Chapter 14
ALEXA
Sunday evening settles around Jordan’s living room like a comfortable blanket.
The credits of some animated movie roll across the TV screen while Ash sleeps curled up on the couch.
He looks so peaceful, his face relaxed in a way that makes my heart swell with contentment.
At home, his signed poster from yesterday already hangs framed on his bedroom wall in a place of honor, but I know he’s still riding the high of meeting his hero.
“I should wake him up and get him home,” I whisper to Jordan, who’s sitting at the end of the couch with Henry on his lap. “It’s getting late.”
“Let him sleep,” Jordan says quietly, adjusting the throw blanket over Ash’s shoulders. “He looks comfortable.”
“He probably didn’t get much sleep last night.
He was so excited about meeting Camden Qisha that he kept talking about it until almost midnight.
” I smile, remembering how he’d recounted every detail of their conversation for the third time as I tucked him in.
“I think his brain was too wired to shut down.”
“I can imagine. That was pretty amazing, even for me.” Jordan’s expression softens as he watches Ash sleep. “He’s a good kid.”
“He is. And yesterday was incredible. Thank you, again, for making that happen.”
“It was worth it to see his face.”
Henry starts fussing in Jordan’s arms, making the scrunched-up expression that usually means one thing.
“Diaper time?” I ask.
Jordan nods, standing carefully so as not to wake Ash. “Definitely diaper time.”
We make our way quietly to the nursery, where Jordan has finally managed to assemble the changing table properly. He’s gotten much better at the mechanics of baby care over the past week, but there’s still something endearing about the careful way he approaches each task.
“You’re getting good at this,” I tell him as he lays Henry down and starts unfastening the diaper tabs.
“I’m getting better. There’s a difference.” Jordan reaches for a fresh diaper from the stack beside the changing pad. “A week ago, I would have been terrified to—”
His words are cut off as Henry decides that exact moment is perfect for relieving himself. A perfect arc of baby pee shoots up from the changing table, missing Jordan’s face by inches and splashing against the wall behind him.
Jordan freezes, his eyes wide with shock, while Henry kicks his legs happily like he’s accomplished something important.
“Oh, no!” I gasp, then immediately start looking around for towels. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you to keep him covered during changes.”
I expect Jordan to be frustrated, maybe a little grossed out. Instead, when I look back at him, he’s staring at the wet spot on the wall with an expression of complete bewilderment.
“Did he just…” Jordan points at the wall, then looks down at Henry, who’s gurgling contentedly. “Did he aim for that?”
“Babies don’t aim. But they do have excellent timing.” I hand him some wipes. “It’s like they wait for the exact moment when you’re not prepared.”
“The trajectory was actually pretty impressive,” Jordan says, and there’s something almost scientific in his tone. “I mean, considering his size and the distance…”
“Are you analyzing your nephew’s pee stream?”
“Maybe a little.”
And then we’re both laughing. It starts as quiet chuckles, so we don’t wake Ash, but it builds into the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. Jordan leans against the changing table, trying to catch his breath, while I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the sound.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Jordan says between laughs. “Five seconds earlier and I would have taken it right in the face.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” I manage to say. “Where bodily functions become a constant source of surprise.”
“Is this normal? The laughing-about-it part?”
“Completely normal. If you don’t learn to laugh about these things, you’ll go crazy.”
Jordan wipes down the wall while I finish changing Henry’s diaper, both of us still grinning. There’s something so natural about this moment, so easy and comfortable. Like we’re a team that’s been doing this together for years instead of just over a week.
But then something shifts in Jordan’s expression. The smile fades, replaced by something guarded and distant. He steps back from the changing table, suddenly focused on washing his hands at the small sink in the corner.
“Jordan?” I lift Henry from the changing table, noting how Jordan won’t meet my eyes. “Everything okay?”
“Fine. Just…” He trails off, like he’s lost in thought.
The warmth from moments before evaporates, leaving behind an awkwardness that feels like a cold draft. Jordan moves around the nursery, putting things away with mechanical precision, like he’s trying to create distance between us.
I check my phone and realize it’s later than I thought. “Oh, wow, it’s almost eight. I should probably get Ash home. He has school tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Jordan says, but there’s something relieved in his tone, like my announcement has given him an escape from whatever was troubling him.
I want to push, to ask what’s really going on. But the walls he’s put up are so obvious that I know he won’t tell me. Whatever is weighing on him, whatever makes him shut down every time he starts to relax, he’s not ready to share it.
“Of course,” I say, even though it feels like the wrong response. “I’ll wake Ash up.”
Back in the living room, I gently shake Ash’s shoulder. He wakes up slowly, blinking in confusion until he remembers where he is.
“Hi, Mom. Is the movie over?”
“It’s over, sweetheart. Time to go home.”
Ash sits up, looking around for Jordan, who’s standing near the window with Henry in his arms. “Thanks for letting me fall asleep on your couch, Jordan.”
“Anytime,” Jordan says, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.
We gather our things quietly, and Jordan walks us to the door. The easy camaraderie from earlier feels like it happened days ago instead of minutes ago.
“See you tomorrow?” I ask, hoping the question sounds casual.
“Tomorrow,” Jordan confirms, but he’s already stepping back, already closing himself off.
As we cross the yard to our house, Ash chatters about the movie and how comfortable Jordan’s couch is. But I’m thinking about the moment in the nursery when Jordan’s whole demeanor changed. The way he went from laughing with me to treating me like a polite stranger.
Something is seriously wrong in Jordan’s life. Something that makes him feel guilty for enjoying simple moments like laughing about baby mishaps or watching movies on Sunday evening.
Part of me wants to know what it is. Part of me wants to help him carry whatever burden he’s shouldering alone. But another part of me, the practical part that’s learned to protect my heart over the years, wonders if ignorance might actually be bliss.
Because I’m getting attached. To Jordan, to Henry, to the way the four of us feel like a family when we’re together.
I’m getting attached to fifty-dollar-an-hour pay and being able to say yes when Ash wants to do things with his friends.
I’m getting attached to the way Jordan looks at me sometimes, like I’m something precious instead of just the help.
If there’s some big surprise around the corner that’s going to end all of this, maybe I don’t want to know what it is. Maybe I don’t want to see it coming. Maybe I want to enjoy whatever time we have left without the shadow of knowing it’s temporary.
Because everything in my life has been temporary. Ash’s father, my job, even my grandmother, eventually. The one constant has been that of protecting myself and Ash from getting too invested in things that might disappear.
But it might already be too late for that. The thought of Jordan and Henry not being part of our daily routine makes my chest ache in a way that suggests I’m already more invested than I should be.
Still, I can choose not to dig deeper. I can choose to take this job at face value and not ask the questions that might give me answers I don’t want to hear.
Even when pushing people away might be the last thing Jordan actually needs, maybe it’s exactly what I need to do to protect my own heart.