“Thanks for hog-tying my escapee back there,” I say lamely, my voice coming out in a weird, husky croak thing. I blush again and drop my gaze from his. “I swear she lives up to the middle child stereotype.”
He chuckles again, tucking his hands into the front pockets of his jeans as I twist Penny in my arms so that she’s right-side-up again, and I set her down, keeping a firm grip on her hand. “Well, the offer still stands, just like every other time.”
Glancing down at Bea in her car seat, her cheeks finally filling out, I can’t help but feel so incredibly grateful for the man that lives next door, even if I’d rather the ground open up and swallow me whole than toevertalk about that night again. Or to admit that I may or may not have ateeny tinycrush. It’s pointless, anyway.
“Th-thanks,” I mutter, my voice shaking as I drop my eyes again. “Umm, anyway, I should get them inside?—”
He nods, then holds out his fist to Dalton, who fist bumps him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he stares up at Xander. I watch, fascinated as always, as he winks down at my son, then points a finger at Penny and says gently, “Quit running off on your mama. I know she’s told you to stay away from that creek. You could get hurt down there.”
Penny nods, her big brown eyes wide. He hunkers down in front of Bea’s car seat—and I swear my long shriveled up ovaries just about burst as I watch him—as he grins at my infant. She waves her little arms like crazy, a wide, toothless smilescrunching up her tiny face. “Good gravy Miss Bea, look how big you’re getting!”
From where he’s hunkered down in front of her, he turns his head to glance up at me, that same wide grin still stretching his face. His teeth are perfectly white and straight, another punch to the gut. Why is he so obnoxiously handsome?
“You did good, Teddy.”
God, the sound of my name on his lips is intoxicating. That low, gravelly rumble of his voice does something to my insides, turns my heart to thrumming and parts of me that haven’t been acknowledged in almost a year to awakening. I haven’t heard a man say my name in that husky, low tone in so long… Some days I forget my name is something other than some variation ofMom.
Flustered with my internal thoughts and praying he can’t read them on my foolishly blushing face, all I can do is nod and produce a shaky half-smile that feels more forced than anything. He straightens, standing to his full height again. I barely come up to his shoulder and have to tilt my head back to look at him, especially from this close. He nods once more, and then his tall frame disappears around the center partition that separates his half of the townhouse from ours, the muscles in his back and shoulders easily visible due to the DIY cut job on his t-shirt.
“Umm, Mom. I’m really sorry, I didn’t notice it until after you had run around the house to get Penny.” Dalton’s voice brings me back, and I glance down at him curiously. He holds up the diaper bag. “The top came off when the bottle fell out, and it went in the dirt.”
I sigh and pat his cheek gently. “It’s okay, Bud. It happens.”
I lug Bea in her car seat into the house behind Dalton and Penny, and try not to burst into tears as I dump the six ounces of contaminated breast milk down the sink after all.
Peeking into the bedroom, I let the light from the hallway illuminate a sliver of Dalton’s room. His sandy brown hair is tousled, but he’s sleeping peacefully. Closing the door as quietly as I’d opened it, I pad down to the door to the room that Penny and Bea share—though most nights Bea ends up in the bassinet next to my bed anyway. Penny is zonked out, lying diagonally across her new big girl bed that my brother had helped me put together last week. She’d picked out her new sheets and comforter—rainbow dinosaurs, of course—and is sleeping better, finally.
I’m sleeping better finally, too, having gotten her out ofmybed and into her own again.
Bea will wake in another couple hours for her middle of the night feed, but for now, I’m content to let her sleep in her crib. Maybe I can sneak a cool shower and wash off the sweat and grime from the day.
Sky Ridge, Washington has had record high temps this week, with no relief in sight, according to the meteorologist.
Stepping into the bathroom, I set the baby monitor on the bathroom sink, then turn the shower on, setting it to lukewarm. Istrip, tossing my sweaty and wrinkled clothes in the laundry basket in the corner. It’s overflowing, but I’m too exhausted to care tonight. Laundry with three kids—how do newborns go through so many outfits in a day?—is never ending.
If there is a Hell, it’s comprised of nothing but mountains of tiny human laundry for eternity, I’m sure.
Standing in front of the mirror, I can’t help but critique all the ways my body has changed since I had Dalton. I have wide set hips and more junk in the trunk than I’d like. Thick thighs that are dimpled with cellulite when I sit, but with a little self-tanner they look soft and smooth. I smooth my hands over my ribcage and over my stomach, the ‘mom pooch’ I still have ever the bane of my existence. I trace one of the more noticeable stretch marks on the right side of my belly button. Penny had given that one to me and it had never gone away, along with the myriad of new ones I’d acquired while carrying Bea earlier this year. My breasts are normally fairly small, but breastfeeding has made them fuller and heavy. I sigh, closing my eyes.
I shake myself out of the funk, taking my clear rimmed glasses off and setting them on the counter next to the baby monitor. I step into the shower, letting the lukewarm water cool me from the heat of the day.
Ugh. What a day.
Some days are easy and I lull myself into a false sense of security that I can do this on my own… and other days, my kids are uncivilized heathens. Those days I usually cry myself to sleep, because dammit, this ishard.
I stare down at the simple white gold band that still sits on my left ring finger, the water dripping from my fingers. I took my engagement ring off two months ago, placing it in the jewelry box on my dresser, but I can’t bring myself to take off my wedding band. Not yet. It feels so final, like if I take it off, Ihaveto admit that he’s gone. That he’s not going to walk through the front door, no matter how many times I wish for it to happen.
I can hear her crying through the wall.
I lean back and let the back of my head thump against the wall that separates my bathroom from what I know is her bathroom. The sound of the shower running is muted, an almost imperceptible thrum through the thin walls. The deep, wracking sobs are more pronounced, and make my chest ache.
She doesn’t let herself cry for long, though. She never does. Mere minutes later the worst of it subsides, and then quiets altogether. The water shuts off, and I force my mind away from the thought of my best friend’s younger sister stepping out of the shower, naked and wet, just on the other side.
I blow out a heavy exhale and let my chin fall forward so that I’m staring at the floor between my feet, my hands shoved into the front pockets of my jeans. I will my body not to react to the thought of her naked, but I know it’s a lost cause, even if the self-loathing that accompanies it is soul crushing.
She’d looked so damn pretty today; honey blonde hair messily tied up on top of her head, her glasses sliding down the ridge of her nose, cheeks flushed from the summer heat. The dark purple biker shorts she favors delineated every delicious,thick curve of her body, all soft and grabbable. Her tee was paper thin and clung to her body, the wide neckline slipping off one sun kissed shoulder as she’d bolted after her escapee toddler. The outline of her sports bra had been visible through the thin material, and one strap had cut across her shoulder when the tee had slipped.
As much as I know I shouldn’t, I look forward to the times that I can run into her. Like a fiend, I hope for it on the days that Iamat the townhouse, and not on a call or bunking at base.
