ALEXA
Sunday evening settles around Jordan’s living room like a comfortable blanket. The credits of some animated movie roll across the TV screen while Ash sleeps curled up on the couch. He looks so peaceful, his face relaxed in a way that makes my heart swell with contentment. At home, his signed poster from yesterday already hangs framed on his bedroom wall in a place of honor, but I know he’s still riding the high of meeting his hero.
“I should wake him up and get him home,” I whisper to Jordan, who’s sitting at the end of the couch with Henry on his lap. “It’s getting late.”
“Let him sleep,” Jordan says quietly, adjusting the throw blanket over Ash’s shoulders. “He looks comfortable.”
“He probably didn’t get much sleep last night. He was so excited about meeting Camden Qisha that he kept talking about it until almost midnight.” I smile, remembering how he’d recounted every detail of their conversation for the third time as I tucked him in. “I think his brain was too wired to shut down.”
“I can imagine. That was pretty amazing, even for me.” Jordan’s expression softens as he watches Ash sleep. “He’s a good kid.”
“He is. And yesterday was incredible. Thank you, again, for making that happen.”
“It was worth it to see his face.”
Henry starts fussing in Jordan’s arms, making the scrunched-up expression that usually means one thing.
“Diaper time?” I ask.
Jordan nods, standing carefully so as not to wake Ash. “Definitely diaper time.”
We make our way quietly to the nursery, where Jordan has finally managed to assemble the changing table properly. He’s gotten much better at the mechanics of baby care over the past week, but there’s still something endearing about the careful way he approaches each task.
“You’re getting good at this,” I tell him as he lays Henry down and starts unfastening the diaper tabs.
“I’m getting better. There’s a difference.” Jordan reaches for a fresh diaper from the stack beside the changing pad. “A week ago, I would have been terrified to?—”
His words are cut off as Henry decides that exact moment is perfect for relieving himself. A perfect arc of baby pee shoots up from the changing table, missing Jordan’s face by inches and splashing against the wall behind him.
Jordan freezes, his eyes wide with shock, while Henry kicks his legs happily like he’s accomplished something important.
“Oh, no!” I gasp, then immediately start looking around for towels. “I’m so sorry. I should have warned you to keep him covered during changes.”
I expect Jordan to be frustrated, maybe a little grossed out. Instead, when I look back at him, he’s staring at the wet spot on the wall with an expression of complete bewilderment.
“Did he just…” Jordan points at the wall, then looks down at Henry, who’s gurgling contentedly. “Did he aim for that?”
“Babies don’t aim. But they do have excellent timing.” I hand him some wipes. “It’s like they wait for the exact moment when you’re not prepared.”
“The trajectory was actually pretty impressive,” Jordan says, and there’s something almost scientific in his tone. “I mean, considering his size and the distance…”
“Are you analyzing your nephew’s pee stream?”
“Maybe a little.”
And then we’re both laughing. It starts as quiet chuckles, so we don’t wake Ash, but it builds into the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. Jordan leans against the changing table, trying to catch his breath, while I cover my mouth with my hand to muffle the sound.
“I can’t believe that just happened,” Jordan says between laughs. “Five seconds earlier and I would have taken it right in the face.”
“Welcome to parenthood,” I manage to say. “Where bodily functions become a constant source of surprise.”
“Is this normal? The laughing-about-it part?”
“Completely normal. If you don’t learn to laugh about these things, you’ll go crazy.”
Jordan wipes down the wall while I finish changing Henry’s diaper, both of us still grinning. There’s something so natural about this moment, so easy and comfortable. Like we’re a team that’s been doing this together for years instead of just over a week.
But then something shifts in Jordan’s expression. The smile fades, replaced by something guarded and distant. He steps back from the changing table, suddenly focused on washing his hands at the small sink in the corner.
