Erik the Pink

by Matthew J. Metzger

“Oh, God.”

  “Hey!”

  “Are we going to end up making fourteen rounds of chilli just to use all the meat again?”

  “No,” Erik said emphatically, then shifted on his chair like a guilty five-year-old. “Well. Maybe ten rounds.”

  Andreas groaned. Beatriz mewled.

  “Okay,” he said. “Take Her Majesty. Did you bring me some clothes?”

  “Should you be getting up?” Erik fussed.

  “They’ve sent most new parents home by this time.”

  “Really? But you just had a baby!”

  “Yes, I didn’t break a hip.”

  Erik hesitated, glancing at Beatriz. “She’s on her front.”

  “Yes.”

  “So how do I—”

  Andreas rolled his eyes, and the baby. She opened a wide maw to squeal, and then Erik reached out and she was transferred into his fat arms. She looked tiny in his enormous paws, dainty and delicate, and Erik paled alarmingly as she squirmed. Beatriz seemed to hold the same opinion as Andreas, though: chunky was comfy. She wriggled, gave one last angry wail to make her feelings perfectly clear, then settled down with a snort.

  “Oh my God,” Erik breathed. “She’s—”

  Then he sniffed, and Andreas raised his eyebrows.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No!”

  “You are,” he said sceptically, easing his legs out of bed and pressing the call bell. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” Erik mumbled hoarsely. “Just—you know. She’s here. Ours. I have—I have a family. One that’s really mine, not—not like before. Just mine.”

  Andreas softened. He leaned forward to kiss the bushy red hair exploding from the top of Erik’s head, but said nothing. The nurse came. He was helped to dress, carefully avoiding jarring the dressing over the caesarian wound too much, and he watched Erik watch Beatriz as he got ready.

  His family.

  His whole new family.

  Then he said, “Take us home, then,” and Erik’s face lit up once more.

  * * * *

  The house was Erik’s pride and joy.

  It wasn’t some sprawling farm in the Spanish mountains, or a luxurious villa on the picturesque Spanish coast, but Erik had never lived there. He’d grown up in care homes and foster placements, dragged up in place after place after place. He’d always been too stupid, too big, too ugly, too loud, too old. Only one placement in his entire childhood had ever come close to being a real home, with Auntie Ellen, but then she’d had her stroke, and he’d been sent right back into care. And after that, it had been a waiting game until they kicked him out of the home, and into the world, all on his own.

  So when other kids at school had been wanting to join the army or learn to weld, Erik had wanted to buy a house, get married, and have a family. Whatever he did, whatever he became, they had been the things he’d needed.

  So their little house wasn’t much—but it was everything to Erik.

  It was just a little terraced house, squashed into a whole street of them, but it was graced with a long thin garden at the back, and two bedrooms instead of the typical one around here. When Andreas had moved in, the windows had become adorned with glass charms and the vegetable garden bracketed by enormous climbing plants with vibrant red flowers, jutting out of the fence like trumpets.

  That had been two years ago. And now Erik was bringing a whole new person home.

  Not that the new person seemed to be interested. She’d slept all the way home in the taxi, and stirred with a despairing, hiccuping sort of wail when the taxi had rolled down off the main road and into the potholed terror of their street. Andreas had had her out of the car seat, blanket and all, and was shushing her against his shoulder before Erik even really registered that she was crying.

  “First sprog?” the cabbie asked pointedly, and Erik jumped.

  “Sorry. Yeah. That obvious?”

  “Just a bit, pal.”

  Erik flushed as red as his hair, but grinned anyway. So what if he was acting like a fool? He’d managed to snag a brilliant boyfriend, and now he had a gorgeous baby girl to complete the set. Other folks were just jealous.

  Andreas stood patiently by the door, cuddling a now quiet Beatriz to his chest like he’d been born to heft babies around. Erik kissed him quickly before unlocking the door and shepherding his new family inside, heart bursting as the rainbows from the glass wind chime hanging in the hall window splayed across Beatriz’s blanket and little hat in ribbons of wild colours.

  And then he just sort of…stood there. Empty car seat in one hand, keys in the other. Just stood and stared.

  “Er.”

  “What?” Andreas asked.

  “What now?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well…what do we do now?”

  “Given that Madam seems to think sleeping on me is the best thing ever, I’m going to sit down somewhere and try and align our sleep schedules a bit.”

  Erik brightened, setting the car seat down. “Okay. So—put your feet up, both of you, and I can fetch and carry?”

  Andreas’ mouth quirked up at one corner. “I suppose.”

  “Tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate? Real chocolate? Ice cream?”

  “Hot chocolate. The real kind,” he added snottily, “not your shit instant.”

  “Andreas!”

  “What?”

  “You can’t swear now,” Erik said primly.

  Andreas snorted. “Oh please. With Jo for an auntie, her first word is going to be fuck anyway.”

  He wandered off into the living room, leaving Erik to argue with thin air. Erik snorted, but ducked into the tiny galley-style kitchen to rustle up pans and Andreas’ beloved hot chocolate, Spanish style. He acted like instant powder was an obscenity, and only the finest dark chocolate would do. Erik had to admit the stuff was nice…but Christ, if it wasn’t diabetes in a cup.

  By the time Erik made his way into the living room with a stack of biscuits, a mug of tea, and a cup of the beloved hot chocolate, Andreas had settled into the armchair, feet up on the stool and Beatriz held in the crook of his arm, supported by a stack of cushions. Erik tucked her blanket more securely around the wriggly little limbs, and she hiccuped gently.

  “Thanks,” Andreas murmured as he took the cup with his free hand. He looked knackered, and Erik said so. “I am. Think I’ll have a nap with Little Miss Loudmouth here.”

  “Don’t you listen to your grumpy old man, you’re gorgeous,” Erik told the baby, very seriously. She fixed him with a distinctly unimpressed stare, and he laughed. “Oh my God, she’s got your attitude.”

  “Heaven help us,” Andreas drawled.

  “So.” Erik dragged up the beanbag to sit by the chair and admire his new baby from a safe distance. “I made fifty percent of that.”

  “You got off in a strategic location. I did the rest of it.”

  “Yeah, but she’s fifty percent me.”

  “I’m sure she’ll manage, despite the disadvantage.”

  Erik rolled his eyes. “Will your nap make you nicer?”

  “Try me again in a month, when the sensation of trying to shove a beach ball out of my vagina has eased somewhat.”

  Erik grimaced.

  “She’ll be the only one, Erik.”

  The declaration was quiet, gentle, but firm. And Erik nodded.

  “I know.”

  He reached out to trace a tiny fingernail.

  “I’d love for her not to be an only child,” he said, “and maybe when she’s older we can talk about adopting another one or two. Or we can talk about surrogacy again, if we want her to have some blood siblings. But the way you struggled with—with everything, I don’t want to see that again. I don’t want to see you like that again.”

  “I can’t do it again. It’s not even that I don’t want to. I can’t.”

  He almost hadn’t. Andreas had never much struggled with being effeminate, but being female was something else entirely. And the unmistaka
ble transformation of his tight, carefully controlled body into the lush, full figure of a pregnant woman, had been unbearable for him. As much as Erik adored every speck of the little soul they’d made together, he had to admit it.

  “I don’t want to see you like that again.”

  He glanced up, and Andreas smiled.

  “C’mere.”

  Erik leaned up. Beatriz stirred sleepily as Andreas bent forward, and mewled between them as a soft kiss was pressed against the bridge of Erik’s nose.

  “Love you.”

  Erik smiled. “Te amo.”

  “Urgh, not sure why I love you, though. Te quiero. Honestly.”

  Erik chuckled, shuffling down the bag to tug Andreas’ socks off by the toes. “How about now?” he asked as he rubbed his thumbs into the tired arch of the left foot, and a breathy sigh was his reply.

  Erik had never been very good at massages, but Andreas had haughtily informed him that it was necessary for keeping gorgeous specimens like Andreas around. Erik would never admit it aloud—even though Andreas plainly knew—but that arrogant supremacy turned him on like crazy. He was mad enough to like high-maintenance, even though Andreas’ supposed high maintenance was mostly for show. He liked shiny things, but glass worked just as well as diamonds. He liked a massage, but didn’t see much of a difference between home-grown and spa-bought.

  Best kind of high-maintenance, in Erik’s opinion. Made him work for it, but didn’t give him money worries.

  He ended up massaging Andreas right to sleep, although that might have been the armchair after a couple of nights in a hospital bed. Once Andreas had joined their daughter in the land of nod, Erik edged out of the room, and snuck upstairs. A blanket came down off their bed, and he draped it carefully over his partner’s legs, tucking it just shy of Beatriz’s cushion nest. He considered trying to move her into her cot, but decided he wasn’t good enough to move her without waking her up and making her cry.

  So instead, he found his phone, and took a photo.

  Everyone’s home, safe and sound. Say hello to our beautiful little Beatriz!

  He sent it round their friends—then sank down onto the sofa to watch his little family, and feel the world click into place around him.

  Chapter 3

  Andreas didn’t realise he was napping until the crying woke him up.

  Just like in hospital, his brain came online all at once, leaving him disoriented even as he was already rolling onto his side and trying to reach for the Moses basket. She was crying. Everything in him reached for her, body and soul.

  “Hey, it’s alright, I’ve got her—”

  “Give her here,” Andreas snapped.

  “Um, okay, okay—hey, don’t squirm, sweetie, I got you—sit back, then, you can’t hold her like that—”

  A flicker of irritation sparked in Andreas’ chest. He wanted to bite back. Wanted to ask how Erik would know, given he’d barely held her twice yet. And that damned crying—

  “Sit back.”

  It wouldn’t help, and it was unreasonable anyway. Andreas groaned as he relaxed back into the sofa cushions. Moving still hurt, but she was crying. His hands itched to touch her and make it stop, and Erik probably wasn’t helping. They were weirdly smart, new babies. They knew when they were being held by someone who didn’t want to hold them—they just didn’t understand why someone didn’t want to hold them.

  And so he sighed, the tension leeching out of his body entirely, as she was carefully transferred into his arms.

  “Hello, darling,” he whispered in his own language, and she quieted. The flailing arms slowly calmed, and the kick against his elbow was delivered once more, sharp and savage, before they curled back up into their favourite position and stilled again. She continued to cry quietly, and then a warm bottle was pressed into his hand.

  “Thank you.”

  She latched on hungrily, and the tantrum stopped at once. Andreas peered tiredly down at her, nestled into his chest and shoulder and suckling contentedly, and the ache in his abused gut eased.

  “Better?” Erik asked, perching by his hip on the very edge of the sofa.

  “Yeah.”

  “English,” came the gentle scolding, followed by a gentler kiss. Beatriz squeaked around the teat, and Erik chuckled, bending to kiss the top of her head.

  “I’m sorry for snapping,” Andreas said drowsily.

  “It’s fine,” Erik said, squeezing his thigh gently. “Hey. You mind if I get a picture?”

  “Of what?”

  “Of the pair of you,” Erik said, rolling his eyes.

  Andreas grimaced. “Oh right, sure. I still haven’t been able to wash my hair or have a shower.”

  “Camera doesn’t pick up your smell,” Erik said breezily. “And who cares anyway? My boyfriend feeding my baby. It’s pretty much as beautiful as you get.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment, to be honest…”

  Erik grinned. “It is. Let me get the proper camera—I’m going to get a paper picture for my wallet.”

  Of course he was. Andreas rolled his eyes, but nodded. As Erik bounced up off the sofa and rushed off to find his camera, Andreas smiled down at Beatriz. She was still pink, her face still squashed up in residue annoyance at her ungraceful entrance into the world. But she was going to grow like a monster, he could already tell.

  “Going to pose for me and Daddy?” Andreas murmured to her in Spanish. She snuffled but didn’t open her eyes. When he tweaked a tiny hand with his thumb, she closed it gently around his nail. “I’ll take that as a no. I don’t feel like it either.”

  Bottle emptied, he lifted her onto his shoulder and rubbed gently at her back until the deafening belch was released. She grumbled as he laid her back down in his arms, snuggling into his chest for hopefully another nap. Sighing, Andreas leaned his head sideways against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. Gently, he lowered her to rest against his belly and lap, so he could n—

  Nope. She began to cry again at once. Andreas groaned.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Eh? Is it that you like it up here, or you like the sound of my voice? Hm?”

  He lifted her back to rest against his heart, and she settled contentedly. That hand was still locked about his finger. The grip was powerful, and he smiled to himself as he closed his eyes again.

  And—there it was. She began to squirm and cry again.

  “You liked being talked to, don’t you?” he murmured softly, not moving. Instantly, she settled. “Alright, I get the hint.”

  It was his own doing, he supposed. He liked to sing to himself when he was alone in the house, or when Erik was busy. She was probably used to constant noise. He hummed experimentally, just picking a tune out of nowhere, and smiled when she settled again.

  She was perfect. He’d not really taken the time to have a good cuddle in hospital—too exhausted and in too much pain from the birth. But he stared down, listening to Erik crash around upstairs in his efforts to find the camera, and drank in the sight of her.

  And the feeling in his chest.

  He’d almost called off the pregnancy several times, and had become little more than a recluse in the last two months of it. The dysphoria had taken everything from him—the gym, his job, the spa, Saturday mornings in coffee shops while Erik was at work, even going to the pub for an evening meal to walk home with Erik after he’d closed up for the night. Everything. And it had been a struggle to remember it hadn’t been Beatriz taking it all away, but himself.

  Still, Andreas knew better than to think emotions were rational, and he’d feared hating her even a fraction as much as he’d hated being pregnant. The warm tug in his chest said he’d been brilliantly wrong.

  Then he heard the click, and pulled a face.

  “What?” Erik said, grinning as he leaned on the back of the sofa to peer down at Beatriz. “You had the best look on your face. It’s wallet-perfect.”

  “I’m sure,” Andreas said dryly, and rested his head against the back
again. “I’m having another nap. It’s your turn to sing to her.”

  * * * *

  Erik wanted to hold his daughter.

  He was a toucher. He’d spent the better part of a year teaching Andreas to enjoy being touched all the time—if it didn’t lead straight to sex, the Andreas he’d met that summer evening wasn’t interested—and he’d spent the whole pregnancy touching the growing bump. Hugging it, stroking it, tapping it, petting it, the works. Now the baby was here, Erik wanted to spend the whole day cuddling her.

  Only—

  Only she was nestled against Andreas’ stomach, and Andreas was asleep.

  He’d been napping on and off constantly since they’d come home from the hospital. Erik couldn’t blame him, but it meant that the only one of them who knew exactly how to handle a newborn baby was out of action.

  So Erik wanted to cuddle her.

  He was just terrified of picking her up.

  Hence he was sitting on the floor in front of the sofa, chin resting against Andreas’ elbow, just watching her. Her feet were pressing lightly against his beard, and he was carefully stroking one little hand with his index finger.

  And she was looking at him.

  Well, her eyes were open. He couldn’t remember what newborn babies could see, but those big brown eyes were staring in his direction. He liked to think she could see him.

  “Remember me?” he whispered, trying not to wake Andreas. “I know you’re in your favourite place right now, but don’t forget me, eh?”

  He waved her hand gently between finger and thumb, and she blinked owlishly, tightening her grip.

  “You’re just too small,” he said. “And I’m a Viking. There’s a reason they don’t show Vikings crossing the seas carrying babies, you know. We’re not very suited to it.”

  She squeezed his index finger tightly, then her face began to screw up.

  “Uh-oh—”

  The first whimper was astonishingly loud from something so small, and just like that, Andreas was awake. His head came up off the cushions, his arms tightened around the bundle, and he shifted forward as though he was going to get up. Erik caught his shoulders and slid in behind him, kissing the side of his neck.

  “Want a hand?”