Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
DEAN
Three hours.
That’s how long Liana has been crying.
Three hours of pacing, bouncing, shushing, pleading, and second-guessing every decision I’ve made since Frieda left.
I’ve changed her diaper twice, fed her, burped her, rocked her until my arms burned. Nothing works.
I pace the length of my penthouse again, her tiny body tucked against my chest as I quietly talk to her, hoping the sound of my voice might calm whatever storm is raging inside that little body.
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’ve got you.”
The words feel hollow, considering I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.
Her cries only grow louder.
“Okay … okay.”
Maybe she’s still hungry.
Balancing her against my shoulder with one arm, I fumble through making another bottle, nearly dropping the scoop into the formula container before finally managing to measure it correctly. By the time it’s warmed, I’m questioning whether I’ve made it too hot, too cold, or somehow both.
I sit down on the couch and cradle her in the crook of my arm before gently pressing the bottle to her lips.
She turns her head to the left, then right. Her tiny face scrunches in protest, and she lets out a scream loud enough to make me wonder if the neighbors are about to call security.
“Not hungry,” I mutter.
I pull the bottle away before either of us ends up wearing it and set it on the couch cushion beside me.
The next thirty minutes are more of the same. Me desperately walking her around, wondering if every little sound she makes is normal.
By the time desperation outweighs confidence, I buckle her into the motorized swing and switch on the white noise machine Frieda insisted I’d learn to appreciate.
She settles within seconds.
I stand frozen like a statue, afraid to disrupt whatever it is that is making the screaming stop.
Eventually, her pink eyelids flutter closed.
Relief floods through me just long enough for panic to take its place. I crouch down onto the ground and watch her little belly move up and down.
My muscles relax immediately.
Good.
She’s breathing.
My stomach grumbles. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly nine, and I haven’t had dinner yet.
I don’t want to risk waking Liana, so instead of ordering something and making too much noise, I creep over to the pantry and pull out a protein bar, eating it over the sink like it’s a five-star meal.
By the time I collapse onto the couch with my phone in hand, exhaustion settles over me like a weighted blanket.
I don’t remember closing my eyes.
The shrill cry coming from the swing tells me I must have.
The coffee goes down like water. Normally, I’d savor the rich, bold taste, but sleep deprivation has a funny way of dulling life’s little pleasures. At this point, I’m only drinking it because caffeine feels like my last remaining lifeline.
I don’t know how many hours of sleep I got last night.
Two?
Maybe three if you add up all the scattered stretches between feedings.
Once we moved to my bedroom with Liana in the bassinet beside me, it felt like every time I closed my eyes, she opened hers.
After getting her down for a morning nap, I find myself standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the disaster around me.
There are bottles waiting to be washed, formula sitting out on the counter, and laundry overflowing from the basket.
Something has to change. I can’t keep pretending I can do this on my own.
My company doesn’t stop because I suddenly became a father. And neither does a two-month-old. Both demand my full attention, and sooner or later, one of them is going to lose.
The nanny agencies all said the same thing. They have wait lists and can’t get me a live-in nanny for another month.
I can’t do a month.
I don’t even think I can do another week of Frieda for eight hours only.
Nothing about this feels natural.
Every diaper change feels like I’m doing it wrong. When I feed her, I’m constantly consumed with worry that I’m feeding her too much—or worse, too little.
Every cry sends me searching the internet because I have no idea what she’s trying to tell me.
I need to talk to someone. I can’t carry this alone.
I pick up the phone and walk into my office, leaving the door open so I can hear Liana if she wakes.
My thumb hovers over my dad’s number. If Mom were alive, she’d probably be my first call. Without another thought, I press Call.
“Hello, son,” my dad says after the second ring. “You’re calling early this weekend.”
“Yeah.”
A brief pause settles between us.
“Is everything all right?” he asks. “Are you working?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “For once, no.”
“Well, now I’m really concerned.”
I pace up and down my study with my hand squeezed into a tight fist at my side as I look out at the rising sun over Manhattan. A week ago, this view made me feel invincible.
Now all it does is remind me of how alone I am.
“Dad …” I say, my voice cracking with emotion. “I, uh, need to tell you something.”
His tone immediately changes. “What’s wrong?”
I try to take a deep breath, but it gets stuck. I just need to say it.
“I have a daughter.”
Silence stretches for long enough that I pull the phone from my ear to see if we lost connection, but he’s still there. I put the phone back to my ear.
He finally responds. “You … what?”
“I have a two-month-old daughter.”
There’s another long pause before he speaks. “I’m going to need you to explain that one.”
I run a hand through my hair. “I only found out last Friday.”
“You only …” His voice trails off. “Start from the beginning.”
I swallow hard. “The mother and I … we weren’t in a relationship. We saw each other a couple of times a year ago. She never told me she was pregnant.”
“So, she just showed up at your door with your daughter?”
“She passed away. Overdose. Child Protective Services contacted me because I was on the birth certificate.”
His sharp intake of breath tells me he understands the rest without me having to spell it out. I’m doing this on my own.
“So, she’s with you now?”
I nod my head, though I know he can’t see me. “She’s been with me for a week.”
“A week?” he repeats, disbelief clear in his voice. “Dean, why am I just hearing about this now?”
“I didn’t know what to say. I thought I could figure things out first before I told anybody,” I admit, feeling foolish now for thinking I was capable of doing this alone.
“So, you haven’t been to work all week?”
“No, I have a temporary daytime nanny. She comes Monday to Friday for eight hours. But next week is her last week. She has to go to a family she already committed to. And every agency I’ve contacted in the city said there’s a wait list.”
My dad is quiet for a moment.
“I’ll come stay with you. Just give me a couple of hours. I can drive into the city.”
I sigh, knowing he’s too old to be around a newborn and losing sleep with me. “Dad, I’m not going to let this become your problem.”
“My granddaughter is not a problem. She’s a blessing.” His tone changes instantly, softening slightly. “At least let me stay the weekend. We can try to figure something out together, going forward. I want to be there for you and … what’s her name?”
His question makes me smile. “Liana.”
“Liana. Let me be there for you two.”
I’m too tired to argue. Truth be told, the idea of having my dad here with me, at least for the rest of the weekend, feels like someone just tossed me a life preserver.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“No thanks necessary. This is what family is for. I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
Liana takes this moment to begin to wail.
“Sounds good. I’ll see you soon.”
It’s just after one when I hear the private elevator open into my foyer.
Dad’s one of the few people with clearance to come directly up to the penthouse—a privilege I’ve never thought twice about until now.
Liana finally fell asleep twenty minutes ago in the Pack ’n Play Frieda had set up in my living room before leaving Friday afternoon. Apparently, it’s different from a crib, a bassinet, and the swing that’s quickly become my favorite invention ever created.
A week ago, I couldn’t have told you what any of those things were. Now I feel like I’m slowly learning an entirely new language.
I round the corner just as Dad steps into the apartment.
He doesn’t say a word at first.
His eyes skip over the burp cloth tossed across the back of my couch, the half-empty bottle sitting on the coffee table, and the stack of parenting books spread across my kitchen island before finally landing on the tiny sleeping baby across the room.
For a moment, all he does is stare, and then his eyes glisten.
“She’s beautiful,” he says quietly.
I follow his gaze to Liana. “Yeah.” The single word comes out rougher than I intended. “I think she is too.”
Dad doesn’t answer right away. His eyes never leave her. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s weighed down by something heavier.
“Your mother would’ve loved to meet her.” His voice cracks with emotion.
The words still over the room like a blanket. I swallow hard, suddenly wishing she were here too.
Not just so she could meet her granddaughter. So she could tell me I wasn’t screwing this whole father thing up.
Dad quietly sets his overnight bag by the couch before making his way over to the Pack ’n Play. He doesn’t reach in to pick Liana up. He simply stands there, taking her in.
“It’s hard to believe,” he says softly.
“I know.”
“You’ve always been the one with a plan.”
I let out a tired laugh. “Turns out, babies don’t care about plans.”
“No,” he agrees. “They usually have plans of their own.”
For the first time all weekend, I feel myself relax.
Dad has always had that effect on people. Even after losing Mom, he somehow managed to become the steady one. The one everyone leaned on when life got messy.
“I still can’t believe you didn’t call me sooner,” he says with a hint of sadness etched in.
“I didn’t know what to say,” I admit.
“You didn’t have to say anything other than, Dad, I need you.”
His words hit harder than I expected.
“I’ve never needed anyone before.”
“That’s not true.”
“I’ve never let myself.”
He studies me for a moment before changing the subject.
“So, tell me about her.”
I glance toward Liana. “I don’t know what there is to tell.”
“You’ve been together for a week. I bet you know more than you think.”
A smile tugs at my mouth. “She hates having a wet diaper.”
“I think every baby does.”
“No … she really hates it.”
Dad chuckles.
“And she makes this little snorting sound right before she falls asleep. And …” I pause. “She likes being held. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that soothes her.”
Dad smiles knowingly. “Sounds like she’s already figured out who her dad is.”
Before I can respond, Liana lets out a tiny sigh in her sleep, stretching one arm above her head before calming again.
Dad waits until she’s still before speaking. “You know, something happened on my way over here.”
I glance up. “What?”
“I stopped by Harrison Cooper’s house.”
I crane my head to the side. “Our neighbor?”
He nods. “I left my jacket there after poker night last week. Harrison had it draped over a chair, so I figured I’d swing by and pick it up.”
I lean back against the couch, listening.
“We got to talking. He mentioned how discouraged Aubrey’s been.”
“Aubrey?”
His eyes narrow. “You remember her?”
“Barely. She was … what, like, fifteen the last time I saw her?”
“She’s twenty-two now.”
I nod slowly.
He continues, “She just graduated college a few months ago. Bright kid. But she’s having a hell of a time finding work. Apparently, she’s been sending out résumés every day without much luck.”
“Unfortunately, she’s not the only one.”
“No.” Dad folds his hands together. “Listening to him reminded me of what you told me this morning.”
A feeling settles in my stomach. “Dad …”
“Just hear me out.”
I don’t interrupt.
“I told Harrison about Liana. About Frieda leaving. About the agencies putting you on waiting lists.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You told him?”
“I didn’t give him every detail. Just enough that he understood you needed help.”
“And?”
“He said Aubrey spent half her teenage years babysitting.”
I can’t help the skeptical look that crosses my face. “Dad …”
“I’m serious. Harrison said every family in the neighborhood requested her. She practically became everyone’s first call if they needed someone dependable.”
“Babysitting your neighbors’ kids isn’t exactly the same as taking care of a two-month-old.”
“No,” he agrees. “But neither is reading a résumé from someone you’ve never met.”
I don’t say anything.
“She’s responsible. She’s kind. And this would only be temporary.”
“Temporary.”
“She could stay here while she keeps looking for a job in the city. Harrison actually thinks it’d be good for her. She’d be closer to interviews, networking events, and companies she’d eventually like to work for.”
I look over at Liana sleeping peacefully across the room.
“I haven’t talked to her,” Dad says. “I wanted to ask you first.”
I let out a slow breath. “I’m running out of options.”
“So …”
“So, if she’s interested”—I glance back toward Liana— “I’d be willing to meet her.”
Dad smiles for the first time since he walked through the door. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
“I didn’t say I was hiring her.”
“No,” he says with a grin. “You just agreed to meet her.”
“And that’s all I’m agreeing to.”
“Fair enough.”
For now, a meeting is all either of us needs.
I have no way of knowing that one conversation with the little girl who used to live three houses down is about to change my life all over again.