Chapter 18
eighteen
EMILY
Livvy is a psychic baby.
I didn’t know babies could be psychic but Livvy’s the most awesome baby in the world and she’s psychic.
She’s quiet and alert from the moment she wakes up at 7:05—Gracie’s amazing schedule at work—staring at me the way she stared at Cappa.
I lean in as we dress her so she can see my face clearly.
She blinks and grins her gummy grin but doesn’t coo or gurgle.
When I blow kisses at her, she puckers her lips like she’s blowing kisses back but doesn’t even giggle.
“She’s quiet this morning,” Logan remarks as he carries her downstairs.
The house is as quiet as the baby. Bren and Mac ate an early breakfast and left for her shop. Master Mac wanted to get in a run and a shower before he opens his daycare, where Livvy’s going for the first time today.
While we share whole wheat bagels and lox from the deli down the street for breakfast, Daddy watches the morning news and I curl up next to him on the couch with Livvy on my lap.
She blows milky bubbles but still doesn’t make a sound.
Sable hops up next to me and extends a tentative white paw, batting gently at the fringe of tiny pompoms on the hem of Livvy’s dress.
I praise him until his rusty purr starts up and I get a whiff of his breath.
It smells like a sewer bursting. Sweet baby Jesus.
“Daddy, you gave him an oatmeal cookie, didn’t you?”
Daddy crosses his heart. “I swear I didn’t. Although I also admit that I didn’t put the plate in the fridge, either.”
There were at least three oatmeal cookies on the plate when Daddy carried me upstairs last night. There weren’t any left when I put it in the dishwasher while I was making breakfast. I glare at my cat. He freezes with his paw in mid-air.
Livvy suddenly rips out a fart. The first sound she’s made today.
Daddy chuckles.
“Are you sympathetically stinky, baby?” I ask Livvy.
The smell hits us both and Daddy begins to guffaw. Men and bodily functions, I swear.
“Goodness gracious! We’re doing a diaper check after that one, Livvy-bit,” I tell the baby.
She grins.
“I see you inherit your sense of humor from Daddy.”
Once she’s in a fresh diaper, I bundle Livvy up and pop her in her stroller for the walk to Brenna’s shop. I leave Daddy in his office, planning something nefarious with Max. Sable follows me to the front door, meowing.
“Do you want to take a walk, boy? Might help your tummy.” I retrieve the walking harness that Daddy got for Sable. My kitty takes one look at it, hisses, and darts under the couch.
“I think that’s a no,” I tell Livvy, hanging the harness on the coat rack.
I’ve tried putting it on Sable to wear around the house a few times.
It’s gotten me the same reaction. Bren says he has separation anxiety and doesn’t like me leaving the house but he won’t come with me.
I just don’t think he’s a kitty who goes on walks.
Livvy waves her mittened fists at me noiselessly. I offer her a paci but she spits it out and watches me gravely.
“It’s like that today, is it, baby-boo?” I ask, shrugging into my coat. “Should we have a quiet day or would you like me to sing to you? I have to warn you that my voice isn’t nearly as good as Daddy’s.”
Big eyes from the silent baby.
I start humming the first song that comes to mind as I carry her stroller down the front steps and steer it onto the sidewalk.
It’s “The Bare Necessities.” I don’t know why my mind’s picked that to be our theme song for today but I know all the words and sing softly as I wheel the stroller down East Second Street.
When I get to the corner and pause for the light, breaking into the chorus, I hear a little giggle from the stroller.
Grinning, I up the volume and ignore the strange looks I get from the pedestrians I pass.
A gray-haired gentleman waiting for the light at the corner of Tompkins Square Park sings along with me for a moment.
I smile and wave at him when I steer the stroller into the park and around the basketball court.
I’ve noticed girls playing more and more recently and I want Livvy to see girls playing sports from an early age, so I stop for a minute and let her watch.
I don’t think she can see details at that distance but her eyes do follow the play down the court, so maybe she can see movement or color or something.
Before we leave the park, I check to make sure Livvy’s fingers and toes are toasty and offer her a paci again, which she spits out.
“Is it the silent treatment today, Livvy?” I ask her. “Have I done so very wrong?”
She grins at me but still not a coo or a burble.
We head out again, into a wind that bites at my cheeks and carries the smell of snow over the city’s exhaust and concrete odors.
“Wouldn’t a white Christmas be cool for your first Christmas?
” I ask the baby rhetorically, then break into “I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas,” which wins me a tiny coo.
Happy that I’ve snared the baby with Bing, I segue into “The Little Drummer Boy” as I turn the corner and see Bren’s sign in the distance.
She had it repaired and repainted after it was smashed by the baddies who stole her design book and tried to shut her down.
It proudly proclaims “Missing Ink” in neon to everyone who passes by.
There’s a small group of people waiting at the shop’s front door.
It’s mixed adults and children, including two babies, which makes me smile.
Livvy will have company. Master Mac’s daycare filled up shockingly quickly considering he didn’t advertise.
Brenna’s tattooist enrolled her littlest and told her friends.
Before Master Mac could blink, all eight places were filled and he had a double-digit waiting list.
When I join the group waiting at the door, Livvy lets out an ear-piercing wail.
I rush to soothe her. A woman pushes through the crowd and stands over the stroller. For a moment, I think she’s going to help me.
Then I look up into her cornflower blue eyes.
I stand up quickly and pull the stroller back two steps. Livvy screams.
“Miranda.”
Her eyes are fixed on the wailing baby. “She needs me.”
I shake my head. “No, she doesn’t. She’s fine.”
Miranda clutches her leather-gloved hands to her chest, rubbing. “She needs her mother to nurse her. Don’t keep me from my baby.”
Her words ripple through the crowd and a lot of eyes turn toward us. They’re not friendly eyes.
I have five panic buttons within reach, because Daddy is who he is.
And I’ll be getting a text any second asking if I’m okay because of the heart rate monitor.
If I summon him, he’d be here in ten minutes.
Or less, knowing Daddy. Brenna’s just on the other side of the shop door and Master Mac’s upstairs. Help’s in easy reach.
But I don’t need their help. I take out Livvy’s paci and give it to her. Thank goodness she accepts it this time and sucks on it tearfully. I straighten my spine, keeping my hand on the stroller handle, positioning my body between Miranda and the baby.
“Logan told you to stay away, Miranda,” I say. “He has full custody and he doesn’t want you near Livvy.”
She blinks those big blue eyes and tears roll down her cheeks. “Emily, you’re a woman. You know he’s being a monster. I’m her mother. Please, let me hold her. Let me nurse her. I’m in so much pain without her.”
I swallow hard, because it does feel a little cruel to block Miranda completely from Livvy’s life. But that’s the rule and I obey Daddy’s rules.
“I’m sorry, Miranda. No. Daddy told you no. I’m telling you no. You’re not allowed near Livvy or me. You should leave.”
It’s only after the words are out of my mouth that I realize I’ve called Logan “Daddy” in public. In front of a group of people entrusting their children to Daddy’s friend. But I don’t try to take it back. Logan is my Daddy. I won’t let Miranda kink-shame me.
Miranda cries, big gasping sobs that seem fake to me but there’s no way I’m going to accuse her of acting.
Not in front of this crowd that could so easily swing against me.
I totally understand how Shannie felt. This situation is teetering, dangerous.
My breath is coming in small pants and I feel like crying, too.
But I don’t. I’m a fierce, white dragon standing tall, protecting my baby dragon.
I’m not scared of the Mir-witch. She can’t hurt me. Her tears are fake. Her words are lies.
“I think you should go, Miranda,” I say.
With a rattle, the door on the other side of the crowd bursts open. Brenna rushes out onto the sidewalk in a flurry of bright blue dreadlocks and oxblood leather.
“Miranda, get the hell out of here,” Bren growls.
Miranda blots at her wet cheeks with the backs of her gloves before holding them up in surrender. “I just want to see my baby.”
“You saw her,” Brenna says, her low voice going even lower. She almost sounds like Daddy. She herds people into her shop, even though all eyes remain riveted on our little drama. “Now go. And if I find you loitering near my place of business again, I’ll call the cops.”
“No, there’s no need,” Miranda says, blinking and talking in a low, sweet tone. Like she’s the victim trying to soothe the crazy tattooed bully. “I’ll go. I’m not trying to make trouble. I just wanted to see my baby.”
She backs up a few steps but it doesn’t look like she’s actually going anywhere. Certainly not fast. Bren makes it to me, grabs me with one hand and the stroller handle with the other, and pulls us into the shop. She shuts the door firmly.
I sigh and let the colorful, familiar interior calm me. Brenna grabs me and hugs me hard. “You okay?”
I hug her back, then bend over to check on Livvy. She’s sucking on her paci, looking around with interest. No tears. When she sees my face, she wriggles and waves her fists at me.