Foster
“He won’t stop crying,” Sutton says, looking at me where I stand in the nursery doorway. She’s exhausted, her eyes tired as she bounces our son. She’s overwhelmed. I’m overwhelmed. Hell, Levi is probably overwhelmed with us too.
He is now five months old, and many nights have found us in the same scenario: crying and not sleeping.
It’s a rite of passage, I guess. Everyone with a newborn experiences it.
Except for us, he doesn’t seem to have an off switch.
Three hours of sleep is the average for all of us.
It started about two weeks after he was born.
It was as though our honeymoon period came to an abrupt end.
The doctors have repeatedly told us that he’s healthy, and some babies are criers more than others.
I’m going to have some words with my son when he’s older.
I retrieve my hands from my gray sweatpants pockets and take a few steps into the room, my arms outstretched, indicating for Sutton to hand him over. “Go.”
“B-But—” she stammers.
“It’s 2:30 in the morning. You’ve been up long enough, and I’ll take over.”
She reluctantly hands him to me, more from a mother’s worry than anything, nerves making her cling to him.
“Sutton, tomorrow is your first day back in the office. I think you need your rest more than I do.”
Truthfully, I doubt either of them is ready.
I suggested hiring a nanny, but she insisted daycare at the office was better so he’d be close in case of emergencies.
Elodie only praised the daycare when Lola was a baby.
With generous leave from Haven Crossroads and Levi arriving early, we needed more time too.
“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” she says.
“You don’t need to.” I’ve pointed out that money isn’t the issue, but I already know the direction of where this conversation will go. It’s been discussed several times a day.
She shakes her head gently. “But I have my career. I can’t lose more time away from the office.”
“Okay. It’s probably good for you to be with adults all day.” At this point, my answers are on repeat.
“Right, and he’ll be with other kids. It’s the best daycare, we’re in the building, and I can check in,” she lists, reassuring herself.
A faint smirk creeps on my mouth, as this has been our usual circle.
It’s hard.
I’ve been watching her struggle for weeks. She’s happy, and I check in with her. It really does seem to be a lack of sleep and the internal wrestle of her decision to go back to work.
As much as I can say that I’m a hands-on dad, I also haven’t been the one who faced the brunt of evening shifts with our son.
Sutton insisted because I’m the one who still has to be at the office, often with twelve-hour days, plus a few business trips.
We’re going to have to find a new rhythm for sure.
My son settles in my arms, and his crying subsides, mostly because he has exhausted himself.
“I guess I will try and sleep then.” Her voice is soft, but the twang of hope is strong.
Rubbing circles on Levi’s back, I sigh as he rests his cheek against my shoulder.
“Sleep, Sutton. Now I’m demanding it, so don’t disobey,” I whisper.
It causes her to crack a smile.
When she disappears, I sway with my son, who crackles an occasional attempt to cry. The daybed has been a lifesaver. I lay us carefully on top, his cheek on my chest. The throw pillow feels heavenly.
I keep reminding myself to savor these moments as he’s growing fast. But fuck, sleep is valuable.
Smiling, I admire my wife gliding her lipstick along her decadent lips as she checks in a tiny compact mirror. We’re in the back of my car, Levi packed securely in his car seat, buckled in between us.
It’s been a while since I’ve seen my wife in her work mode, ready to conquer the world and sexy as hell, complete with stilettos.
“Excited?” I ask.
Sutton closes the cap of her lipstick and puckers her lips before satisfaction appears.
“I guess I am. Celeste seemed thrilled about my return and said she would do what was needed to ensure I had an easy return. I’m not sure if Olivia coached her on that call or not, but it came across genuine enough. ”
“Olivia takes her HR responsibilities seriously.”
“It’s a fresh start at the office. This time around, I will try not to sleep with the CFO again,” she quips.
I glare at her for that comment. “Lucky then that he has a wife at home who obeys on command.”
She chuckles, shifting her attention to the baby. Quiet fills the car, needed for the switch from home to work.
Sighing, I remember. “Patrick’s stopping by the office later. It’s board meeting week at Roth, and I’ve already said I want to give my absentee vote. I think I want to circle back to the topic of handing over my shares, making a clean break.”
“Don’t do that.” She gives me a knowing glare. The topic keeps coming up, and she keeps telling me to abandon the thought like a sinking ship.
Shrugging, I explain simply, “I won’t have to deal with that anymore.”
She shakes her head, amused. “And you would regret it.” Her soft smile reassures me; she’s smarter than I am right now, and she knows it.
“You know you would. You have nothing to prove to me. Your nobleness is misguided. It’s your connection to your mom.
Besides, one day this little guy might want to be involved.
I’m over everything, and you are too, so there’s no need to fill some guilt void because you’re being a silly man for a hot second. ”
I smile wryly. “Fucking too wise.”
Sutton brings her hand to my cheek and swirls her thumb. “Agreed.” Even she has a cocky streak.
The car slows on our arrival at the office, and she stalls for a second before her palm slips away and her eyes drop to our son.
“Ready?” she asks him, and when the car stops, she unbuckles his seat.
I slide out as my driver opens the door, then reach in to grab the baby seat. Sutton follows, eager and ready for her return to the office.
We enter the building's lobby and stop by the elevator. It's still early, so the lobby is quiet.
“Wish your mom a great first day back,” I tell Levi, who only looks at us, cheeks puffed, a small bubble at the corner of his mouth.
Sutton stands firm, and her face turns stoic as she waits. I know exactly what is in her mind.
“Nope. Nuh-uh. You are not coming with me when I drop him off at daycare.”
“But it’s his first day,” she defends, her eyes already wistful.
Shaking my head, I play hardball. “We’ve gone over this. Let me handle it—it’s easier for everyone. You’ll get updates, and I’ll get him if it’s too long a day. That’s the plan. We’re sticking to it. Trust me, your mascara will thank me for saving you tears.”
Her mouth parts as she struggles for a deep breath, wanting to protest, but then her body relaxes a tad. “You’re right. It’s for the best.”
I take one step away from her as a test, but she almost scowls.
Olivia from HR notices and swoops between us.
"Look at you, ready to put people in their place. I shouldn’t tell you, but there’s a giant welcome-back cake on your floor.
People are relying on you to show up so they can enjoy their calorie bomb.
Let’s go—the elevator’s very slow today.
" She sets her hands on Sutton’s shoulders to steer her away.
“They’ll update us, right?” Sutton checks with me, and I nod my head. “Oh. Alright then.” I hold the car seat up, and she affectionately smiles at him and blows a kiss before Olivia shoos her along.
Olivia glances at me. “This isn’t my first rodeo.” She smiles and leads my wife away.
I grin as Easton arrives. “Olive had to play hero,” he says, watching them go.
I turn to him. “Not even 8am and she’s already getting to you?”
“In the presence of the wicked witch from the sixteenth floor, it’s always a risk.” He smiles, eyes shifting to my son. “Big day—first at daycare. I hear there’s a red carpet.”
“As there should be. I’m sure it will be fine. They’re pros.”
It’s 11:30am. Levi’s in my arms, fussy, while I hold my phone between my ear and shoulder. His first day at daycare hasn’t gone as planned.
They warned us to start with short daycare hours, but we didn’t even make it through the morning. For the past half an hour, I’ve been reshuffling my day. Sutton doesn’t know—I told daycare not to inform her. She deserves a good first day back.
I keep my call on mute because it’s a conference call with four people. Plus, who the hell wants to hear my kid in this state?
My suit-clad brother appears at my door as my call ends.
"I didn’t realize Junior would be here," he says as he steps fully into my office, glancing from Levi in my arms to my desk.
Setting my phone on my desk, I’m somewhat relieved that I can take it down a notch on the need-to-seem-put-together scale right now.
“Me neither. After his morning bottle, it all went downhill. My assistant’s rearranging things so I can go home.”
He snorts a laugh. “Sutton has no idea, does she?”
“Nope,” I say matter-of-factly.
Patrick makes himself at home and finds a spot in my sitting area, unbuttoning his jacket on his way there. “I won’t make this long. Did you think about it?” He cuts straight to the chase.
“I did.” I begin walking toward him, but then the sound and the feeling hit at once. A rancid smell wafts around my nose. “Fuck.” My son just threw up on me, and magically missed himself in the process, thanks to his bib.
My brother rolls his lips in, trying desperately not to burst out laughing.
Storming to him, I’m at the point of desperate measures, and I plop my son into his arms without warning because I need to get something to clean up with.
“Whoa, don’t give me upchuck. What if I’m the next target?” he protests yet smiles.
I’m already yanking my tie off when I notice something.
The sound of silence.
Something inside me sinks, that feels like an uncomfortable truth.
Walking straight back to them, I pick up Levi only for him to begin to fuss, and I set him straight back down into my brother’s arms for quiet.
My eyes tighten, then open. A frequent source of my frustration is the one who can calm my son right now.