Page 30 of Like You Want It

The water rinses the only remaining proof down the drain, and I stand in a slight daze.

Finally, I shake it off and move at a record pace through the rest of my shower. Wash, rinse, and before I know it, I’m toweling off.

When I step out of the bathroom, I hear light crying from the baby monitor that sits next to my bed. The little voice is crying just loud enough for me to make out the words she’s saying.

Mama.

I let out a sigh and dig into my dresser, looking for a pair of clean boxers. Once I’ve tugged those on, I grab my phone and head down the hall to Nell’s room.

I was surprised that she fell asleep just by resting in my arms earlier. Normally, she needs someone to sing to her. A specific song. And most of the time, she’ll cry for hours if it isn’t her mom doing the singing.

I have her number dialed before I even make it into Nell’s room.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey Susie. Nell needs a song.”

“Absolutely,” she says, her voice slightly wobbly. “How’s my girl? I didn’t get to talk much with you about her earlier since Carly was here.”

I sigh. “She’s good. Lydia watches her when I’m working, obviously. But she’s doing really good.”

“Yeah,” she says. “You know, with working from home I could…”

“Susie.” My tone is firm, and she immediately stops talking. “I love you, and I want you to spend time with Nell. But we agreed to what that would look like after rehab.”

More silence.

I hate being the bad guy. Really. Even though I come across like a total ass most of the time, the last thing I want is to act like I’m Child Services.

But Susie made some really massive mistakes. And now she’s paying for them.

“You wanna sing to her?” I ask, my voice low as I press the bedroom door open and see Nell standing, her arms draped over the top of the crib, her eyes glistening and cheeks wet.

“Yes,” she says, and I hear her sniffle.

I set my phone down on the changing table and put it on speaker, then lift Nell from her crib and snuggle her close, her curly head of dark hair resting just below my chin. Her cries are more subdued now that she’s in my arms, but I can tell she’s still upset. Still misses her mama.

“She’s listening,” I say, then give Nell’s tendrils a quick kiss.

Only a few seconds go by before I hear Susie’s voice, emotional and sad and soft, but clear and beautiful through the speaker.

Sweet angel, baby girl

Don’t you know your mama loves you

Sweet angel, baby girl

Wish that I could hold you tight

You might be so far away

But your Finny’s gonna hold you

So when you miss your mama

You can still sleep sweet at night.

It’s a song she made up for Nell when she was having a hard time falling asleep during the early days when Susie was in rehab. And it works like a charm, every time.