Only to grimace.
All non-fiction medical books. Go figure. Those would put me to sleep faster than a Benadryl.
My heel digs into the carpet as I turn to head back to the couch when I hear it. Faint cries slip from behind Harrison’s door and I freeze. Grant said he’d be asleep for the night.
He can’t be awake, can he?
Shit.
It’s one thing to babysit my nephew, but to be at my boyfriend's house with his son who barely knows me? Yeah, I’m scared of how he’ll react, but I can’t let a five-year-old cry all alone.
Light-footed, I shuffle down the carpeted hallway and come to a stop outside what I assume to be Harrison’s room. Sure enough, hiccuping sobs come from within and I suck in a steadying breath before twisting the knob and glancing in.
“Da-ddy?”
The sobs are gut-wrenching and I wish his dad was here to comfort him, but he’s stuck with me, poor guy.
“It’s Hazel, Mason’s aunt. Do you remember me?” There’s not a lot of light in here, but a night light glows on the wall next to his bed, so I inch closer not wanting to frighten him.
“Where’s m-my Daddy?” Harrison sits up in bed, little hands wiping the stream of tears from his face. He doesn’t seem scared of me, so I carefully perch on the foot of his bed.
I make sure to keep my voice low and calm. The last thing I need is to freak us both out more than we already are. “He had to go take care of Tristan. He should be back soon. What happened?”
At my question, fresh tears begin to fall. I might not be the most motherly person, but I can tell when a kid needs a hug, so I hold open my arms letting him decide whether or not he wants one.
Without hesitation, Harrison crawls into my embrace, burying his head in the crook of my neck, his little arms squeezing tightaround me. His little body shakes, his chest heaving as he sucks in gasping breaths.
“You’re okay,” I whisper, rubbing my hand in soothing circles on his back. “You’re okay.” I’m not sure if I’m talking to him or myself.
Something close to panic settles in my chest. These are the situations Candice talks about that I don’t know what to do. I’m not trained, hardwired, prepared, whatever, forthis.
All that goes through my head as I continue to do my best to comfort him, is that someone else should be doing this. I’m not qualified. Anyone else is better suited to comfort a crying child than me.
As we sit in the dim light of his bedroom, Harrison’s heaving sobs turn into soft hiccups. Little fingers play with a strand of my hair as he calms down. I feel so out of place like I’m doing everything wrong. “You ready to lay back down?”
“No.” His arms tighten around me.
Okay then.
“Um, do you want to go wait for your dad in the living room? I saw a very comfy blanket we could cuddle under.” I chuckle at his enthusiastic nod.
Harrison’s heavier than he looks. For someone so small, it feels like I’m carrying a bag of cement rather than a child. He’s clinging to me like a koala, his legs wrapping around my waist the moment I stand. When I try to set him on the couch, he refuses to disentangle his limbs from around me, instead clinging tighter to me.
What do I do now?
I stare awkwardly at the couch debating the best move. He doesn’t want down, but I can’t stand here all night. Not unless I want my arms to fall off.
Bending my knees to avoid being choked, I grab the blanket, balancing Harrison with one arm to toss pillows where I wantthem, and head for the corner of the sectional. This way I can have my head and neck supported and use the pillows as armrests.
Plus, the corner is the best seat of a sectional and I’ll die on that hill.
Harrison doesn’t make a peep as I adjust the blanket over us, but I know he’s awake from the slight pulling sensation coming from the hair he’s twirling in his fingers.
A deep sense of calm settles through me the longer we sit in the quiet and I let out an involuntary sigh. When Harrison does the same I can’t help but let out a small smile.
Time slips by slowly, my mind wandering as Harrison’s breathing evens. Sitting here with Grant’s son sleeping in my arms, I’m forced to think about things I’ve been pushing to the sidelines.
Like the fact that I’m dating a single dad and I’m not even sure I want kids. Maybe it’s not that I don’t want them, per se, but more like I’m not sure how I’d handle it all. Having a whole little person relying on you to take care of them, feed them, and keep them safe…It’s a lot. I look at my sister and wonder how she balances it all. How she doesn’t crush under the weight of the responsibility of motherhood.
