Never Ever Hand Us a Baby #2
"Jessie," Chip says over the hiss of the espresso machine, "he’s still acclimating. Start with a bookmark or something."
Jessie looks from me to the book in my hand. "He picked up book four," she calls back. "He can’t start on book four, it has to be book one."
"I'm not starting anything." I put the book down. "I don't read this stuff."
"But if you do, it needs to start with book one," Jessie says quieter, just to me this time. "Emotional damage deserves chronology."
She crosses over to a shelf without a word, runs one finger along the spines like she's playing an instrument, and pulls out a paperback. Worn at the corners. Used, then. Loved, even. She closes the distance for the first time and holds it out with both hands.
"This one's yours," she says.
"I don’t want a book."
"I know," she says, pleasant as anything, and keeps holding it out. "But it’s yours. I have a gift for this kind of thing. Knowing what book people need."
I take it because she's going to stand there until I do.
Prophecy Girl. A series title across the bottom reads The Five Orders, Book One.
I turn it over and skim the back.
A boy taken as a child by a secret order. Raised on rules and ritual, groomed his whole life into a weapon, taught that demons are everywhere and love is a liability he was built without.
Then a girl. A girl who looks at the weapon and sees the boy, who teaches him the one thing the order never did, that he is lovable, and by the last line of the copy he's breaking every rule he was raised on, breaking the entire order if he has to, because of how completely she loves him.
Everyone inside has gone very quiet.
"Consider it a free sample to get you hooked," Jessie says with a smile, then returns to shelving books from her cart.
I’ll take it, but I won’t read it.
I will, Three says.
Me too, Five adds.
I suppress the need to roll my eyes at the romantics jammed in here with the rest of us pragmatic personalities.
Sounds like good world building, Six adds.
You too? I groan.
"Isabelle," Snow calls, pulling my attention. Quickly, I shove the book in my hoodie pocket and head over to join Snow, who has already sucked down half of the largest iced coffee I’ve ever seen.
A full-figured woman holding a baby emerges from a back office, her wide-leg pants flowing as she moves. The baby reaches up and grabs at her brown bangs, and she dips her head lower, letting him catch them.
Something hooks behind my sternum.
She smiles down at him like getting her hair yanked by a tiny fist is the best thing that has happened to her all day.
Her pink shirt reads Hot Book Summer in wavy retro lettering, above a stack of paperbacks melting like a rainbow popsicle, colorful drips sliding down from the spines.
"Chip, would you mind finishing tallying up stock for our next reader event? I got about a third of the way through but..." She glances at the baby, who has now shoved one damp hand against her mouth.
"Aye aye, boss," Chip says, saluting before disappearing to the back.
A memory flickers. A hand smoothing our hair. A kiss pressed to our forehead. Mother’s voice, sweet and low, calling us her perfect boy.
Then later, her face drained of warmth, contorted by fear and despair. I try to shove those recollections deep down, but they squirm back up, raw.
"Gimme," Snow demands, reaching her hands out and making grabbing motions.
The woman laughs before extracting her hair from the baby’s hand and passing him over to Snow. She does it easily. No hesitation. No flinch. Like handing over the most precious thing she has is safe because Snow is safe.
"Who’s my best little man?" Snow coos in a baby voice. "Auntie Snow wants to squish your face off. You’re so cute."
Then she drops a dozen kisses on his face, rapid-fire, until he dissolves into peals of giggles.
The sound lodges somewhere under my ribs.
Snow presses her nose to his cheek. "We love you so much we’d cover up any crimes you committed, no matter how bad, wouldn’t we?"
The woman tries to suppress a smile and fails. "Stop trying to tell my kid it’s okay to murder and pillage."
Snow tilts the baby around, so they’re both looking at his mother.
It’s almost as if he understands the assignment and rounds his big brown eyes up at her in earnest alongside Snow.
"Don’t lie. With this face, you would absolutely cover up any murdering or pillaging your kid might happen to accidentally commit. "
The mother’s lips soften as adoration spills across her face.
I feel Seven shift, his dark pulling at me, a pressure blooming behind my eyes. I look away first, unable to swallow the twisting knot in my throat.
"Did you only come here to prime my baby to commit crimes?" Isabelle asks with an amused smile.
Snow’s mirth drops as she gives the baby one more squeeze, but this time the squeeze is a comfort she is taking for herself from the small chubby-faced baby who gladly gives her all she needs.
"Here," Snow says, passing the baby to me.
"I don’t—"
The kid lands in my arms before I can finish. Snow catches one of my elbows and adjusts it under him.
"Support his head," Then she abandons me, pulling Isabelle a few steps away.
The baby stares up at me.
I stare back.