by Holly Kerr
He’s never admitted he still had feelings for her, and I’ve never asked. I didn’t have to. But I did believe him when he promised I’d never have to worry about her.
“After Abby dropped him off, I needed Liv to talk me down,” he admits.
He told Liv before me. He needed Liv. The realization shouldn’t hurt, but the sting is there and it’s sharp.
“She gave me a bunch of good advice,” he continues, not realizing my thoughts. “Including always cover up the pee-pee.” Once he’s cleaned off the mess, he whips a cloth off the dresser and drapes if over Theo’s little penis. “They can pee straight up, no warning whatsoever.”
“Great. Did you just call it a pee-pee?”
“You don’t like it. I’ll come up with a better name. Penis sounds wrong.”
“But that’s what it is.”
“It’s too manlike,” he argues. “Especially with someone—” His voice drops into a sing-song playful tone. “—with such a little pee-pee. Don’t you worry, little buddy. It’ll grow.”
My eyes widen with horror. Am I dreaming? Pooping and pee-pees. Does Clay even remember what he did with his penis last night?
“Well, you look like you’re handling this,” I say carefully. “I’ll get ready for work.”
“I’m sorry he woke you up.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I say, not liking my tone. “He’s a baby. They wake people up.”
“I know, but—” He smiles ruefully at me. “This wasn’t the night I had planned.”
“You were going to make me dinner,” I say lightly. “We were going to talk about…things.”
“And we will. Tonight,” he promises. “I’ll make dinner, and all you have to do is look cute and drink wine. And maybe hold Theo for me.” He finishes buttoning up and lifts the baby into his arms. “I know I don’t have to hold him all the time, but I like it. He fits, you know?”
“You’re making up for lost time,” I say softly.
“That’s exactly it.” He smiles. “I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”
“I’m not exactly doing anything to help.”
“But you’re here. You’re with me. And you love me?”
I still. It’s the first time that word has come up. I know Clay has been hesitant to say those three words, and I—I don’t know what was holding me back.
A lot of things had held me back.
“I’m doing that wrong, too,” Clay admits with a grimace. “I need to start with saying, I love you. I love you more than you know.”
I take a deep breath. “I love you, too.” I reach up to kiss him, my shoulder brushing against Theo, who thinks this is play and grabs a hunk of my hair in his fist. “Ow.”
“Ow?” Clay asks, his lips against mine.
“He’s got me.”
“He wants a kiss, too,” Clay says as he unfurls the tiny fingers. “But they’re all mine. Hang on.” He steps away to settle Theo back in the playpen. His gurgle of discontent follows Clay as he comes back to me standing beside the bed with the baby blanket and dirty diaper.
Thankfully he puts down the diaper before wrapping his arms around me. “I love you, M.K. Moira.”
“M.K.,” I correct firmly. “My mother thinks your name is Clayton.”
“Technically, it is, but she shouldn’t expect me to answer if she calls me that.”
“That’s what I told her.” I run a hand across his bare chest. “Everything will work out.” I’ll come up with a plan, I decide. A schedule—some way to organize this new life. Some way of helping me deal with this. Because I need to deal. I love Clay, and I don’t want to lose him.
“I know it will,” Clay says. As he kisses me, Theo’s gurgle becomes a cry.
Clay
I buy a crib for Theo the next day and set it up in the living room. I also get Pearl to pick me up the best baby monitor she can find.
It takes me two weeks to finally make M.K. the meal I promised her, and another week before we go out again on our own.
My parents fell in love with Theo as quickly as I did, and even though they still haven’t met M.K., they agreed to an overnight visit so we could go out one night without him. That was last weekend, and a good time was had by all.
I had fun with M.K., but I miss Theo when he’s not around.
I like to think that despite the never-ending exhaustion, I’m a pretty good dad. I quickly become an expert in all things Theo, able to predict when his first tooth is about to arrive, taking him to his doctor’s appointment without a major mishap, and starting solid foods right when the books tell me to.
There’s still a spot of baby cereal on the kitchen ceiling that I can’t reach, but every family has something like that, don’t they? Like a badge of honour.
I also know way too much about baby poop. I know if M.K. spent more time with Theo, she’d have his bowel movements set out on some kind of graph, but I don’t go that far.
Liv did suggest I make a note of what foods cause a more-violent reaction and avoid them. We only started cereal last week. I’m a little scared of the little jars of baby food. Liv told me I need to start making my own, but I think I’ll go with the tried and true Gerber brand.
M.K. kisses my cheek as she sits on the couch beside me. “You’re stubbly,” she says with a frown.
I rub my chin, the two-day stubble prickly against my hand. “You don’t like it? I was thinking of growing it out.” I had given it a moment’s thought this morning when I was in too much of a rush to shave, but no more.
She raises her eyebrow. “You want to be like Dean?”
“You don’t like it? I thought all women liked the bearded look.”
“I like you being you.” This time her kiss hits my lips, and I slide my hand around her neck to make it last longer. “If I wanted someone who looked like Dean, I would have gone for Dean.”
I laugh loud enough for Theo, playing happily in his ExoSaucer, to glance at me with curiosity. “I’m not sure how well that would have gone over with Flora.”
M.K. smiles. “I like Dean, but he’s not my type.”
“What is your type?”
She stretches her legs out on the coffee table beside mine, her feet resting against my calves. I forget she’s so short until I compare her to me—when she’s standing up close to me or lying beside me. “He’s a little tall for me. But I think Flora likes his bigness. Thomas was…” She makes a face. “He wasn’t much of a man. Too fussy for me.”
“Dean is definitely not fussy.”
“Definitely not.”
“Am I man enough for you?” I ask with a sideways glance.
She kisses me in response. For once Theo isn’t sitting on my lap, and I take full advantage of having both hands free.
Until Theo gurgles loudly and distracts me.
“Look at him, sitting up like that,” I say happily as Theo gnaws on the colourful plastic. “I really think he’s advanced for his age.”
“How many four-month-old babies do you know?” M.K. asks, pulling away to watch him.
“He’s five months now,” I correct. Theo and I had celebrated with cupcakes. I had made chocolate ones and Theo had destroyed two before I took them away from him. “We should have a party or do something for his six-month birthday.”
“Why don’t you just wait for a year?”
I shrug. “It’s so long to wait. Besides, Liv does the six-month party with her kids. Apparently everyone does it in England.”
M.K. curls her legs under her, my side noticeably cooler now that she’s not leaning against me. “How is Liv?” she asks politely.
“She’s good,” I say, shifting the pile of baby books on the table so I can stretch my legs out in front of me. Dean moved out as quickly and as quietly as he came, but Theo’s things have more than taken over any space Dean had taken up. Toys and carefully folded clothes are piled against the wall until I can buy a toy box and a dresser for him. Bouncy seats, the Bumbo, the play mat are stacked i
n the corner.
It’s a far cry from the spartan space I used to live in. Dean had been worried about taking up too much space in the one-bedroom condo. Theo has had no qualms about that.
I haven’t brought up the living arrangements with M.K. since the day I asked her to move in. There hasn’t been the right time, or I forget, or she’s too tired. I make a mental note to talk to her tomorrow right after work. M.K. starts to fade too close to bedtime. I know I’m going to lose her soon.
“I should introduce you to Liv.” I glance over at her with an expectant smile on my face. “She’ll love you.”
“I’m not sure I can manage a trip to London,” M.K. says carefully.
“I meant with FaceTime. That’s how we talk. I haven’t seen her in over two years. I think she’s coming back with Rance for Christmas, though. I want you to meet her before then.”
“Christmas seems so far away.”
“It’s only six weeks. It’ll be fun, won’t it? Playing Santa for Theo.”
She smiles. “You’re going to totally spoil him, aren’t you?”
“The best thing about it is that he won’t know any different,” I say happily. “It’s not like we have more kids. We’ll have to be careful when that happens that everything is fair.”
M.K. coughs, and reaches for her glass of water. “More kids?” she asks.
“I thought two more. Girls would be nice, don’t you think?”
“Not if you’re talking about my sisters,” she says in a choked voice.
“Our kids won’t be like your sisters. Or my brothers. They’ll be like you and me—perfect.”
“I’m far from perfect,” M.K. says ruefully.
“You’re perfect for me. And our kids will be beautiful like you.”
“Only if they have your smile.”
“I want you to teach them to bake,” I say. “Beautiful bakers.”
“I can open another patisserie and name it that.” She laughs.
“Only if you have enough to still bake for me,” I warn, pushing her back against the arm of the couch. Lying down, I rest my head against her stomach. “Do you know how much weight I’ve gained since I met you? It wasn’t bad when I could still go to the gym, but with Theo, it’s been too long.”
“I think you’re okay.” M.K. smoothes a hand down my back, and I arch with pleasure.
I’d never had this easy affection with the other women I’d been involved with. Touch meant sex, and sex meant leaving at the end of the night. There had been no cuddles, or snuggling, or spooning, and although M.K. isn’t as affectionate as I would like, it’s still better than the alternative. I’m happy with everything I get.
I’m happy with her.
It’s been weeks, barely three months since we met, and it feels like I’ve known M.K. forever. Contentment swells and surges within me, and I bury my nose into her shirt, the buttons rubbing my forehead, her scent the sweet smell of butter and chocolate.
We talked babies. Our babies. We talked about children before even finalizing the living arrangements. Maybe now is a good time to talk—
Theo screeches suddenly, and my head whips up. “Is he okay?”
“Seems fine,” M.K. says. “Happy.”
“He’s jealous that I get to cuddle with you.” I make a move to lie back down, but M.K. puts her hands on my shoulders. I groan. “You’re going now, aren’t you?”
“I have to. I hate waking you up in the morning. It’s so early, and if you’ve just gotten back to sleep after Theo, it’s not fair,” she finishes.
“It’s not fair for you to leave me either,” I grumble, only half seriously.
“I’ll stay Saturday night,” she promises. “Reuben’s going to open on Sunday, and we’ve got Flora and Dean’s that night. Maybe I’ll even get to sleep in.”
Chapter Twenty
M.K.
I’m wide awake when I get home, despite what I told Clay. He’s always worried that my early hours at the patisserie are too much for me. Every time he mentions it, I think of what my mother would say—that I spend too much time there and Clay will grow to resent it. I’ve always been able to function on little sleep, but lately I’ve used my tiredness as an excuse to be away from Theo.
He’s cute and sweet, but it’s a little much watching Clay with him sometimes.
“What have you guys been doing tonight?” I ask Gulliver as he follows me into the kitchen. Scarlett answers for him, a loud meow that I agree with, even though I still can’t understand cat talk.
Standing in the middle of my kitchen, immaculate as ever, I find myself at a loss. I should go to bed because four thirty is early, but I’m too twitchy to sleep. I could read, watch TV, but neither interest me right now.
I can bake, but there’s no recipe drifting in my mind, demanding that I make it.
I can call Flora, but she’ll be with Dean, and I don’t want to intrude. Especially since I have no idea what’s making me twitchy and distracted.
I feel alone, and that’s unusual for me.
So I do what makes me feel better at times like this. I organize my cupboards.
With a KISS playlist at an acceptable volume as to not wake up the neighbour’s baby and the cats looking on with their usual expressions of boredom, I tackle my kitchen.
An hour and a half later, my spices are arranged in alphabetical order, my baking cupboard with the dry ingredients has been swept out and tidied and my colourful silicone spatulas and slotted spoons look happy in their now-neat drawer.
It doesn’t help.
“What’s wrong with me?” I ask Gulliver, who jumps off the chair and pads over to me to comfort or looking for affection; I’m not sure which.
I take the comfort and settle on the floor with him, which brings Scarlett over. “Clay is amazing. Things are great with him,” I assure them, petting both equally. “Why am I in this funk?”
I’m not in a funk. I’m just…bored. I’m never bored.
“I should just go to bed,” I say to Scarlett. But Gulliver has crawled into my lap, purring, and his weight makes it difficult to move.
When I finally get to bed, I have a hard time falling asleep. The bed feels empty without Clay, but lately it’s even more difficult to fall asleep when I’m with him.
He talked about babies tonight. Our babies.
I roll over onto my back and stare at the darkened ceiling. Pennywise is perched on the pillow beside me, his breathing deep and even.
Now I can finally get into what’s bothering me.
I’ve never wanted to have a baby.
I never played with dolls growing up, never had tea parties where I was the mother to a stuffed bear and a Rub-a-Dub Dolly. If there was a tea party then my sisters were hosting and I was in the kitchen gathering freshly baked cookies. When my sisters thrust their newborns at me, I smiled politely and let someone else hold them.
I’ve never felt maternal. Watching my mother take on both parenting roles, I quickly realized that I didn’t want that. Swearing off marriage should have taken care of my non-maternal feelings, but meeting Clay has forced me to rethink things.
We’ve talked about the future—if you count talking about babies and a quick will you move in query. There’s been no mention of the living arrangements since then, and I’m scared to bring it up because I’m sure it’s going to open a box of I don’t want to talk about it.
How do I tell him I don’t want children, especially when he’s so madly in love with Theo? Unless I love Theo as much as Clay does, I’m always going to come in second with him. How can I tell him marriage isn’t in the cards for me?
With Ben it was different. We got engaged because it was the practical thing to do. It would save on rent, better organize our evenings, and it was easier cooking for two. Even his proposal lacked romance, but I wasn’t looking for romance. I wanted a partner, someone I could push towards my mother with a See? I found someone myself.
Clay is different.
I’m not pushing him
towards my mother, but holding him close, afraid of what she’ll say about him. Afraid of her taking the idea of Clay and running with it, which will undoubtedly result in a wedding not of my choosing.
I could elope like Flora tried to…
I shake my head. Why am I even thinking about marriage? Clay’s so caught up with Theo he can’t even remember to finish the conversation about us moving in together. And we’ve only been together a few months.
I want to be with Clay, and yet I don’t want to think about the future. It doesn’t make sense.
I turn back on my side, willing my mind to stop with the internal monologue, and for a little while, it listens to me.
Clay
Flora is having a party on Saturday night. Flora and Dean are having a party, because they are now living together.
Theo’s arrival coincided perfectly with Dean finally getting together with Flora because as easygoing as he is, I’m not sure he would have enjoyed sleeping in the same room as a five-month-old baby.
I love parties. I’m in my element at big get-togethers, being social and talking to friends and meeting new people…new women.
I’m not going to meet any new women at this party because M.K. is going with me. And I’m glad she’ll be with me. It’s the first time we’ve gone to a party as a couple and I’m excited.
I’m a little nervous about bringing Theo, though.
Flora told me to bring him; in fact, she seems excited about it.
M.K., however, doesn’t seem overly excited to see Theo tucked into his car seat when I pick her up. “No babysitter?” she asks as she sets a canvas bag of wine and a huge plastic container on the floor of the back seat.
“No go.” I asked my parents to watch him, but they have a surprisingly active social life with bridge games, theatre tickets, and monthly murder mystery parties. Tonight coincides with one such party and while I was on the phone with my mother, she told me all about the cowgirl costume she’s come up with. “Flora says it’s okay to bring him.”
