Eric, Jody Kaye [well read books TXT] 📗

The following day we start counting down until the rest of the family comes home. As of today, the baby is seven days old with only one more to go before he meets his uncles. Eric asked me if I wouldn’t mind him heading to Houston with Ross to pick up Adam and Colton at the airport this afternoon. I can’t deny him, not after all the late nights. He misses his brothers too much.

My days are becoming quiet and routine. I feed Corey while listening to the sounds of Cris getting ready. The acoustics aren’t as bad as what it was like when I snuck into Eric’s old room. However, this building is old and the pipes rattle when the shower goes on. About the time the wonderful smells waft through the vents I know Mateo’s up and most mornings I can gauge his excitement over what’s served for breakfast. That’s when Eric wakes and comes to sit next to me, drinking his Red Bull. Cris’s apartment door opens and closes. The sound of footsteps echo across the cold barnyard. Eric makes himself a bowl of cereal and slips back to the bedroom to get ready himself.

After he leaves for work, I do a few dishes. Change Corey and feed him again. The diaper pail is half-full by ten in the morning and, manufactures guarantee aside, I bringing out the trash before the stench gets overpowering.

Lunch is early, though, with nobody else to talk to, I joke with the baby it’s not so early a meal if you’ve already been up six or seven hours. After eating, I gather Corey’s things, bundle him up, and pack the stroller. We walk up the county road to the main house. I can’t wait to take the shortcut through the fields when Corey can run on chubby legs the same way Mateo does towards the pond. But the carriage wheels won’t make it across the grass and the exercise is nice.

At Kingsbrier, I feed the baby again while Miss Rose’s clothes dryer finishes a quick load of laundry. Eric’s momma holds the baby and coos at him while I fold.

Miss Lily Anne came over one afternoon. The woman has more funny stories of what it was like when the six kids were tiny.

Once, Miss Rose said, “Oh, Lil, I was so tired back then. If you hadn’t just mentioned it, I would have never remembered that happened.”

Miss Lily Anne, whose only child is Drew, agreed that in the beginning having a new baby is enough to turn a person into the walking dead. It made me relax a bit.

I bit my tongue before asking Miss Lily Anne why she never had any more babies, figuring it may be the same reason why Miss Rose wound up with so many. It’s also none of my business and no reason to upset the applecart when Miss Rose is so welcoming.

My own momma dropped in today, so I missed out on doing the laundry. There’s a pile of clothes heaped in a basket by the front door. I keep tossing one more thing onto it: A bib, Eric’s work shirt from yesterday, and a plastic bag tied up with the outfit Corey pooped all over. My son has more wardrobe changes in a day than an actress and he’s only slightly less demanding. And I can’t help but love Corey more every time he pushes his lower lip out in a pout.

My mother left a while ago. I’m snuggled down on the floral sofa, reading Corey a board book with a bunch of farmyard characters on the front. Warm and cozy under his baby blanket, I fall asleep with the baby on my chest, startled it’s five o’clock when Corey fusses.

He’s hungry and so am I. The potatoes for dinner are still in the refrigerator, no closer to being peeled than they were all day.

Feeling guilty for napping, I unbutton my blouse to feed the baby. The one job I want to remain consistent about is dinner being on the table when Eric gets home. I’m not working for the next few months and we’re sticking to a budget. We need to save every penny.

As I’m burping the baby, Corey spits up on my pants. The overwhelming feeling ratchets. So little of my wardrobe fits. Though I find it hard to believe, Eric tells me he still thinks I’m pretty the way he had driving home from the hospital. My hair and clothes are a constant rumpled mess.

I pitch the khakis on top of the pile of laundry and seek out another pair. Hopefully, the stain doesn’t set by tomorrow. I’ll have double the wash, but Daveigh and Brier will be at Kingsbrier by then to keep me company.

The clock on the microwave passes five-twenty. If Eric gets in early, dinner won’t be ready and hunger is gnawing at me. I preheat the oven and pull the potatoes and vegetables from the fridge.

I’m ready to give up when Corey squirms in his bouncy seat. He scrunches up his face and I hear the familiar wet pop-pop-pop as he fills his diaper.

Yes, Cris advised me to wait, but this is another blowout waiting to happen. His pants are full and I’m not taking any chances. The time it’s going to take to change the baby eats into cooking and—

“Ya gotta knock, stupid.”

“I don’t gotta do anything,” Brier throws the apartment door open. Her nose scrunches. However, she’s all over Corey. “Pee-You!” She tickles his fat belly.

“Hey, Gin!” Munching, Daveigh holds an open bag of Cool Ranch Doritos out to me as a consolation prize for letting them barge in. The smell is more off-putting than what’s in Corey’s pants.

“Hey, look who I found!” Eric closes the door pleased with himself.

“Actually, we found him on our way over here.” Daveigh pops another corn chip into her mouth.

I push past Brier, unsnapping Corey from the bouncer. Lifting him up, I feel the contents of his diaper push against my hand.

The baby squirms as we leave the room. I lay him on a changing pad covering the bed. We haven’t got extra space for a dresser for him, so I shared a few small drawers of mine. The beautiful crib has been moved into an old tack closet we’d been using for storage.

Eric removes a fresh diaper from an open box across the room and asks me what’s wrong. 

I’m fuming over how I hadn’t been smart enough to grab one before undressing the baby. “I haven’t even started dinner,” I say, returning to the feeling like I can’t do anything right.

“So, we’ll order out.” He kneels at the side of the bed, nuzzling Corey’s nose and making raspberry sounds in the folds of his neck. The baby opens his mouth, reacting to the stimuli. It seems easier to be the daddy. Even if the daddy works all day while we visited with company and sleep on the sofa. “Hey, don’t cry.”

“I can’t do anything right.”

“Because you didn’t make dinner yet?”

“We can’t feed everyone.”

His sisters mill about the living space. Someone’s turned on the television. I don’t want to ask them to leave, but I’ve only planned for enough to eat for two. It’s rude not to include Brier and Daveigh.

“This one time we can, Gin. My family has been good to us. If ordering a pizza as a way of saying thank you also lets you off the hook for dinner, it’s okay.” Eric rubs my leg.

“Finish changing the baby and pack his bag up. I’ll put away the food that’s out and we’ll go up to the house tonight. C’mon.”

“I did nothing all day,” I protest, speaking sullenly into my lap. I’m ashamed I’ve let something so simple slip. “I wanted to have everything ready when you got home.”

“Some days will be like this, Ginny. You’ve done plenty all week. Hell, if you are half as tired as I am right now, I’m surprised you got anything done at all.” He turns the changing pad around and finishes getting Corey’s new outfit snapped up. “Look at me,” he pronounces with a hint of pride. “I’m getting better at the quick-change routine. Faster each time.” He cradles our son, peering down at the tiny person scrunched against his chest. “My lil man ain’t complaining either.”

“He isn’t now.” I touch Corey’s fuzzy head. His hair isn’t as thick as it was a week ago.

“Don’t forget pajamas. We can crash up there if it gets too late.”

He takes my face in his palms. “All I want is to spend time with my family tonight. There’s going to be a million nights to cook dinner, and probably a thousand reasons why dinner will be late getting to the table. It’s Friday. Give yourself a break, Sugar. It’s been a long week and you’re doing a great job.”

Eric scoops up the fresh, clean baby. “Give me some sugar.” He leans forward, asking for the kiss he missed when he walked through the door. “You hungry?”

“Yes.”

“Then let me take care of you.”

________________

21

________________

“Know what’s creepy? If I had sex with your wife our kid would look exactly like this.”

If Colton weren’t holding Corey, and looking at him like he’s mesmerized by flames in a fireplace, I would have pitched something at him.

It’s Christmas Eve. The original baby of the Cavanaugh family has been home just enough time to put his Navy persona in his duffle and unpack the stone-cold guise and wise-ass lines.

“She’s not my wife. Girls like jewelry to prove they’re in that kind of relationship.”

“That there is your problem for not putting a ring on it, not mine.”

“Where do you think I’m finding the money for an engagement ring?”

“You could ask Momma, or you could borrow from someone.”

“Like who, Ed McMahon?”

“I got it.”

“You’ve got enough money for an engagement ring?”

“I take it back, I used to have money for a ring.” Colton tosses a blue velvet box in my direction. It sails over my head and I reach up like an outfielder to catch it.

Adam snatches the box first, letting out a low whistle when he flips the lid. “How’d you pull this off?”

Adam’s filling his empty coiffures over break at Cavanaugh Construction alongside me. Colton is sitting on his ass. He gets a real vacation, not thirty days of cramming his pockets full of as much cash as he can manage to offset next semester’s expenses.

“Unlike you two fools, I have a job and a paycheck at the end of the week that doesn’t go towards buying school books or baby stuff.” Corey fusses and Colton bounces him a bit. The baby starts sucking on its pacifier. “Gimme a pat on the back, I can do this dad thing too.”

I doubt that. Colton lives on base in a cramped shoebox apartment. Sizewise, the way he describes it is not much than what we have. However, my brother has an aversion to the “shitload” of baby gear scattered here, there, and everywhere.

I inspect the ring, wondering what fuck Colton knows about jewelry besides it’s shiny. Given the extent of my own knowledge on the subject, the diamond could be a piece of glass.

“I can’t accept this.” I put the ring back into the box.

The door to the apartment opens and I shove it in my pocket.

“It’s a loan. I don’t care when you pay me back.” Colton mutters under his breath.

Walking in with her stepsister, Ginny is alarmed seeing Colton holding the baby. Even I’ll admit, Colton’s massive arms dwarf Corey.

I trust my brother, though, Gin’s admitted she’s having a rough time with my twin. She wants to respect his devotion to his job and country, but his menacing air has been kicked up a notch. Colton’s vying for