“Oh,” Nina steps in, “I was just stopping by to check in after practice today. Wanted to see if Dean needed anything.”
I can tell Lara is annoyed, but what’s with the jealousy? She and I are just friends. Yes, I like her. But like I’ve said a million times, me and complicated don’t get along. Women are complicated. Relationships are complicated.
“That’s really nice of you, Nina,” says Lara, who then looks at me. “So should I go?”
“No. Please no. I definitely need your help tonight,” I say.
“I can stay if you want,” Nina offers. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”
Lara looks back at me, and I’m feeling the pressure. Why? What the hell have I done wrong?
“I, uh, well…” Think fast, Dean! “I could really use both your help this week. So much going on. Lara, would you mind helping out tonight as planned? Nina, would you be okay with covering me during practice tomorrow night?”
Both women agree with a smile, but I’m sensing an undertone of bitterness. I can’t handle this right now.
“Okay, so…I’ll just get my stuff ready for practice.” I leave the room, shut the door, and start to sweat. The kindness is crushing me.
Stop, dude, you’re being dramatic. I really hate complicated. I do everything in my power to steer clear of it.
After about ten minutes, there’s a light knock at my door.
I wince, dreading it might be more drama with my name on it. “Yes?”
“Hey, Fia’s done with her bottle. I think she needs a change.”
I open the door and see Lara standing there holding a stinky baby, with her eyes watering from the smell. “The odor already ran Nina off. Says she’ll text you later.”
“Sorry. I’ll get that.” I take Fia in one arm and dig through the pink backpack on my bed for that changing pad. It’s a lot nicer than the roll of trash bags I have on my nightstand.
I quickly do the diaper deed, imagining I’m somewhere safe and warm, holding an ice-cold beer and maybe smelling coconut suntan oil. Before I know it, Fia’s all clean and wrapped up nice and tight like a tamale. If that tamale had a putrid-fudge autofill setting.
“Wow. I’m impressed,” Lara says, watching me like a spectator from the bleachers.
“Thanks. The internet has videos on everything. Hey, do you mind holding her for a sec? I have a few minutes before I have to leave for practice, and I want to set up her portable crib.” The lady at the store showed me how to do it. Eight easy steps.
“Sure.”
I hand her over, and the two start giggling while I get to work. Lara is making smoochies on Fia’s neck. Once again, I find myself mesmerized. Lara would be a natural as a mother.
“God dammit!” I bark at myself. What’s the matter with me?
Fia starts to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Lara asks. “Did you hurt yourself?”
“No, I-I…” I turn and look at Lara. I want to lie to her, but I can’t.
“What, Dean?” she pushes.
“Nothing. Today’s just…things are…difficult lately.”
“So you decided to randomly scream and curse and upset your baby?” She puts Fia’s head over her shoulder and starts rocking her back and forth while administering a soothing back rub.
“Would you stop that?” I grunt.
“What?”
“It’s distracting me.”
“What’s distracting you?” Lara continues the back rub.
“The mothering.”
“Why?” She frowns like I’ve lost my mind.
“Because…” I can’t say it.
“Dean, I’m your friend, remember? I promised no judgment.”
“Fine. I think it’s sexy watching you hold her.”
“What?” She bursts out laughing.
“You said you wouldn’t judge,” I snarl.
“Sorry. Sorry. You caught me off guard.”
“Trust me, you’re not alone. I really don’t get what’s happening to me.” I sound like a damned lunatic. My emotions are all over the map. I’m forgetting things. And now, I’m really liking watching Lara hold Fia.
“Babies make us see the world differently. It’s a normal part of becoming a parent. It’s also normal to enjoy watching someone dote on your baby.”
“I didn’t say I enjoyed it. I said it made you look sexy. Is that normal?”
Lara smiles bashfully, pushing a lock of golden hair behind her ear. “Sure. Why not?”
“Are you sure, because you’re not a parent.”
Lara gives me a look.
“Wait? Are you?” I ask.
“I am—was. But I don’t like to talk about it.”
Too bad because I really want to ask what happened. I decide it’s better not to pressure her. “I’m really sorry. I mean—it’s none of my business—but I’m sorry if what I just said flicked off an old scab.”
“’Tsokay.” She waves a dismissive hand through the air. “Can I suggest something, though?”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
I don’t trust anyone. I shrug noncommittally.
“Good enough,” she says. “Lie down on the bed and put Fia on your chest.”
“Is this some sort of mommy and me exercise?” I saw a video online.
She points to the bed, and I obey, lying flat on my back. “Bring it on.”