I have no idea if this is a bug or not, but I don’t want Caleb getting everyone sick. The one good thing so far is he doesn’t have a fever.
“Let’s go see who’s at the door.”
I toss his dirty onesie into the laundry basket and grab a fresh one to put on him when we get downstairs.
For now, he’s clean and not crying. That’s all I can ask for.
Pulling open the front door, my jaw drops. “Miss Mitchell. What are you doing here?”
A dead panic washes through me. What is going on? Is there a reason she just randomly decided to show up? Did I do something wrong?
“It’s Friday. I had a follow-up visit scheduled with you.”
“Friday?” I rack my brain, trying to figure out what day of the week it is, but it’s all blending together. “But today…”
“Is Friday,” she finishes for me.
“Shit,” I mutter.
When I got home from practice—on what, Wednesday?—Gran said Caleb was spitting up more than normal. I kept a close eye on him, but it only got worse. Between him getting sick and diarrhea, I’m past knowing what my name is, let alone the day of the week.
I forgot about this entirely.
“Come in.” I hold the door open for her, sweeping my arm out to welcome her in. “I’m sorry, but the house is a mess. Caleb is sick today.”
Following her into the living room, I look around the main floor of the house. God, if I were her, I’d question my ability as a father.
A pile of laundry that needs to be folded is sitting on the counter. Probably the first of many loads today. Empty bottles sit next to the fridge. The package of diapers that I opened earlier looks like it has exploded across the living room floor.
Caleb has been so miserably unhappy that I haven’t put him down since I got home, so I haven’t had the chance to clean up.
Hell, Caleb isn’t even dressed as I’m holding him in my arms.
“How are things going?”
“Honestly?” I let out an exasperated sigh. “Terrible. The house is a mess. I wish I had four sets of hands and about eighteen more hours in a day to get everything done because I feel like I’ve been doing nothing but changing dirty diapers. And I worry every single day if I’m the right person to raise him.”
Shit. That was way more than I ever should have dumped on this woman.
“Sorry.” I wince.
The woman smiles at me. “If you told me everything was great, I’d be more concerned.”
“And you’re not now? ShouldIbe concerned?”
She gestures to the living room and we each take a seat. I take the onesie from my hand and get Caleb dressed.
“It’s been close to two months since Caleb arrived. No parent learns everything overnight. But all I see here is that you’re trying. If you really didn’t want to be his father, you would have insisted on a paternity test the day I showed up rather than waiting to do one to clear up paperwork for the state.”
I didn’t need the results of said paternity test to know that Caleb is mine.
Caleb is sitting in my lap. His expression is clear, but for how long, I don’t know. That dimple of his—the one that matches mine—pops out when a smile graces his face.
Fuck, I love it. Even sick, he is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“I’ve been waiting for the day when I regret taking him in. When I realize it’s too much to be raising a kid, but it hasn’t come. I love him.”
Miss Mitchell smiles at me. “I’m glad. Being a parent is the hardest job in the world. My two children are grown, and I still worry about them.”
