Chapter 6
ALEXA
Saturday mornings are my favorite. No rush to get Ash to school, no pressure to be anywhere at a specific time. Just the two of us and whatever the day brings.
“Mom, can I have pancakes?” Ash asks, padding into the kitchen in his pajamas, hair sticking up in three different directions.
“Absolutely.” I pull the pancake mix from the pantry. “The good ones or the boring healthy ones?”
“Good ones, obviously.”
I laugh and start mixing the batter while Ash climbs onto a kitchen stool to watch. This is our Saturday ritual. Pancakes, cartoons, and absolutely no mention of homework or chores until at least noon.
“Can I flip them?” he asks as the first pancake bubbles in the pan.
“When they’re ready.” I hand him the spatula. “Remember, wait for the bubbles to pop and the edges to look dry.”
He nods solemnly, taking his pancake-flipping responsibilities very seriously. When the time comes, he manages to flip it without making a mess, grinning with pride.
“Perfect,” I tell him, and his smile gets even bigger.
Twenty minutes later, Ash is settled on the couch with a plate of pancakes and cartoons playing on the TV.
I pour myself a second cup of coffee and enjoy the peaceful morning sounds of animated characters and my son’s occasional giggle.
I still haven’t heard back from any place I’ve applied to, including the boutique, but I’m not about to give up. I know I’ll get a job eventually.
I have to.
“I’m going to check the mail,” I call to Ash, wanting to get a start on the day. “Be right back.”
“Okay,” he says without taking his eyes off the screen.
I slip on my sneakers and head outside. The morning air is crisp but not cold, perfect for the jeans and sweater I threw on. Our mailbox sits at the end of the driveway, and I’m rifling through the usual collection of bills and advertisements when I hear crying.
Not just any crying. Baby crying.
I look up to see my neighbor Jordan standing next to his car, holding a baby carrier at an awkward angle while a tiny voice wails from inside it. The baby’s cries are getting louder by the second, and Jordan looks like he’s about to have a panic attack.
He sets the carrier down on his driveway and runs both hands through his hair. Even from here, I can see the exhaustion written across his face. This is not a man who’s had much sleep.
I watch as he tries to lift the carrier again, this time with different hand positions. The crying doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets more desperate.
This is none of my business. I don’t even know the man’s last name. But that baby sounds distressed, and Jordan clearly has no idea what he’s doing.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I’m crossing the space between our driveways.
“Excuse me,” I call. “Is everything okay?”
Jordan looks up, and I can see the relief in his eyes at having another adult to talk to. “I’m trying to get him in the car, but he won’t stop crying. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
Up close, the baby’s wails are even more heartbreaking. He’s tiny, maybe six months old, with dark hair and tear-stained cheeks. His little fists are clenched, and his face is red from crying.
“Can I?” I gesture toward the carrier.
Jordan nods quickly. “Please.”
I unbuckle the baby and lift him out, automatically adjusting his position against my shoulder. The crying doesn’t stop immediately, but I can feel his tiny body start to relax as I rub his back in small circles.
“Shh, sweetheart,” I murmur, swaying slightly. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay.”
Within a minute, the crying subsides to small hiccups. Within two minutes, he’s quiet, his head resting against my shoulder.
Jordan stares at me like I just performed magic. “How did you do that?”
“Sometimes they just need to be held upright. Being in the carrier can be uncomfortable.” I continue rubbing the baby’s back. “What’s his name?”
“Henry.” Jordan’s voice is thick with exhaustion. “He’s my nephew. My sister’s baby.”
His sister’s baby? Not his? Not his and his wife’s?
It makes more sense, since I’ve never seen him with a woman. It also makes me a bit relieved, although it’s not like I ever had a shot with him anyway. This is the first time we’ve spoken.
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. There’s something guarded in his expression that tells me not to push.
“He’s beautiful,” I say instead. “How old?”
“Six months.” Jordan reaches out tentatively, like he wants to touch Henry but isn’t sure he should. “I’m watching him for a while.”
The way he says it, like there’s more to the story but he’s not sharing it, makes me curious. But I’ve been a single mom long enough to know that everyone has their private struggles.
“I don’t suppose you could show me what you did? The thing with the back rubbing?”
“Of course.” I shift Henry so Jordan can see my hand placement. “Small circles, gentle pressure. Sometimes they have gas bubbles that need to work their way out. The motion helps.”
Jordan watches intently, like he’s memorizing every detail. “I’ve been doing everything wrong.”
“You haven’t been doing anything wrong. Babies are just… particular. Each one is different.” I look down at Henry, who’s starting to fall asleep against my shoulder. “You’ll figure out his preferences.”
“I hope so.” Jordan rubs his face with both hands. “I was trying to get him to the store. I need to buy groceries, but the thought of taking him into a supermarket by myself is terrifying.”
I can hear the desperation in his voice. This is clearly a man who’s used to being competent, used to having control over his environment. Being responsible for a baby has turned his world upside down.
“Is there someone who could watch him for you?”
“No.” The word comes out quickly, like he’s practiced saying it. “I mean, there are people I could ask, but I don’t want to be a burden. I should be able to handle this.”
There’s something familiar about that sentiment. The determination to manage everything alone, even when it’s clearly too much. I lived that way for years after Ash’s father left.
“What if I came with you?” The offer comes out before I can stop myself. “I don’t have any plans this morning, and an extra pair of hands might make it easier.”
Jordan’s relief is immediate and overwhelming. “You would do that? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’re struggling with a baby, which tells me you’re trying your best. And I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning.” I bounce Henry gently as he starts to fuss again. “Besides, I like grocery shopping. Weird, I know.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You’re not imposing. I’m offering.” I smile at him. “I’m Alexa, by the way. Alexa Costello.”
“Jordan Hadley.” He looks like he might cry from gratitude. “Are you sure about this? I have no idea how long it’ll take.”
“I’m sure.” I glance back at my house, where I can hear the TV still playing. “I’ll need to bring my son.”
“Your son. Right. I’ve seen him around.”
“Ash,” I say.
He nods. “Take all the time you need. We’ll be right here.”
I hand Henry back to Jordan, showing him how to hold him upright against his chest. “Like this. Support his head, but let him look around. He’s curious about the world.”
Jordan takes Henry carefully, and I can see him mentally cataloging every instruction I give him. Henry settles against his uncle’s chest without complaint, seeming content to be held properly.
“Just a few minutes,” I say, then hurry back to my house.
“Ash, we’re going to help our neighbor with some errands,” I call as I grab my purse.
“We are?” He sits up, face wrinkling in confusion.
“He’s watching his sister’s baby, and he needs help.”
I feel bad about tearing Ash away from his cartoons, and I’m about to promise to sit down and watch a movie with him later, but to my pleasant surprise, he launches off the couch and grabs his shoes with an “Okay!”
As we head out, I catch myself wondering about Jordan’s story. A baby he clearly isn’t used to caring for. The expensive car and well-maintained house that suggest he’s got money but no domestic experience. And whatever situation has left him watching his nephew “for a while.”
None of it is really my business, but something about the lost look in his eyes when he was dealing with Henry’s crying reminds me of myself in those early days with Ash. The feeling that everyone else got a manual for this parenting thing and you’re just making it up as you go along.
Maybe I can’t solve my own problems right now, but I can help a neighbor figure out how to buy groceries with a baby. It’s a small thing, but sometimes small things matter most.
We head back outside, where Jordan is still holding Henry exactly the way I showed him. The baby is calm, looking around with those serious dark eyes.
“Jordan, this is Ash.”
“Nice to meet you.” Ash extends his hand for a shake, and my chest swells with pride.
Jordan seems pleasantly surprised as he shakes Ash’s hand. “You too.”
“Ready?” I ask.
“Ready.” Jordan’s smile is the first genuine one I’ve seen from him. “Thank you, Alexa. Really. You have no idea how much this means.”
I do know, actually. I know exactly what it means to have someone offer help when you’re too proud to ask for it.
“Come on,” I say, walking toward his car. “Let’s get this boy some groceries.”