Push

16. He Shared the Load

He Shared the Load

Toby

Noah’s chubby fist clenched his banana for dear life, and his red, puffy eyes tracked me like a hawk from his highchair.

Zero trust.

If we were counting the casualties of World War Fruit, there were big losses for Team Daddy.

I ripped off another wad of paper towels, dropped to my knees, and got to work mopping up the mess splattered over the kitchen floor.

What. A. Morning.

Wake-up time, cuddles, changing Noah’s diaper, and stuffing his chubby butt in a onesie had been easy peasy. I’d done that routine a thousand times. Everything had tracked like clockwork until I’d hit the note scrawled in Gwen’s daily planner.

7.30 a.m. – Breakfast Fruit.

Feeding the little dude some fruit was a no-brainer, right?

Wrong.

I’d plopped Noah in his highchair, pulled out his favorite bowl with the monkeys on it, filled it with blueberries, and mashed them flat so he could scoff them down. He’d taken one look at the blueberries, and it was on like Donkey Kong.

The bowl— bam! Squeeze ya later!

Blueberries were out. Something else had been in his sights. Huffing baby grunts, he’d strained forward in his highchair, chubby fingers snatching for the fruit bowl. After getting the stink eye for holding up an avocado, I’d figured out he wanted a banana.

Awesome. Ten points to Team Daddy, right?

Wrong.

World War Fruit had raged on because I’d made the mistake of cutting the banana into chunks. Bam! The bowl had landed back on the floor, and the wails had started. Noah preferred the yellow menace whole .

Once his pudgy fingers had curled around his peeled banana, the tears had stopped, but even now, he kept a wary gaze on me.

“Your ’nana is safe, NoBo.” I palmed his fuzzy head. “Promise.”

I unclipped the pen from Gwen’s planner and struck a line through “breakfast fruit.” What was next? Gwen had mapped out the entire day.

Baby Rhyme Time — local library. Morning tea. Swimming lesson. Lunch. Afternoon nap. Stroller Squad.

What the hell was Stroller Squad?

I reached over and tickled Noah’s foot. “For a little dude who can’t talk yet, you sure have a hectic social calendar,” I joked.

He stared at me with big eyes.

Ouch. Tough crowd. “You miss your mama?”

He blinked.

“Yeah, me too.” I rested my chin on my fist and watched him gum his banana.

“She’s pretty awesome, your mama. She gives the best hugs.

I used to cuddle with her and watch TV shows about an old lady who solved murder mysteries.

Your mama always guessed the murderer in about a second, but she never spoiled the ending for me. ”

The weight of a simple memory dragged me down. I slumped on the stool next to Noah’s highchair.

He held out his banana. “Ba?”

His pudgy fist was squeezing my heart, and not just his banana. He was the best little dude. Grinning, I leaned over and pretended to gobble a bit off the end. He snatched it back with a giggle.

My sigh was so heavy I felt it in my bones. “I miss her. I don’t know how I let everything run so far off the rails, NoBo. She’s my dream girl. I love your mama so fucking much .”

Noah blinked.

“Uh.” I darted a guilty look around the kitchen. “Don’t tell her I said a curse word in front of you, okay? I’m already in big trouble.”

Noah held out his banana again. “Ba?”

This time, I leaned over and nibbled off the top.

Noah’s tiny mouth dropped open, and he stared at his banana. His chubby chin wrinkled. His face scrunched up. And then the wailing started.

Minus one thousand points to Team Daddy.

It was going to be a long day.

I ticked Noah’s nap off the list in the daily planner. My knees were about ready to buckle. I’d happily collapse in a heap and take a nap with him if that were an option. How did Gwen do this day in and day out?

Running around between Noah’s social events was exhausting enough, but there was no downtime even when I was at home chilling.

You needed two eyes on that wriggler. I couldn’t go to the bathroom without hauling him along to make sure he didn’t get up to mischief.

The little dude couldn’t crawl yet, but he rolled like a champion.

A few flips across the floor and anything not pinned down would end up in his mouth… including my banana.

I’d just flopped on the couch when my phone buzzed with a message from Gwen.

Fair Lady Gwendolyn

Last-minute interview. Can you take the rest of the afternoon off work?

More time with Noah? Hell yeah! I was already responding when my phone buzzed again.

Don’t worry. I can call in a favor with Marnie.

Almost dumbstruck, I gaped at my phone. I’d already taken the whole day off work.

Judy had spat the dummy and ranted and raved at me for nearly ten minutes when I’d told her to reschedule my patients.

But how many times had I prioritized work over my family?

Too many. It showed in Gwen’s message. She didn’t trust me to have her back when she needed someone.

I quickly typed my reply.

Toby

Off all day. Everything’s going great here.

I grimaced. Kind of a lie.

Slay the dragons, my fair lady. Good luck!

I wanted to end the message with lovey-dovey good wishes, x’s, and o’s, but my finger paused over the screen. I didn’t want to derail Gwen. Getting a job was important to her. No, it was more than important. Chasing her dreams was everything .

I’d caught a glimpse of the old Gwen standing in the doorway that morning. Confident, all done up in her suit, hands on her hips, ready to take on the world—that was the woman I remembered. My heart had soared. I hadn’t seen her eyes spark with determination like that in—hell—more than a year.

I missed her.

That Gwen had disappeared the night she’d walked through the front door with her work stuff in a box.

I thought she’d bounce back, but it was as if she’d hidden that part of her life between the certificates she’d taken off the wall, stuffed it in the garage with the rest of our junk, and forgotten about it.

Falling back against the couch, I stared at the ceiling like so many other times in the last year. My thoughts spun. Gwen hadn’t forgotten a damn thing. Time had stopped that night. We were frozen. Stuck.

Why?

Frustration tugged at my nerves. How could I fix this? Us? I had nothing in my toolbox. No strategies. My parents hadn’t set the best example. My father used to disappear for weeks when shit hit the fan and find his solutions in the company of other women.

My rueful laugh barked into the empty living room.

I’d done the same thing. I was my father.

The clinic had given me an excuse to disappear when jokes and orgasms hadn’t fixed Gwen.

The attention I’d craved was easy enough to find elsewhere.

Gwen needed proof she could trust me with the secrets eating her up inside, and I’d failed to hand her the receipts.

One more flaw on my list to talk about with the psychologist.

I zipped Noah’s buggy down the concrete path. My feet ached from a busy day of laundry, cooking, and Gwen’s never-ending to-do list. Only one thing was left—Stroller Squad.

I glanced around the park. The sun warmed my skin, just enough breeze kicking up for me to pat myself on the back for stuffing Noah’s coat in the baby bag.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. I swung around the bend.

A group of women gathered under one of the gazebos.

A few more—and a guy—stretched out on blankets scattered over the grass.

Some had babies propped on their hips, and a neat row of strollers was parked nearby.

This must be the right place …

I wheeled closer, and one by one, the women turned, narrowing their eyes on me.

“I thought Gwen was joking,” one muttered.

Uh-oh.

A woman with a blonde ponytail bounced over. She waved at the stroller. “Hi, Noah!” Her huge smile faded into a glare when she looked up at me. “And… you .”

My eyes darted over the sea of scowling faces. I swallowed, but my throat was drier than Noah’s fresh diaper. I’d never set eyes on a single one of them, but they sure as hell knew who I was.

“Um…” I gulped. “Hey.”

The guy in the group jumped in front of the angry mob. His dark hair was neatly combed back, and he wore the stylish dad’s uniform of jeans, a black tee, and a blazer. His scare factor was minimal compared to the mums glaring at me from the gazebo.

A shy smile broke across his face. “Hey, mate.” He pushed his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose. “First time here on your own?”

“First time here ever,” I admitted.

The guy pointed at a chunky baby with a shock of dark hair crawling around on a picnic blanket.

“That’s my son over there. Alfie’s the one munching on a—” He did a double-take.

“Far out . I’m pretty sure that’s a stick.

Can’t leave ’em for a second, right?” He rolled his eyes and stuck out his hand. “I’m Zach.”

I didn’t think twice before shaking his hand. “Nice to meet you, Zach.” Thank Christ for the olive branch. “Toby.”

“Yeah, I know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone here, uh, kind of knows you.”

“Sure seems that way.”

“Gwen asked everyone to play nice, but… You know how it is.”

I stared at him blankly. I really didn’t.

Zach grimaced and added, “Word travels fast in the group chat.”

“Oh, is that what Stroller Squad is? You guys have a group chat?”

Zach nodded. “My wife set it up. Eden. She thought it was important for mums and dads to connect and get out of the house. And I say ‘dads’ like there are hundreds of us or something. I’m currently Token Dad.

” His laugh was bright and easy. “We catch up every second Monday and talk baby stuff. The kids are a bit young to play together yet, but it’s good for them to socialize early, you know? ”

I didn’t know. I had no bloody idea.

“Come over.” Zach nodded at the blanket. “Hang out for a bit.”

I bent down and unstrapped Noah from his buggy, his arms and legs flapping before I plopped him next to the other baby.

Zach wrestled the stick from Alfie’s stubborn fist and replaced it with a rusk hidden in his pocket.

His eyebrow rose when he produced a second, and after I lifted a shoulder to say, “Sure,” he passed it to Noah. The guy was Pro Dad.

“So,” Zach said. “Gwen’s got job interviews today?”

“Yeah, how’d you—”

“The group chat.” He let out a low chuckle. “ Nothing escapes the group chat.”

I swallowed. “Nothing?” I darted a glance at the women still glaring a hole into the back of my head.

“Nothing.”

“So… you guys… all know …?”

Zach’s beaming face turned serious. “Yeah, mate. We all know. Eden, uh… I love that schemer to bits, but she may have been the reason the ad for the yard sale picked up a bit of steam.” He threw me an apologetic look. “How are you holding up?”

My surprise shot my eyebrows into my hair. I probably didn’t deserve anyone to care about how I was doing, but he was one of the few people who’d asked. “Yeah, I’m fine, man.”

“Fine…or…?”

“I mean…” I shrugged. “I made a choice that destroyed my life. I’m as good as I can be after that happens, I guess.”

“The most important thing is to focus on what’s best for Noah.” He nodded at the boys rolling around on the blanket. “Coming today is a good step. You’ll have other chances too. What’s your plan for when Gwen goes back to work?”

“What do you mean?”

“Legal work is a lot of long hours and sacrifices.” His authoritative tone suggested he knew all about it. “You’ll have to step up unless you have a team to help share the load. You got a big family?”

I shook my head. “Gwen and I are pretty much flying solo on this parenting gig.”

Zach’s dark brows furrowed. “Friends?”

“They’re in a different spot in their life right now.”

Were Ian and I even still friends?

I was angry with him about the party, and he was distant. Our lifelong friendship had been reduced to raising our chins to acknowledge each other in the corridors at the clinic, and nothing more.

Trouble was bubbling under the surface. Was the problem him…or me?

We’d probably punch it out at some point.

Resorting to fists was a tried and tested method of clearing the air between us.

Well, I punched at about a quarter of my full strength to give the poor guy a chance.

Once, when we were about sixteen, he’d crash-tackled me to the ground and landed a few decent hits on me.

Christ, what had that argument been over?

Gwen.

Ian had wanted to ask her to the school dance. Over my dead body. She’d just started letting me hold her hand. I’d strode to the bus stop like a peacock with my chest puffed out when everyone gawked at the sight of her fingers woven with mine. One of my best days ever.

Fuck Ian.

The thought hit me like a freight train. I sucked in a breath. We’d been friends for over twenty years, but if we weren’t locked into the clinic together, would we still be friends now?

The answer roared in my brain. No .

Zach’s hand clasped my shoulder. “You okay, mate?”

“Yeah.” I had to be okay. I was good ol’ reliable Toby. Nothing was ever wrong with me. “All good, man. Just…you know…lots going on.”

“You want to talk about it? I don’t want to add any more fuel to the flames.” He grimaced. “But if you’ve got time tonight once you drop Noah home, let’s catch up for a beer or two.”

“Beer, um…” I was sticking to my vow—no more alcohol.

“Soda? Juice? I also make a mean milkshake.”

I laughed. “By whose rating?”

“My very particular three-year-old’s. So, what do you say?”

“You’d really want to hang out? With me ?”

“Yeah. I need to make sure you come back, right?” He laughed. “I’m tired of being Token Dad.”

I couldn’t help laughing with him.

Maybe I had a friend after all.