“Yes. Much calmer.” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to ignore the way my heart is still racing.
“Maybe he just needed both of us,” Jordan says.
“He might be going through a sleep regression. Or he could be missing his mom.”
The words hang in the air between us. Jordan’s expression shifts, becoming guarded in a way that makes me immediately regret bringing it up.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “That’s not my business.”
“It’s fine.” But his tone suggests it’s anything but. “You’re probably right. This is all new for him too.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes my chest ache. New for Henry. Not temporary. Not until his mom comes back from wherever she is.
I study Jordan’s face, looking for clues I probably have no right to seek. The exhaustion is obvious, but there’s something else underneath it. Worry that goes deeper than new-baby tiredness. Fear that feels bigger than normal new-parent anxiety.
“Jordan,” I start, then stop myself. Whatever’s going on with Henry’s mother isn’t something Jordan wants to discuss, and pushing will only make him pull away.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.
Henry turns his head to look at Jordan, making soft baby sounds that might be his version of conversation. Jordan’s expression immediately softens, and he reaches out to touch Henry’s tiny hand.
“He seems so much happier when you’re here,” Jordan says. “Maybe itisthat you’re a woman. You know, like you said about missing his mom.”
The way he says it makes me think he’s testing the words, seeing how they sound out loud. Like he’s trying to convince himself of something.
It reminds me of being seven years old, making excuses for why my parents hadn’t come home yet. They’re just running errands. They’ll be back soon. They’re probably stuck in traffic.
The memory hits me harder than I expect, and I have to take a deep breath to push it away. I was an adult before I finally admitted to myself that my parents’ disappearances weren’t about traffic or errands. They were about a lifestyle that didn’t include consistent parenting.
I look at Jordan, at the genuine concern in his eyes when he watches Henry, at the way he’s clearly trying so hard despite being completely out of his depth. Whatever situation brought Henry to him, it’s not the same as what I experienced as a kid.
At least… I hope not.
Maybe I’m just kidding myself and seeing what I want to.
“Maybe,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “Or maybe he’s just responding to someone who’s calm and well-rested.”
Jordan laughs, but it sounds hollow. “Well-rested. That’s something I need to remember how to do.”
“When’s the last time you showered?”
“Yesterday morning. I think.”
“Go shower. Take your time. Henry and I will be fine.”
“Are you sure? What if he starts crying again?”
“Then I’ll handle it. That’s what you’re paying me for.”
Jordan hesitates, clearly torn between his need for basic self-care and his reluctance to leave Henry with someone else.
“Go,” I insist. “Fifteen minutes. The world won’t end.”
After Jordan heads upstairs, I settle more comfortably on the couch with Henry. He’s completely content now, playing with my fingers and making happy baby sounds.
“What’s your story, little guy?” I whisper. “Where’s your mama?”
Henry just looks at me with those serious dark eyes, as if he understands the question but doesn’t have the words to answer.
