“Peepee teepee?” I repeat. “Jesus, I have a lot to learn.” I stare at the mess on the table and muse, “Do they make those for adults?”
She shrugs. “Just seems like one more thing to get in the way. Kid or adult.”
I laugh. “Will you get his diaper on while I go get some clothes?”
She shakes her head. “You get his diaper on. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
I clench my jaw. I’m not used to being so goddamn far out of my element, and it makes me uneasy. I’m used to living life how I want. I’m not used to having to ask for help. “I don’t know how.”
“You do. Give it a try.”
“I did, and I got pissed on,” I hiss. She’s close enough that she’ll take over if I walk out, so I do.
I’m paying her to do this for me, not to make me feel like I’m incapable of doing it myself.
I take a quick shower to rinse the smell of urine off and pull out some clean clothes, and when I’m dressed, I find her and Jack in the family room on another play structure. This time Jack is sitting upright and slamming his hands on a part of the play gym that starts playing a song every time he hits it, so we’re getting the same note on repeat since he’s hitting it over and over while she absently scrolls her phone.
Truth be told, I’m starting to get a headache, and I’m not paying her to scroll. I’m about to snap about that when she looks up at me.
“Can we take him to a playground?” she asks. “Fresh air would be good for him, and then we won’t have to listen to this nonsense. I found a few nearby we can try.” She flashes her phone at me to show me the proximity of all the playgrounds nearby.
I’m glad I didn’t snap, and her question goes another long fucking way to make me feel like a dick.
I’m hoping at some point I can get my shit together, but it doesn’t seem like that day is today.
CHAPTER 7: Ainsley Riggs
Birdie
I can’t help when my eyes edge over to the speedometer in his car.
He’s going sixty-two. Sixty-two! The speed limit here is forty-five. There is literally no reason he needs to be weaving in and out of traffic and changing lanes every two seconds to get one car ahead. We’re just out on a leisurely drive to take the baby to a park, and he’s driving like his wife’s going into labor and he’s going to miss the birth or something.
But I refuse to be a backseat driver, especially when he seems to be easily angered by my words.
I can’t imaginewhyhe’s angry, but it seems like he keeps storming out of the room like a child whenever I’m around. Either that or he uses sarcasm as a shield. I’m getting the sense he doesn’t really know how to ask for help, but I’m also trying to get him to see that he’s perfectly capable of all the things he thinks he can’t do.
It’s a weird line to straddle, and we’re all just doing our best. Me included.
The tires screech as he comes to a stop on the side of the road by the park, and I walk around to the driver’s side to get the baby out of the back of the car, where he’s happily cooing in his car carrier.
I won’t get into all the swearing that occurred as Dex installed the base for the car carrier, but there was definitely some colorful language before the task was complete.
I unbuckle the baby and grab him into my arms, and I remember hearing once that you’re supposed to narrate to babies so they can hear your voice and start associating sounds with words, so I chat with him as I carry him toward the playground.
“Do you see the blue slides? There are three of them. Two are straight, and one is twirly. Do you want to go down the twirly one on my lap? I’ve always loved twirly slides, and there’s nobody else here, so we can do whatever we want.”
Dex is a few feet behind us. “Are you talking to me? Because if you want me to ride your lap, I won’t say no.”
My cheeks heat in total mortification that he thought I was issuing an invitation to him. I wasn’t. In fact, I haven’t issued that particular invitation toanybodyyet, let alone a very experienced bad boy who’s eleven years older than me. “I was talking to the baby.”
“Why? He can’t understand you.” He shrugs, and if he’s embarrassed by his sexual innuendo from a moment ago, he doesn’t show it.
“The more he hears words, the more he’ll start to understand them,” I mutter as I try to pull myself together. Honestly, not looking directly at him helps.
“I guess that makes sense.”
“But to address your other question, I don’t want you to ride my lap,” I say, and as soon as the words are out, I have literally no idea why I said them.
