As I cuddle the baby, I remember how Rory held me earlier. I was surprised by how much I needed that hug, as unexpected as it was. As kids, we'd hugged all the time. But ever since I walked back into Rory's life, there's been a physical distance, even though we're trying to work on closing the emotional gap. But the way he hugged me reminded me of a more innocent time. A time when I didn't know monsters existed. When I thought Rory and I would be best friends forever. How quickly things changed. Yet as I sit here alone, he's the person I want to call. I can’t because he’ll be at work, but it doesn't stop me from wanting to. His voice makes me feel safe. And he has answers where I have none.
When the baby wakes, the water's cool enough to make a bottle. He fusses at the teat for a while but eventually drinks it all. I wind him—another thing I have to look up on the internet—and then rock him in my arms until he settles. I'm almost falling asleep when Niamh returns. She stands in the doorway, staring at the baby and me, her chin quivering.
"How long has he been asleep?" she asks.
"About an hour."
“That probably means he'll wake up as soon as you go."
“Do you want me to stay the night?"
Niamh shakes her head. "It's not like you can stay every night. If I get used to you being here twenty-four seven, it’ll be harder to do this alone when you get tired of playing happy families.”
“Niamh—”
She puts her hand up. “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I’m saying a lot of things I’m going to regret after I’ve managed to get some sleep. It would just be easier if we were together, you know?”
“I do, but you said it yourself. We can't get back together for the sake of the baby."
"I know." She rubs her temples. "I know. See if you can settle him in his Moses basket. I'll sleep while he does. You should go back to wherever you're staying and get some rest. Will you come back tomorrow?"
"Of course. I told you I'll be here as much as you want me."
"Thank you."
I lay the baby in the Moses basket. He doesn't stir. I put a blanket over him, tucking it around him, making sure it doesn't come up past his armpits. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm sure Niamh feels the same way.
"Can we talk about his name?" I ask.
"Not now."
"Then when?"
"Maybe tomorrow. Why don't you think about what you'd like to call him?"
"We should choose a name together," I reiterate. "He's our baby. Not just yours, not just mine. Ours."
“I said we could talk about it tomorrow," she snaps. "I'm too tired now. There's no need to rush."
I don't want to argue with her, so I nod. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
"If you need help during the night, call me. I'll keep my phone close."
"I can cope."
"I never said you couldn't, but as you said, you're tired. You’re also tense. I'm sure the baby can pick up on that. Maybe that's why he wouldn't settle for you."
“Are you saying it's my fault? That I'm a bad mam?”
Why did I have to say something so stupid? “No. Of course not. You're a great mam."
Niamh sits on the bed. "Am I?"
"Of course."
"I'm not sure, Callan."
