I put her on her feet and let her loose before collapsing onto the bed exhausted. “Dear Lord, it’s only nine a.m.”
“Dax!” Fallon calls. “Come wrangle your wild stallion. Eggs are ready.”
“Shite.” I didn’t get a chance to put the highchair together yet. Sometimes, I can’t believe this has become my life. Highchairs and pack ‘n plays and bath time. It’s way more tiresome than thieving and killing. Keeps you just as busy, though.
“Dax!” Fallon yells again. And I hear a crash. “Fucker.”
“I’m coming.” I run out of the bedroom with my shirt still soaking wet. Fallon is trying to plate eggs while Aisling knocks over every box she can possibly manage.
“Quit that.” I scoop her up. “I have to put the highchair together,” I tell Fallon.
“Fuck that, put her on your knee and feed her.”
“You hate me, clearly.”
“Hate might be a strong word, but you’re not too far off. I’ll put the highchair together.” She grabs a serrated knife out of a drawer and points it at me.
I growl under my breath. “I guess I’m not in a position to argue at the moment.”
“No, you’re not.” She leaves me to tend to Aisling. I have a feeling Fallon isn’t going to leave many opportunities to bond with the little one.
I try to feed Aisling with one hand as Fallon rips open the highchair box. It's not in that many pieces, but it takes her long enough to put it together. Aisling fights every bite of scrambled eggs. “All don. All don!” She isn't having it, but I manage to get as much into her mouth as on the floor.
“No,” she cries, and I’ve had enough.
“Fine, you’re done.” I set her free.
“Finished.” Fallon stands, flipping the assembled highchair right side up. I grimace at her. Too little, too late. She reads my expression clearly. “She’ll have it for lunch. You can restrain her like a hostage.”
I spit a laugh. “Sometimes I feel like I’m the hostage.”
“It definitely doesn’t look easy.”
“It’s definitely not.” Aisling runs into me and wraps herself about my leg. This child is going to take out a knee one of these days. She puts her hands up and yawns, and I know exactly what that means. Nap time.Hallelujah.
I pick her up and sigh. “No pack ‘n play yet either.”
“Go lie with her. I got it,” Fallon volunteers herself again.
“I should be doing all this,” I gripe.
“You are doing enough,” she alludes to Aisling whose head is resting on my shoulder.
I stare at Fallon as I hold my daughter. There is so much I want to say, so much I want to unload, yet I have no words to communicate it. “Can you hand me that stuffed bunny on the chair?”
Fallon waits a beat before breaking our eye contact. She hands me the new bunny, and I walk Aisling into the bedroom.
I lie down, cuddling her in my arms. She holds onto her gray bunny with floppy ears, fidgeting until she’s comfortable. When she stops moving completely, I know she’s out. I’ve discovered so many of her little signals over the last few months. I’m learning to read her like Braille. This cry is for this, that grunt is for that.
Her soft, sweet breathing is a soothing melody.When she sleeps, she’s an angel right here on earth. All the trying times get erased, and the only thing left is love. The richest love I have ever experienced. A love that has changed me profoundly.
I kiss her forehead, close my eyes, and drift off knowing for now, she’s safe in my arms.
7
Fallon
A loud crashand a scream startles me awake.
