Forever Family (Forever #5) (7 page)

Crap! I put my hand behind her neck and lifted her to my shoulder. She quieted, and I sighed relief. She had on a long-sleeved onesie. She would be fine without the burrito blanket.

I felt a warm wetness on my neck and hair. I pulled the baby away.

Gawd, she’d spit up everywhere. It was in my hair and all over my shoulder. A trickle ran down my back.

I set her back in my lap, but she immediately started crying again. I didn’t have enough hands to manage her and the mess.

“Chance!” I called out.

He didn’t come right away. I picked Phoenix up again and put her on my other shoulder. I could feel spit-up running all down my skin and my gown sticking to my back.

“Chance!” I called again, a little louder.

The noise must have upset the baby, because she started crying even though I already had her up in her favorite position. “Shhh, Phoenix,” I said.

This made her cry harder.

I felt hot and sick, sticky and panicked. I fumbled with the slits in the gown, trying to get a boob out to feed her, even though she had just eaten. When I moved her there, though, she turned her head. Her face bloomed red and her cries turned to jagged sobs.

“Chance!” I called out again.

He skidded into the room. “Sorry. Oh, what is that smell?”

“She spit up.”

“You sure that’s all?” His face contorted.

Now that he mentioned it, I could smell something more. I pressed my hand on the baby’s bottom and immediately felt wet. Squishy wet. Phoenix managed to wail even louder, a direct shot to the ear.

“Coming out both ends, I see,” Chance said with a chuckle.

“I fail to see what is funny about this,” I said. My eyes pricked hot with tears. “My parents have been gone less than five minutes, and she’s already thrown up all over me, blown out her diaper, and refuses to eat.”

Chance set down the screwdriver in his hand. “Here, I’ll take her for a second.” But as he reached for me, his phone buzzed.

“Maybe it’s your mom? Coming back?” I asked hopefully. Chance’s mother had only been down for two days after Phoenix arrived before having to get back to Tennessee for some big church event she was chairing. She promised to come back and help as soon as it was over.

“Actually, it’s the producer on the album,” Chance said. “And not his assistant. His direct line. I have to take this, babe.” He held up one finger. “I’ll be right back. I just have to get away from the noise for two secs.”

He dashed out the front door.

Oh. My. God.

I clutched the screaming baby to my chest, soggy with every possible bodily excretion. I’d been abandoned by everyone.

And she was only one week old.

Chapter 8: Corabelle

The entire kitchen table was covered in pink glitter.

I swiped at my eyes, trying to pull myself together. Jenny’s wedding had been converted into a shower for the baby, so I had been given the task of changing all the hanging silver sparkle stars to — what did Jenny call the color? Oh, right. Blushing primrose.

I had to mix six shades of pink and pearl glitter to get the color just right. Which was sort of pointless, as once I put it on top of the old silver color, it shifted and changed depending on the light and how well it stuck.

Jenny texted another picture of the baby every seven seconds, and I was contemplating blocking her. Except I was in charge of this party and she was my best friend.

My utterly clueless, totally self-absorbed, completely maddening best friend.

I scattered another handful of glitter mix across one of the largest stars. I had a bad feeling that my house and car were never going to recover from this infestation of sparkle. I had already caught Gavin tramping through it twice, leaving primrose footprints across the dining room.

I had spread two old sheets on the floor, but I would swear this glitter could fly. It was everywhere.

A fat tear fell squarely on the uppermost point of the star. The drop pushed the color aside, leaving a wet silver circle. Great. I dusted my hands and decided to walk away until I could pull myself together.

This wasn’t Jenny’s fault. She was as obsessive about baby Phoenix as she had been about her job, and her previous lineup of boy toys, and a dozen other things in the time I had known her. I almost longed for the days when we worked at Cool Beans Coffee Shop and she drove me crazy flirting with anybody who glanced her way.

That was so much easier than this.

Another text buzzed through.

Mom and Dad gone! Chance just left too! Baby crying! Please come help!

I paused, swiping at my eye and feeling the grit of pink glitter on my cheek. Great. First I’m expected to head up her shower. Now I have to help with the baby too?

I tossed my phone on the sofa and plunked down on the floor. There was no doubt about it, I was not handling this well.
 

I lay back on the carpet and stared at the ceiling. Coats of paint failed to completely conceal the water stains from a previous upstairs tenant’s bathtub overflow. Parts of the popcorn ceiling were flat from the damage.

Gavin and I could not seem to get ahead on bills. Despite all the work hours he was putting in and reducing his college load, we were still struggling. My TA position covered only tuition and fees for grad school. With Gavin’s young son, Manuelito, around, I wasn’t able to put in any time at Cool Beans, although I might be able to get some hours since he was gone with his mother to Mexico.

I felt so tired. Working at the coffee shop didn’t appeal to me. I felt completely out of touch with all those undergrads and their whining about grades and parents and dating. I couldn’t relate to them anymore, and I found myself wanting to shake them and say, “Talk to me when you have REAL problems!”

The phone buzzed again on the sofa, this time a call. Jenny, most likely. I didn’t move. I had papers to grade. Stars to glitter. And only a few hours until I had to head up to campus for a long day.

She was on her own. I loved Jenny, but she had to grow up. Nothing like a baby to make it happen.

I shifted so I could see the framed pictures of Finn. When I moved in with Gavin to a larger apartment, I hung the collage in our living room. There were only a few images. I didn’t take a lot in those seven days my baby had lived, since he always looked the same, his eyes covered with a little mask and his mouth taped to a breathing tube. There hadn’t been much to see. Nothing ever changed but the time and date on the monitor.

Still, I could admire his stubby little nose. The soft cheeks. His fragile curled-up fingers with the tiny nails. When I’d held him the one and only time, he was so light, like a pile of feathers.

I didn’t know how Jenny’s baby, Phoenix, felt. I’d managed to avoid holding her, not hard with doting grandparents vying for a turn. Up at the hospital, it had been easy to hold conversations with other adults, averting my eyes.

Now she wanted me over there.

The phone rang again.

Crap. I stood up from the floor and headed for the sofa. Yep, Jenny. I sighed and answered the call.

“Where are you?” Jenny cried. “Chance left me! Everybody left me!”

“What’s going on?” I asked. I pinned the phone to my ear with my shoulder and started shoving books in my backpack. I could see where this was going.

“She threw up! Twice! Then her diaper exploded!”

“What are you feeding her?”

“Just the boob!”

“How often?”

Jenny’s voice sounded exasperated. I could hear the baby crying close by. “I don’t know! Every time she cries!”

“She’s still taking it?”

“Not anymore! I can’t figure out anything to make her stop and Chance left without fixing the swing!”

I zipped up my bag. “You can just put her in her crib. Clean yourself up. Pull yourself together.”

“But she’s crying! She’ll be scarred for life!”

“Nope. She’ll probably fall asleep. Did you get her cleaned up?”

“Yes, sort of. It was really sticky.”

Geez, didn’t Jenny understand this was what motherhood was like? That messes and crying were what babies did?

“Please say you’re coming,” Jenny said. “I’m going out of my mind.”

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “I only have a couple hours until class,” I said.

Jenny’s breath rushed out, making a shhhhrrrr sound on the phone. “Thank you, Corabelle,” she said. “You’re the best.”

I clicked off the call. The abandoned pink star sat in a sparkling heap on the table. Bits of glitter all over the carpet caught the light. I’d tracked a fair amount out of the dining area myself. I couldn’t help but think of the contrast between what Jenny wanted for herself — the perfect pink stars and beautiful party — and what she was going through. Diapers and spit-up and feeling panicked and alone.

Definitely time for her to face reality.

~*´`*~

When I got to Jenny’s, she looked more composed than she had seemed on the phone. She wore a bright pink shirt and sparkly gray sweatpants. I tried not to notice the damp spots where her nursing pads weren’t quite up to their job.

“The baby fell asleep,” Jenny said. “I didn’t think it would ever happen.”

“Oh, good,” I said. Even better if I didn’t have to hold or rock her. I’d been stressed about it on the drive over. Just seeing the parts of baby furniture scattered around was starting to set off my need to flee.

“I can’t believe everyone deserted me,” Jenny said. Her hair was done up in an elaborate updo that mostly hid the change in color. She seemed very put together for someone who was so frantic twenty minutes ago. I struggled to squash my annoyance.

“I think a lot of parenting is sink or swim,” I said blandly. My mind wasn’t on my words now, but on the panic that was rising in me. I hadn’t felt this bad when we were up at the hospital. But here, surrounded by the way life should have looked for me, a baby in the crib, a home and family, my chest was getting tight.

Jenny grabbed my hand and led me toward the hall. “Come see her.”

My knees threatened to give out. My strongest urge was to pull away, to resist, but I forced myself to follow her down the short hall to the nursery. I had to do this. Jenny wasn’t going away. Neither was her baby. This was something I had to face.

The nursery was dim, the curtains drawn. A soft pink glow came from a shaded lamp in one corner. Our shadows crossed the floor inside the rectangle of light from the hall.

The room was in serious disarray, boxes and a half-assembled swing all over the floor. Jenny navigated the mess to the crib. I couldn’t see inside due to the ruffled canopy hanging over it.

Jenny pushed the fabric aside. The baby lay on her back, arms up by her head, wearing a pink and blue sleeper with little roses down the front.

My heart hammered painfully in my chest. My throat felt thick and my head thumped. I tried to take a step forward, but stumbled on a screwdriver.

I wanted to walk up and fake it. Admire the baby. Say something encouraging. Jenny was my friend. This was her baby. They would be a part of my life.

But some other force took over. Instead of getting closer, I backed away. I couldn’t do it. I kept seeing Finn’s crib with its cascade of butterflies flying over it. When I came home from the funeral after Gavin had taken off, alone and flooded with despair, I had destroyed the handmade mobile, piece by piece.

“I-I’m sorry,” I said to Jenny. “I have to get to class.”

I whirled around, almost ramming into the door frame, and tore through the apartment. I ran and ran, out the door, to my car, wrenching it open and shoving the key in the ignition.

I don’t know if Jenny came out. I couldn’t look. I just backed out of the spot and sped away from the scene. I could not handle this. It was the life I had once imagined, longed for, and lost. And now it was the one I might never have.

I wasn’t sure I could be her friend anymore.

Chapter 9: Tina

Both Corabelle and Jenny had texted me multiple times since the pink explosion of a baby shower began, but I only glanced at my cell phone with each soft buzz. I had nothing to say.

I wasn’t anywhere near the venue where the tortuous event was being held. While I originally was supposed to play a role in this day, my duties as bridesmaid had been fulfilled in the ambulance. Now that the wedding was a baby extravaganza, I had no desire to sit around while people grinned like idiots over giraffe rattles and fuzzy blankets.

The charcoal scraped across my textured sketch pad like a whisper. The drawing of Albert in his hospital bed emerged slowly from the curves and lines. He looked peaceful, his eyes closed, the fingers of one hand positioned as if they surrounded an invisible oil brush. Chaotic gray ringlets framed his face. He definitely still had a full head of hair. His cheeks were deeply lined.

I took my time on the crinkles around his eyes, trying to imagine a time when he was younger, his wife and daughter still alive, and happy. That must have been when the smile lines formed, before he put on his perpetual brooding expression so often caught in magazine articles or promotional images once he became a famous artist.

I saw a glimpse of that long-lost joy here and there, particularly when Layla was around. She had brought up a painting Albert once made of his daughter. It hung on the opposite wall of his hospital room in real life so he could see it. But in my drawing of him, I moved it to just behind his head, as though she was looking over him. The little girl was three or four, practically bouncing with happiness in a pair of red overalls. A matching headband failed to contain her mass of curly brown hair.

Albert coughed, and I paused, my charcoal still against the page. He didn’t wake, though, so I resumed the image, smudging a bit of shadow on the pillow next to his head.

I felt at peace here. Knowing Albert and I shared something so concrete, his daughter and my Peanut, helped keep me calm. My guilt pricked that I was skipping the baby shower without telling anyone, but what was I supposed to say? “Hey, Jenny, I know we’re friends, but I’m blowing off your big day because I can’t handle it.” Right. Best to just shut up.