Relief poured through him at the escape she provided. “Yes.” He followed her into the kitchen.
“Breastfeeding is a perfectly natural and normal thing,” Zita commented as she turned on the stove.
“I know,” he said. “But where am I supposed to look?”
“The baby’s head covers most of the breast, so you don’t need to worry. Looking at Elena is fine. If she was uncomfortable she would have gone out of the room to feed, but in Guatemala no one makes a fuss about these things.”
“I haven’t spent a lot of time around babies.”
“I can tell,” Zita said with a grin.
He laughed. “That obvious, huh?” He was fascinated by how calm and patient Zita was, particularly with how tired she was. “So you’ve had a lot of experience with this?”
“Five babies so far,” she said. “We help those who want to keep the child and arrange adoptions if necessary.” She stirred the pot of chili.
It was another aspect of the immigration process he’d not known about. As the girls gathered in the dining room, he asked, “Can I help with anything?”
“Can you grab the jug of iced tea from the refrigerator?” Rich aromas of chili filled the air and David sniffed in appreciation as he did as she asked.
When they were all sitting down, and Zita had introduced him, she said grace and they started eating.
“Have you got any homework this weekend?” Zita asked.
Larissa grimaced. “Math and English.”
“Same here,” Tiana said.
“Do you need any help?”
David smiled. He remembered his father asking if he’d done his homework, though he couldn’t recall any offer of help.
“The math is difficult. I don’t understand it,” Larissa complained.
“Neither do I,” Zita muttered. “We’ll work it out together.”
“I can help,” David offered. “Numbers are my thing,” he reminded Zita when she stared at him.
“That would be great,” she said. “It won’t take nearly as long with you helping.”
Elena came into the room, holding Xaviera.
“Let me take her while you eat,” Zita said, getting to her feet and taking the baby from Elena.
“Thank you.”
The baby was calm now, her eyes wide as she lay in Zita’s arms. She was so unbelievably tiny, with her arms and legs tucked up in the blanket.
Zita glanced at David as she sat back down. “Do you want to hold her?”
“Hell no.” He held his hands up. “I’d probably break her, she’s so small.”
The girls laughed at him.
“You get used to it,” Elena said, dishing herself up some chili.
“Not up to the challenge?” Zita teased him.
“Nope,” David said, quite happy to admit he was out of his depth. But Zita wasn’t. The way she rocked the baby was unconscious and natural. She’d obviously had plenty of practice. She’d make a good mother one day.
