I awkwardly shift Jackson to my other side before shaking his hand. “Just a few days ago. How you doing?”
“Good. Busy. But I like it that way. Enjoying the time we have before the baby arrives and things get hectic.”
My gaze darts to the terrace where Kate is setting up the table and chatting animatedly with Mrs. Santiago and Mrs. Fernandez.
“Another one?”
Emmett smirks. “What can I say? I have a stunning wife who makes pretty babies.”
Jackson babbles something incomprehensible, making Emmett chuckle. “Hey, Jax, my man. I see you’re ready to party, huh?”
He scrunches his nose, his face turning red.
“He’s not going to cry, is he?” I look around, hoping to spot my sister, but she’s still nowhere to be found. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, no, he’s about to—” Emmett doesn’t get to finish before I hear it. Almost like he farted.Loudly. And then something feels very squishy against my forearm that’s tucked under his butt. “Poop.”
I just stare at my nephew. His face has relaxed, and he’s back to his happy self. I’m still staring at him when the disgusting smell reaches my nostrils. The little pooping monster just grins at me. How can somebody so small produce sounds so loud and have poop that smells like biochemical waste?
“Seriously, dude?” I shake my head. “Seriously?”
His grin grows wider as he squirms a bit, and I can only pray that the diaper is strong enough to contain whatever mess he has made.
“What the hell do I do with you now?”
“Well, I’d suggest getting him out of that diaper. And maybe try not to let him wiggle so much. It’ll be a bitch to clean up.”
Getting him out of the diaper?
As in me?
Hell to the no.
“Oh, I’m not changing him. You’re going back to your parents.” Shifting my grip on him so my fingers are holding him just under his armpits, I extend him in front of me and start for the house. “They can clean you up. Did they not teach you about manners when there are guests around?”
The little dude must find me hilarious because he just giggles out loud. The corner of my mouth tugs upward, but I school my features.
“It’s not funny, dude. Becky?” I call when I step into the house, my gaze scanning the space for my sister. “What are you feeding this kid? He just pooped something that seems like it might be radioactive?—”
The words die on my lips as I look around, expecting to see either Becky or Miguel, but the living room is empty.
Because of-fucking-course it is.
I’m pretty sure I can see a dark spot on his pants.
I peek into the dining room and kitchen, but the result is the same. When I turn around, I spot the changing table sitting on the side.
“Oh, Jesus, fu—” Shaking my head, I go to the table, quickly doing a scan to see what I’m working with. There are wipes, and some kind of tube of something, and a bunch of fresh diapers.
How hard can it really be?
“You so freaking owe me, Becs,” I mutter under my breath as I lower Jax onto the mat. He squirms and starts turning around, almost falling off the damn thing. “Kid, I need you to be still.”
But, of course, he doesn’t listen, not that I’m surprised considering who his mother is. I gently press my hand against his stomach, trying to hold him in place as I work on getting his pants over his chubby, moving legs.
My nose revolts when I slip them off and find that I was right, and the freaking bomb exploded in his pants. It takes me a few moments to figure out how to get him out of the body-contraption that dubs as a shirt. Why anybody would put him in that, I have no fucking clue.
When I finally get to the main issue, I’m sweaty from trying to juggle it all, and Jax is so done with me, his face scrunches in protest, cheeks turning pink.
