you'll be getting a handful of bubbles up your nose," she threatens.
"Shh, no need for all that," I say soothingly, kneeling on the black and white honeycomb tile and folding my arms on the edge of the porcelain. "How do you want to do this?"
"My stuff is on the sink," she says, pointing a bubble covered hand to the shampoo and conditioner bottles. "And I brought in a cup for the water. Your number one job is to not get soap in my eyes."
"Wouldn't dream of it," I promise. "Just tilt your head back, I'll take care of you."
"It seems like that's all you do these days," she says quietly. "This isn't your job, you know. You can leave anytime you want. When I asked you to come to the hospital, I didn't mean to make you feel like you needed to come back here full time again."
"First of all, you didn't make me do anything," I argue, filling the cup with the warm water and pouring it over her head, holding my hand to her hairline to shield her face. "Second, I'm not going anywhere."
"Are you sure? You're not obligated to help with everything just because you helped with on—"
"Hey, Abby?"
"Yeah?" she asks, tilting her head back and looking at me upside down.
"Stop talking," I say, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
She grins, then tilts her head back down and closes her eyes. I finish wetting her hair, then work the shampoo in, massaging her scalp in small circles until it lathers up.
"Mmmm, that feels nice," she hums. "Please don't stop."
My cheeks flush, and no matter how hard I try, I can't pretend there's not a very different context in which I might enjoy those words.
I continue on, following her instructions carefully as I use a wide-tooth comb to distribute the conditioner evenly through her curls.
I think back to lamaze class, another instance of something incredibly intimate that I should not be here for.
But just like then, I can't help but feel like this is actually exactly where I should be.
After rinsing it out, she tells me the rest of the hair routine is too complicated for boys and relieves me of hair-care duty.
I sit on the edge of the bed and wait, listening for any signs of additional help being needed, but all I hear is Abby chattering away to herself, narrating the rest of her routine out loud.
I smile to myself, so hard my cheeks hurt. I missed that sound—I was only out of the house for a little over a week, but those nights alone in my apartment were the loudest silences I've ever heard. I don't want to ever think about going back to a life where Abby isn't the soundtrack.
You'll have to eventually.
"I cannot tell you how much better I feel," she sighs, emerging from the bathroom with heavy, damp curls framing her face, which is still flushed from the warmth of the bath. "You're my hero, Jacky boy."
"Anytime, pretty girl," I say, scooting over to give her room to crawl into the space in the pregnancy pillow she still sleeps with every night.
"I would say I'd owe you my firstborn," she says, snuggling her face into the plush fabric. "But you basically already have her, so I'll have to come up with something else."
"You don't owe me anything," I say, heart swelling at even the slightest hint that she might know how much Erin means to me. "And I do not, she's entirely yours—mama's girl through and through."
"Don't patronize me," she says, scowling. "I swear some days she likes you better than me. You wouldn't even have to steal her, she'd just go with you gladly."
"Well I have no intention of stealing her," I say, pulling the quilt up and over Abby and the pillow. "Besides, what am I going to do, steal her from the nursery just to take her across the hall? I'd be the world's worst thief."
"I know you'll have to leave us eventually," she says, her drowsy voice laced with a hint of sadness. "But try not to steal her away when you do."
"I'm not leaving any time soon, you don't need to worry about that," I say hoarsely.
How do I tell her I'd stay forever if she'd let me?
"And if anything, she's stolen me. And I don't care to try and steal me back. She can have me for as long as she wants," I add, stroking her cheek as her eyes flutter shut.
You both can.