“Josie, I don’t know what to do about this,” Nate says, sitting down on the toilet and putting his head in his hands.
“Why you have to do anything about it? The situation is handled.” Sure, it was a stupid decision, but the result was the same. The drugs are in Ridge’s hands now. And no one will be the wiser about what happened.
Nate shakes his head. “You don’t understand. This stuff always has repercussions.”
Emma splashes her hands in the tub and then her little body lurches over and the worst baby olive-green vomit projectiles out of her mouth like my child has been possessed by the same demon who stars in theExorcistmovies. Green goo covers the front of the bathtub and I reach into the water getting the second round of puke all over my arm. The water turns the most disgusting shade of green and I gag, grabbing her out of the tub while splashing the liquid on the floor.
“Oh my gosh, Emma. What happened?” I ask, searching the bathroom for a towel.
Nate jumps up from the toilet with a towel in one hand and takes Emma from me, wrapping her up. “Drain the water from the tub and then use the shower head to wash it out. I’ll clean her up with a wipe and put her in some pajamas in case she throws up again.”
He marches Emma out of the bathroom, leaving me to deal with the sticky green cleanup as he sweetly talks to her in a calming voice about how she’s going to be okay and that he’s got her.
My heart melts at the situation — a moment of happiness mixed in with worry over my daughter and trying to remember where I stashed the thermometer the last time I needed it. All the happy feelings disappear when I turn back and see the spreading green glop as it takes over the rest of the clear liquid in the tub. How did I get stuck with this part of cleanup?
“Don’tyou need to work this week?” Nate asks, leaning over my bed and lacing his black chunky work boots he wears every day.
I lie back on the bed, readjusting my head on the pillow as I pull the covers up around my shoulders. “No, I got through to my boss, but he said the temp worker who replaced me is scheduled for the week so I could take another one off.” There isn’t money in the payroll for us both.
Honestly, I was a little upset at first when he told me they didn’t want to take the hours away from my temporary placement, but my doctor’s note covers me for the rest of the week and I’ve enjoyed being able to stay home with Emma. You miss out on so many little things during the day when you’re working. My ankle is feeling better than even I expected, and by next week I’ll be ready to go back. Plus, Emma will feel better by then.
“What are you doing at work today?” I ask him every day but he never tells me.
He did tell me he’d have to run a few “trips” this week. He didn’t elaborate on what the trips were, and even though I’m dying to know, I’m doing my best not to ask. We’re a hot minute into this relationship. I don’t want to become the crazy girlfriend all up in his business.
There’s a small thread nagging in my brain and warning me that I should worry his trips are to a secret wife or prettier girlfriend, but I work to bash the horrible thoughts down to the far reaches of my brain. Nate doesn’t seem like the cheating type. Plus, I’m sure you have to be with someone for more than a week before they’re allowed to cheat.
I’m perfectly aware I have trust issues after the divorce — I gave a therapist a lot of money to tell me this many times before I believed it — but I didn’t expect them to show their ugly heads so soon. There’s a small possibility I’m not as grown-up, mature, and rational as I once believed.
I watch him bend over to tie his other shoe, the muscles in his back stretched across his bare skin enough to make me wish we could stay home and lie in bed together all day. But then Emma cries out and he stands, promising to get her.
Great muscles and he takes care of a child. Could any woman ask for more?
Probably more than a crazy woman with trust issues who rides around in a car full of cocaine with two girls from the downtown bakery.
I havegotto get my life together.
Starting today I will be the perfect mom and girlfriend. I’ll even make some cookies. Cookies make everything better, damn it. I’ll do my hair like my mom always says how it looks cute when I wear it half up and find a dress that makes me look matronly, maybe something a little 1950s era.
“Her head feels cooler, and she acts like she feels better today,” Nate says, setting Emma on my lap.
I woke up with her around eleven, gave her more meds, and rocked her back to sleep. At two the sound of her shushed cries rattled me again. I felt my side and found the bed empty. Nate held her in his arms gently, pacing with her in the middle of her bedroom and whispering sweet nothings.
If I hadn’t been so tired and ready to fall back to sleep right there on the floor, my panties would have melted off. Screw looking at half-naked firemen holding puppies online. All I need is a mental image of Nate being tender to Emma for the rest of my life. He might not know how to do her hair, and he’s still unsuccessfully trying to teach her how not to fling spaghetti against the wall, but the man is amazing with a child who isn’t his own. Better than her actual father.
“Hello, sweetheart,” I coo and watch as Nate pulls on a black long-sleeve shirt and covers his chest up with a sleeveless vest. It might be Maine, but it’s the middle of the summer and he’s never dressed in layers before.
“What did you say you’re doing today?” I try again.
He wrestles with putting a watch on his left wrist, not turning back. “A little of this, a little of that.”
Fear, jealousy, and suspicion prick at my chest.
I will not go crazy and demand to know what he’s doing today.
I will not go crazy and question him before he leaves. That behavior makes me a psycho.
I take three long breaths and repeat the mantras to myself again. Nate has given me no reason to suspect him, and I won’t ruin a good thing because the asshole I married before screwed with our relationship and my brain.
