Page 66 of Zone
“The diaper?” I reach down to pull out the cabinet drawer holding the garbage can and all the dirty diapers.
All I smell is peppermint, thanks to the Stinkbalm.
“Gah!” He holds the back of his hand under his nose. “No dirty diapers in this bin. I’ll order a Diaper Genie. Give me your credit card.”
“Right!” I reach into my back pocket taking out my AMEX. “I’ll just leave this for you in case you need anything else.”
“Straight men,” he mutters, shaking his head as he exhales slowly. “How do we survive them?”
“You got me there.” I exhale a chuckle. “If you’d seen me three days ago.”
He walks over to where I’m holding Cricket. “Nine months?”
“Yeah, good guess.”
His eyes roll to me and he holds out both hands to her, palms up. “This isn’t my first rodeo, as you might say.”
He waits with his hands out, and Cricket studies him, like she’s unsure.
“Hey, Crick, it’s okay.” I give her a little bounce. “This is your new buddy Stan the manny.”
“Stanley,” he corrects.
I lean forward, ready to pass her off, but she turns away, arching her little back and making a squeal-ey noise. She doesn’t let me go, and my stomach pits. I look from her to him unsure what to do. I don’t want to force her, and this clinginess is tensing my muscles.
“Ahh…” I swallow hard. “C’mon, Crick. I’ve got to get to practice. Y’all are going to have a fun day.”
“What is this ‘Crick’?” Stanley’s tone is firm, but I notice it has softened a bit as he approaches the baby.
“Christine sounded too old, so I’ve been calling her Cricket.”
His voice rises an octave, and everything about him changes on a dime. “Hello, little Cricket. We’re going to have so much fun while Daddy plays football!”
I don’t know why that makes me feel like an asshole.
“It’s footballpractice,” I clarify. “I’ll be working out with weights, running laps, doing drills. It’s a lot more than just playing. It’s hard work.”
“I’m not your therapist,” he waves me away. “Come here, sweetie.”
To her credit, Cricket still isn’t entirely on board with what I now realize is an extremely judgy little man. Like he has any right to make me feel guilty for doing my job.
She finally lets him take her from my arms, but she looks up at me with those big blue eyes, a little worried but trusting me. I rub my hand over the tightness in my chest as I pick up my gym bag. Now I’m questioning everything.
“I left my cell number there.” I point to the Post-it on the refrigerator. “I’ll have it on me all the time. If you need anything…”
“You filled out the questionnaire online?” Stan clarifies. “She has no allergies or medical conditions?”
“Not that I know of. She’s only been with me a few days. Her mom died and all.”
He straightens, holding Cricket on his hip like he’s been doing it for years. His expression softens, and he puts a hand on my forearm.
“Go to your practice, Mr. Bradford. Your daughter will be perfectly fine. We’ll have a great day, and if anything happens, which it won’t, you’ll be the first to know.”
He says it with such calm confidence, his voice low and even—not like the voice he used with Cricket. He waits, smiling like I’m overreacting, and I huff out a breath.
“Okay, then.” I step forward, kissing Cricket on her cheek. “I’ll be back at six.”
I head out the door slower than I usually do, looking over my shoulder at the two of them. Cricket’s little eyes are on me, and I swallow the lump in my throat. She’s not crying, at least.
