by C. J. Duggan
‘Well, it smells … nice,’ he managed, in a way that sounded foreign to him, like he had to search for the word required to give a compliment. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly pulled it off.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
‘Listen, Chinese tastes better the next day if you want to—’
‘No, it’s okay, this will keep.’
‘So will this, it’s no trouble to—’
‘I know, it’s no trouble either.’ Ugh. God, this was painful.
He had been in the door less than five minutes and we were already dancing around each other awkwardly, trying to balance contempt and civility over something as simple as dinner. For the first time I wished Grace would cry out, break the awkwardness and take me away from this situation. There was something very clear, though: Ben was not the kind of man who backed down or negotiated. He ignored my insistence and placed the takeaway in the fridge as if the argument was non-negotiable – we were having what I had cooked and that was that. Now I felt anxious, hoping that it was something worth eating after all. The weekend was going to be a nightmare.
As if escaping any more arguing, Ben did the one thing that seemed most unnatural to him: he walked over to where Grace lay on her blanket, delighting in the mobile that danced above her. Instead of getting down to her level, he stood there, looking at her, a lightness in his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth. I wanted him to pick her up, for him to prove me wrong. Show me he was capable of some form of emotion, that he wasn’t a robot, functioning solely in the business world. I wanted to storm over there, pick up Grace and shove her into his chest, tell him to bloody man-up.
How on earth was he going to manage this weekend on his own? Had he ever been alone with his daughter? Did he even know how to change a nappy? What the ratio was for formula, or how long to heat it?
Okay, Sarah, stop! I was already crossing the line and the weekend hadn’t arrived yet.
As if sensing my concern, Ben looked at me. ‘She seems so happy, I don’t want to disturb her,’ he said.
If being disturbed meant the warmth of her dad’s arms then I was sure it was worth the risk.
‘Might as well get in one last cuddle before I dish up.’ I tried to keep it light by saying something my mum might. And much to my amazement, it worked. Even as anxiety showed on his stern face, he approached Grace, lifting her as if she were the world’s most precious thing. The distant, abrasive man was gone; here stood a dad, looking into the eyes of his daughter, a surprise dimple appearing in the corner of his left cheek. I had never seen him like this, so overwhelmed with love for the squirming bundle in his arms. This was what it was all about, this was instinct, this was natural. I had worried needlessly, thinking he wouldn’t be able to cope. Of course he could, there was nothing more protective and reassuring than a father’s love. It was going to be okay.
And then of course the worst thing happened. Grace’s face screwed up as she began to scream. Ben looked at me, his confidence shattered, as if he he had somehow caused her misery. And as much as I knew I shouldn’t, I went to his side.
Before I could offer him reassurance that this was nothing to do with anything he had done, he handed her over and walked away.
‘I’m going to take a shower.’
What I would have given for Grace to have continued screaming the house down, but she stopped crying and settled as soon as she was in my arms. This was not good.
Grace’s teary eyes landed on me and she was okay, squirming and happy now the strange man had gone. My heart sank. As much as I wanted to insist that Ben stick it out and talk to Grace, soothe her, he had shut down and it broke my heart. Here was this beautiful little girl with no mother in sight and a dad without a clue who wanted – needed – to be loved. My arms could not be her sole comfort, it just wasn’t right.
It might have been the Worthington way for children to be seen and not heard, raised by staff members and nannies, but in my world it took a village to raise a child, and if that meant that I would have to help bridge the gap then I would do it for her.
Somehow.
Chapter Thirteen
I served Ben’s dinner and knocked on his bedroom door to tell him it was ready, but he never came down. And much as I had imagined the night might go, I took his plate from the table, wrapped it in foil and left a note for him with a recommendation on how to heat it. I took Grace to the bathroom for her nightly lavender-scented bath, hoping against hope that it would make her drowsy, so drowsy she might sleep eight solid hours. One could dream, right?
Rubbing her dry with the aid of baby powder and a few songs out of my nursery-rhyme archives, Grace was either bored by me, or she was actually tired, her little bow shaped mouth expelling a yawn. I wasn’t willing to let myself get too excited about the latter possibility. I glanced over at the nursing chair where Charlotte’s Web lay exactly as I had left it. It was too much to hope that Ben might appear to sit with Grace and pick up where he had left off.
I laid Grace down, crept to the door and waited with my heart in my mouth to see if she would settle. It seemed that fatigue was on my side for once. Sarah – 1, Grace – 0.
Never knowing how long any victory would last, I decided to ready myself for an early bedtime too. Pulling my long hair free from my bun and allowing it to tumble over my shoulders felt incredible. My back was killing me. I stretched out the pain caused by having to carry a little baby up and down flights of stairs. I was going to need an extra-long hot shower tonight, but before I could give into the joys of such a thing I heard the unmistakable sound of movement from below, the clinking of cutlery in the kitchen, the closing of a microwave door. I winced at the beeps, hoping that I had thought to switch the baby monitor off in the lounge and that the noise wouldn’t wake Grace. But that wasn’t the thought that had me coming to an abrupt halt on the stairs, a line creasing my brow. Oh no, it was something else entirely as the unmistakable aroma hit me. Chinese food.
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I said under my breath, walking down the stairs. This time I didn’t worry about stepping as delicately as before; if anything, I wanted my presence to be known as I swung around the bottom banister and padded toward the kitchen. Never once did Ben pause, not even when I came into view. There he was, hair damp from the shower, dressed as casually as I had ever seen him, in jeans and a simple grey tee. As he retrieved his reheated Chinese food from the microwave, he seemed more like a uni student ready to dive into some tucker than a successful businessman about to have dinner in his multi-million-dollar townhouse. If he felt guilty about not eating my home-cooked meal made with love and questionable seasoning, he didn’t act like it.
‘Did Grace go down all right?’ he asked, and I wondered if he cared about the answer or if he was just making small talk as he plucked a succulent prawn from his plate with his chopsticks.
His words jogged my memory, and I went over to the lounge monitor to turn it off. I wanted to say something smart about dinner, but then another part of me didn’t want to feed his power by having him think I cared too much about it. So he fancied Chinese tonight – I just had to let it go.
‘She was tired, a little grizzly,’ I said, thinking maybe that would alleviate any thought he had of having upset her. While I had his attention I thought it best to tackle the things that kept me up at night, in addition to Grace.
‘So are you right with her? I mean, for tomorrow?’ It was a simple enough question, one that I never would have expected to cause such a glare.
‘You mean, will I be able to cope on your day off?’ he asked, his words laced with sarcasm.
‘No, I mean …’ What did I mean? Wasn’t that exactly what I was getting at? I wanted him to reassure me that I was okay to enjoy my day off. I know that it was written in the working hours of my contract, but I wanted to hear him say it, to do as the Liebenbergs would have done: ask me what I had planned for the weekend and tell me to enjoy myself. But I wasn’t in Kansas any more, and Ben Worthington was a far cry from the
Liebenbergs. The sooner I started to realise the difference, the better.
‘Well, if you need me for anything, you have my cell number,’ I said, moving past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. It was only then that I realised I had his full attention, noticing how his eyes quickly snapped upwards; he had been looking at my hair.
‘What? Is there something —’
‘No, I just haven’t seen you with it down before.’
‘Oh, yeah, well, I’m sure Grace would love to get her little fists into my hair and yank every piece out if she could. Hours of fun.’
A hint of a smile touched Ben’s lips and I wasn’t sure if it was the thought of my hair getting pulled out that was so amusing or if it was the mention of his daughter.
‘Yeah, well, goodni—’
‘Going somewhere tomorrow?’ he asked.
My mouth closed, and I frowned. I felt silly telling him my plans because, turning them over in my mind, they seemed clichéd. I could just imagine the eye roll that would result from saying I was heading to Tiffany’s. Screw it. The Worthingtons’ secrecy made me want to be nothing but an open book. I lifted my chin as I unscrewed the lid to my bottle of water and took a long swig.
‘Actually, I’m going to Tiffany’s.’
‘For breakfast?’ he said. It wasn’t quite an eye roll but there was an undercurrent of smartarse in his words.
‘Nah, I was thinking more of a brunch thing, I might have a bit of a lie-in,’ I said, thinking, there, I had done it. I loved my sleep and seeing as I would be off the clock, I fully intended to claim some of it back. If I was expected to somehow function during the week, maybe I could do a weekend catch-up. It seemed reasonable to my mind.
‘Well, sounds like you have it all figured out then,’ he said as he shovelled more rice into his mouth.
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
A silence fell between us. I excused myself with a nod, and was at the door before he spoke again.
‘Just one thing,’ he said, and dread swept over me. What did he want? For me to be back by a curfew?
I turned, trying not to look as though I was worried about what he had to say next.
As if sensing my unease, Ben drew out the silence a little longer as he chewed thoughtfully. ‘Don’t forget to let your hair down,’ he said.
I couldn’t help but blink with surprise. Was he being … playful? This was different, but I took it for what it was: the approval I was looking for. A newfound hope made me smile in return.
‘Yeah, maybe I will.’
Chapter Fourteen
I’m not sure why I’d believed that, come the stroke of midnight on a Friday night, I’d be handing over the reins and baby monitor to Ben. Because that hadn’t happened, and now at 2:11 am Grace was crying so loud neither of us would need a baby monitor. I groaned. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and peeling the doona aside, I cursed myself for not clarifying the night-shift duty. Half-asleep, I navigated to the doorway, bumping into the dresser and cursing as I did every time I walked into it at some ungodly hour of the morning. I tried to wake up a little more to make sure I got down the staircase without breaking my neck. I arrived at exactly the same time as Ben, equally sleepy and dazed, his hair a mess. He scratched at his bare chest, and his light blue pyjama pants rested low on his narrow hips.
Seeing him half-dressed like that, I was suddenly awake. My eyes roamed over the impressive indentations along his stomach, a toned, smoothed-out landscape I couldn’t help but want to reach out and explore.
‘It’s okay, I got this,’ he croaked as he zigzagged toward Grace’s room.
I suddenly found myself grabbing his arm. ‘Wait.’
He stopped, his eyes narrowing at my hand on his arm, which felt like granite under my fingers. He opened his mouth to speak but I placed my finger to my lips, signalling for silence.
‘She’s gone back to sleep,’ I whispered. We’d hit a spot of luck: for the first time in, well, forever, Grace had managed to settle herself.
Ben tilted his head as though he didn’t entirely believe me.
‘I swear if she sleeps for you on the weekend, I will be so annoyed.’ I half-laughed.
‘Doesn’t Grace sleep?’
It was then I realised that, of course, he wouldn’t know, he had been here only one night, and before me he’d probably never truly been here. Why would he know his daughter’s sleeping habits? He was simply a parent who got to breeze in in the daylight hours and enjoy the best of what their children had to give – the smiles and the cuddles – before handing them back for a nappy change and to wipe the drool away. Welcome to reality, buddy!
I was suddenly less anxious about the weekend and began to look forward to it. A few days of reality might have Ben eating my home-cooked meals and being a little more appreciative.
‘No, Ben, Grace doesn’t sleep. Well, not for long, anyway.’
He seemed troubled by this. ‘Is there something wrong with her?’
‘No, there is nothing wrong with her,’ I said, turning to the stairs.
‘Maybe it’s hereditary. I don’t sleep much either.’
‘You’ll be the perfect night-time companion for her then,’ I said, smirking at him, but by the stony expression on his face, he wasn’t amused. ‘Look, she’s a baby – a baby who has to settle into her surrounds. I’m new in her life too. Grace will adjust in time.’
And then I said something so stupid I could have kicked myself. ‘Just yell out if you need anything.’ No, no, noooo, Sarah, shut up! Don’t cross the line!
But I couldn’t help it, I could tell he was worried and anxious; it was the first real sign of vulnerability he’d shown and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Besides, if he was anxious, Grace would be too. She’d pick up on how he was feeling and it would not make for a happy family.
Something flared in Ben’s eyes and his mood seemed to darken. He squared his shoulders, becoming the confident, no-nonsense businessman once again. ‘Thanks, but I think I can handle my own child,’ he said coolly.
Right. I wanted to tell him where to go. Instead I nodded. ‘No worries,’ I said, as light and carefree as I could manage. ‘Goodnight, Ben.’
And good luck!
Chapter Fifteen
I had an amazing, deep, dreamless sleep, right?
Wrong. So, so wrong.
Not only did Grace’s cries wake me, but I was ever aware and pained by the knowledge she was having a restless night, and I could hear Ben pacing, trying to comfort her. I had gotten out of my bed several times to lurk on the stairway and it took every ounce of my willpower not to interfere. Even though it was the night from hell for all of us, Grace finally settled at 6 am, and Ben survived his first night as a single parent.
So I wasn’t exactly replenished, but I was nevertheless high-spirited. Forgoing the sleep-in, I was showered and dressed by 8 am and headed down the stairs expecting a quiet household.
The aroma of freshly plunged coffee hit me first, then the sound of the radio playing jazz from the lounge. It was an incredibly civilised way to greet a New York City weekend, but when I entered the room, an unexpected sight greeted me. The same topless, pyjama-bottom-clad Ben was on the couch reading The New York Times with a happy, inquisitive Grace propped on his lap. He was intently focusing on the print through black-framed reading glasses, his hair in disarray, a light stubble dusting his jawline. My God, if he wasn’t the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life. Aside from the scene being picture perfect enough for a designer catalogue, I couldn’t help but smile at the cushion fortress on either side of his lap, a preventative measure should Grace tumble over, not that that could happen with his strong, muscular arms caging her in protectively. It was then I knew Grace would be fine, that I could go out and enjoy my day without having to worry about their wellbeing. Hell, Ben even had leftover beef stroganoff prepared for his lunch, all the washing was done and the house was clean – what was there to worry about?
‘The coffee has j
ust been plunged if you want some,’ he said without once taking his eyes from the paper. It was a welcome distraction from my instinct to go straight to Grace. I had to snap out of that headspace. The sooner I got out of here, the better.
I grinned as I poured my coffee, watching Ben’s ongoing battle to prevent Grace reaching for the newspaper, no doubt wanting nothing more than to tear it and shove it in her mouth,.
I glanced at the paperwork on the bench: the instructions for the baby formula. The steriliser was plugged in and brewing a batch of clean bottles. If I was going to do something out of the kindness of my heart I could maybe have offered to watch Grace while he took a shower and got dressed, but I shut the thought down. I would give Ben the baby-transporting advice if he wanted to get things done and that would be it. I really had to go!
Finishing my coffee, I rinsed out the cup and placed it on the sink. I could get something to eat while I was out and about, otherwise I would end up making something here and cooking breakfast for Ben as well. I had to be all about tough love on the weekends, I had to be.
‘I see you have your hair down.’
Ben was in the same position. Either he had amazing peripheral vision or he had managed to sneak a peek when I was in the kitchen, but then I realised the more likely option as I met his eyes in the mirror over the mantel.
‘It suits you,’ he said matter-of-factly before looking down to his paper.
Although the comment sounded like he was reading an Ikea flat pack instruction sheet, it felt strange to hear something nice come out of his mouth.
I grabbed the BabyBjorn carrier and walked over to the lounge, placing it on the coffee table in front of him. Ben looked over his paper. Despite how damn sexy he looked from this angle, all I could do was smile at Gracie, who was as happy and bubbly as ever.
