Page 8

8

FORD

I still can’t believe this is happening.

Since the moment Willa appeared at my door, my life has devolved into out-of-control chaos.

My living room is stuffed with baby things, my kitchen is full of bottles and nipples and formula, and I can still feel Matilda’s cries scraping against every nerve ending in my body.

The helpless frustration at not being able to soothe her has me exhausted.

“This is really… wild,” Andi says.

“Did you know you have a child?”

“No! Jesus.” I close my eyes.

“I had no idea.”

“Why didn’t she tell you?”

“She said she wasn’t sure I was the father. She’d been with a couple of other guys around the same time. She decided to have the baby on her own, but around Matilda’s three-month birthday her eyes started changing color and Willa realized I had to be the father. And then… her parents got in that accident and she… well, she said she needed me.”

“That’s not fair to you,” Andi says quietly.

“To dump all that on you out of the blue.”

“I agree. On the other hand, I don’t want to be that guy. Who doesn’t take responsibility for his own child. I just… I just don’t know how I’m going to handle this.” I turn to look at Andi again.

“Training camps starts in a few days. I can’t exactly bring her along.”

“Well, no. You need a babysitter. Or a nanny.”

“How the hell do I find one of those?”

“I don’t know! I’m just trying to help. Come on, you’re a smart guy. You have to have some problem-solving skills.”

“I do not,” I say tiredly.

“I think every brain cell in my head was destroyed by all that crying.”

“I do understand that,” she replies, slumping into the couch.

“It’s a terrible, horrible sound.”

“Right?”

“Again, you’re smart enough to figure things out. I found out about the bath on Google. We’ll look up some other strategies for calming her down. We’ll look for a nanny.”

“I’m not going to find anyone before Thursday.”

She grimaces.

“Probably true. But you never know.”

“I can’t do it right now. I’m exhausted.”

“Maybe you need a nap.”

“I never nap when it’s not a game day.” I close my eyes.

I roll my eyes.

“I think you can deviate from your usual routine, since your routine didn’t include a baby.”

“True.” I lift my head which feels as heavy as planet Earth.

“Okay.” I grab a cushion, shove it behind my head, and stretch out on the couch.

Andi stands, giving me room, but then walks toward the door.

“Where are you going?” I ask sharply.

“Home.” She blinks at me.

“Don’t go.”

She gives me big brown eyes from behind her tortoiseshell-framed glasses.

“What? Why?”

I don’t even know why I said that.

Except this feels easier with someone else.

“What if she wakes up and I don’t hear her?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Oh, you’ll hear her.”

“I might not.”

“I have work to do.” She blows out a breath.

“But fine. Go ahead, have your nap.” She waves her hands at me.

“But just know, I’m not much help when it comes to babies. I know nothing.”

“That’s about the same as me, eight hours ago. And the knowledge I’ve acquired since then is minimal.” I close my eyes, trying to relax my tight muscles.

This is so fucked up.

I do wake up when Matilda cries.

The sound comes through the baby monitor.

I blink my eyes and try to pull myself out of the depths of sleep.

“Ford.”

“What?”

“She’s awake.”

“I know. I hear her.” I push myself up to sitting and rub my face.

“What time is it? How long did we sleep?”

“Nearly two hours.”

“Oh, man. I needed that.” I head into the bedroom to pick up the crying baby, then take her over to the bed.

I have a pad that I lay her on to change the diaper.

She stops crying, thank fuck, as I fumble around and change her, waving her little arms and watching me with eyes that are weirdly discerning.

I feel judged.

And found lacking.

“Okay, princess, are you hungry?” I lift her up again and take her to the kitchen.

“Can I help?” Andi asks.

“Although I don’t know how to make a bottle.”

“Do you want to hold her?”

“No! Just tell me what to do.”

“Willa wrote down the instructions for making a bottle.” I reach for them.

“She brought this machine.”

“Fancy,” Andi says.

“It’s like a Keurig for baby bottles.”

I snort-laugh.

Moments later, Andi hands me the bottle.

“Here you go.”

I pop the nipple into Matilda’s mouth and she immediately starts sucking.

“You were starving, weren’t you?” I say to her.

“Attagirl.” I carry her back to the living room so I can sit.

“You’ve got this,” Andi says.

“I feel like an idiot.” I’m holding the baby and the bottle awkwardly.

Matilda gazes up at me.

“She knows I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

Andi laughs.

“Now that she’s not crying, she does seem very… wise.”

“Right? Like, if she could talk she’d be bossing me around.”

“Just wait.”

I look up and catch her smile.

Jesus.

One day Matilda will be talking.

And walking.

And then she’ll be graduating from high school.

My mind boggles.

I seriously can’t deal with this.

I have a daughter.

“I missed my meditation session this afternoon,” I complain.

“I’m sorry. I know you like to stick to your routine.”

“Yeah.” It makes me twitchy to have everything in disarray.

My chest feels vaguely tight and my stomach is percolating.

Matilda finishes the bottle.

I set it on the coffee table.

“Willa said I have to burp the baby after she eats.” She showed me a couple of different ways, so I lift Matilda to my shoulder and pat her back.

“Come on, little girl, give me a big belch.”

Andi chokes on a laugh.

I’m rewarded with a good burp.

“What do you do with her while she’s awake?” Andi asks.

“Or does she go back to sleep now?”

“Willa said she’ll be awake for maybe a couple of hours at a time.”

“Yikes.”

“I know. Be glad she’s not crying.” I look around.

“We’ll do tummy time. I’m supposed to do that.”

“Tummy time?” Andi rises and follows me over to the baby equipment.

“Yeah. It strengthens her neck or something. Can you spread out that blanket?”

Andi lays out the brightly colored quilt and I crouch down to place Matilda there on her belly.

She immediately fusses.

Crap.

“Hey, you have to stay here for a while.” I rub her back.

“It’ll be fun.”

“It doesn’t look fun,” Andi says.

“I think you need to move her arms up.”

I frown but carefully adjust Matilda’s little arms to support her better.

She still doesn’t seem happy.

“Maybe she needs a toy?”

“Yeah. I think Willa said something about that.” I dig around and find a thing that folds into a triangle.

One side is a mirror.

I prop it in front of Matilda.

Immediately, she’s intrigued, lifting her head and pushing higher onto her forearms to peer at her own reflection.

I look at Andi and we both grin.

“Who’s that pretty baby?” I ask Matilda.

Matilda makes a noise.

“That’s right! It’s you.”

When she tires of that, I find a red ball with holes in it and roll it in front of her.

She watches it, then reaches for it, but it’s too far for her.

So I move it closer and she curls her little fingers into it.

“Attagirl.”

“I can tell she’s so smart,” Andi says.

I grin again.

“Yeah? With all your baby experience?”

She laughs.

“You just know these things.”

“Well, I agree. Obviously she’s smart.”

Between the two of us, we keep Matilda happy on her tummy for about half an hour.

That’s a half hour of blessed no crying.

Matilda does make noise, though, with lots of screeches and high-pitched squeals.

“Aaaye ah!” she says.

“Aaaaaaah!”

“Listen to that,” I say to Andi.

“She’s trying to talk already.”

“It sounds like it!”

After a while, I pick her up and walk her around the condo, showing her everything and explaining things.

“That’s the award I got in college.” I point to the trophy on a shelf.

“And that picture is the American Olympic hockey team celebrating in Lake Placid when they beat the Soviet Union.”

Andi watches with amusement.

Matilda seems to be taking it all in.

Then it’s bedtime.

Thank Christ.

I’m exhausted.

When Matilda’s asleep, Andi and I fall onto the couch again.

I let out a long exhale.

“This is a lot of work.”

“It really is.” She bites her lip.

“No wonder new moms are exhausted.”

“What am I gonna do?” I ask again.

“I don’t have time for this! My schedule is all messed up. I should be at the gym, training with Victor. I didn’t meditate. And it’s bathroom cleaning day.”

She presses her lips together, nodding slowly, giving me a long look.

She opens her mouth, then closes it.

“What?”

She speaks hesitantly.

“I think you might have to let go of your schedule while you have the baby.”

Panic seizes me.

My nostrils flare and my blood runs cold.

“No. I can’t do that.”

“You have to find a nanny,” she reiterates.

“But until you do… you’re on your own.”

Fuck.

I really am.

My hockey teammates and buddies aren’t going to be any help with a baby.

My parents are leaving for Europe soon.

An overwhelming sense of helplessness fills me, my breathing quickening.

“I don’t know how to be a dad.”

“Look,” Andi says quietly.

“I’ll do what I can to help. But I’m in the middle of a big new contract and I just signed deals with two more clients. And I already said, I know nothing about babies. But I can try to help out until you find a nanny.”

Relief slides through me.

I’m not entirely comforted, because I know Andi’s busy.

Her business is important to her.

And she’s kind of terrified of Matilda.

But at least she’s another adult.

Although I know I can’t ask her to look after Matilda for hours while I go to the gym.

This is really going to fuck up my plans for this year.

I’ve made so much improvement to my game.

I’m eager for training camp to start so I can show off my gains.

But now…

that’s all trashed.

My teeth grind together and my muscles tense.

“What’s wrong?” Andi asks warily.

I close my eyes briefly on the rush of heat through my body.

“I’m pissed.”

“Um… why?”

“Why do you think?” I snap.

I open my eyes and see her expression.

“Sorry. Sorry. I’m…”

“Pissed,” she replies helpfully.

“Yeah.” I suck in air.

“I’ve worked so hard all summer. I’ve grown my game so much. And now… I have a baby left on my doorstep?—”

She snorts softly.

“Well, almost. I have all this responsibility dumped on me out of the blue and it’s fucking my whole life up. Training camp starts Thursday and I need to be in top shape to perform!”

“I get it.” She pauses.

“Do you have any family who could come help?”

I shake my head.

“My parents are leaving for Europe soon for a few months.”

“Whoa. Okay.”

“I can’t ask them to give that up. They’ve wanted to do this forever. And they gave up so much for me, my whole life.” I can only imagine their reaction to me knocking up someone in a one-night stand and ending up a father.

Jesus.

“And you’re an only child.”

“Yeah.”

She regards me with a look on her face that makes me want to squirm.

“So who are you mad at? Them? Me?”

“No! Not you.” I shake my head.

“I’m not mad at anyone. I’m not mad at Matilda. It’s not her fault, for Chrissake. Maybe I’m a little mad at Willa. I’m just mad at…” I gesture widely.

“All of it.”

And I don’t say it out loud, but I’m mostly mad at myself, because I know I’m acting like a selfish asshole.

Because I am a selfish asshole.

And I hate needing help.

When I was a kid, I vowed I would never need anyone else.

I would only rely on myself.

Asking for help makes me feel weak.

I hate feeling like that.

I’ve been focused on my career and I’m too selfish to look after someone else.

And right now, I’m pissed that someone is depending on me.

And apparently I do need someone.

“You can do this,” Andi says calmly.

“I’ll help. You’ll find a great nanny. It’ll be hard, but you got this.”

Her calm optimism and faith in me takes my anxiety down a notch.

She’s always positive.

Even after being betrayed and dumped by her ex, she got through the heartbreak and pain and regained her ability to always see something good.

I can try that, too.