him. "Wow. Okay."
"I know, kind of a shock, but today was such a buzz…," to his surprise, she laid her head on his shoulder. After a minute, he put his arm around her.
"My late husband was a doctor."
"Oh. Small world. I mean, you know…"
"I know. Full of surprises. That's me." Craig sighed when she snuggled in closer. "I don't have a pretty story, Craig. I'll warn you now."
"Who does?"
She laughed, and when she lifted her face to his, kissing her seemed like the most perfect thing to do, ever.
Chapter Eight
Sara slapped at the alarm clock, but it wouldn't stop crying. She sat, and gasped at the pain that assaulted her every nerve ending.
Holy shit, my hair even hurts.
She looked up at the ceiling and tried to get her bearings. The sound kept going and, in some sick perversion of Pavlov's principle, her breasts suddenly tingled and started to leak. She groaned and rolled onto her stomach remembering that her mom had left the day before after a long six weeks of hovering. Damn if she wouldn't give anything for the woman to be back; just to go pick the kid up now and placate her a while so Sara could sleep.
The mewling progressed to crying. The pillow Sara pulled over her own head did not shut it out. When the sound grew predictably to a full-throated screech of anger Sara heaved herself out of bed and stumbled across the hall, nearly tripping over the boxes still sitting half opened and mostly ignored.
This must be the seventh circle of hell.
Three o'clock that afternoon, convinced she had not a single mothering gene in her entire body, Sara sat on the couch, still in her pajamas, baby puke on one shoulder and the distinct odor of shit in her nose. Katie had cried so long and enthusiastically she'd been reduced to pitiful hiccups interspersed with hoarse yelps. Then had drifted off in spite of herself.
As she'd finally quieted, the doorbell rang, making them both jump. "Shit, shit, shit." Sara placed the baby on a blanket on the couch and prayed to all that was holy for her to stay asleep for a few minutes before opening the door. She burst into tears at the sight of Craig, his crooked, familiar smile the best thing she'd seen in a week. Suzanne lurked behind him, holding a plate of homemade cookies.
Craig hugged her, then pushed her back, his nose wrinkling. "Yeah, I'm here. Go take a shower. You reek of baby."
"Gladly. She's over there. Good luck." Sara escaped to the upstairs of the small Cape Cod she'd purchased. Katie had been so easy for a few weeks, then all colicky hell had broken loose, just in time for her parents to go back to Florida. Sara had never felt more abandoned in her life. She and Katie had sat and cried together for a solid hour that day. And things had devolved from there.
Reinforced but still bone tired after a long hot shower, she emerged to the sound of actual cooing. She tugged on jeans and a t-shirt and peeked around the corner. Craig sat with Katie on his legs, which he had bent up on the couch. They seemed to be communing or something and Sara couldn't help but smile at the sight of Craig's goofy face as he baby-talked his way into the record books. She fired up a pot of coffee, bringing them all a cup, happy to surrender the kid to someone else for a while.
She leaned on the doorway a minute, observed the utter chaos all around, boxes half opened, towels, dishes and clothes strewn all around the small two-story house she'd bought in order to feel more responsible as a mom. Her own mother had offered to help, to organize, but Sara balked, insisting she had a handle on it, unwilling to own up to how helpless she felt.
Not ready to admit defeat, that she really could not handle the new, smelly, complicated realities, tears pressed against her eyes. She blinked them back and handed Craig and Suzanne each a mug. Katie sat still, staring up at him from her vantage point on his thighs. Sara snuggled in next to him. Suzanne sipped her coffee from her spot on a
"I know, kind of a shock, but today was such a buzz…," to his surprise, she laid her head on his shoulder. After a minute, he put his arm around her.
"My late husband was a doctor."
"Oh. Small world. I mean, you know…"
"I know. Full of surprises. That's me." Craig sighed when she snuggled in closer. "I don't have a pretty story, Craig. I'll warn you now."
"Who does?"
She laughed, and when she lifted her face to his, kissing her seemed like the most perfect thing to do, ever.
Chapter Eight
Sara slapped at the alarm clock, but it wouldn't stop crying. She sat, and gasped at the pain that assaulted her every nerve ending.
Holy shit, my hair even hurts.
She looked up at the ceiling and tried to get her bearings. The sound kept going and, in some sick perversion of Pavlov's principle, her breasts suddenly tingled and started to leak. She groaned and rolled onto her stomach remembering that her mom had left the day before after a long six weeks of hovering. Damn if she wouldn't give anything for the woman to be back; just to go pick the kid up now and placate her a while so Sara could sleep.
The mewling progressed to crying. The pillow Sara pulled over her own head did not shut it out. When the sound grew predictably to a full-throated screech of anger Sara heaved herself out of bed and stumbled across the hall, nearly tripping over the boxes still sitting half opened and mostly ignored.
This must be the seventh circle of hell.
Three o'clock that afternoon, convinced she had not a single mothering gene in her entire body, Sara sat on the couch, still in her pajamas, baby puke on one shoulder and the distinct odor of shit in her nose. Katie had cried so long and enthusiastically she'd been reduced to pitiful hiccups interspersed with hoarse yelps. Then had drifted off in spite of herself.
As she'd finally quieted, the doorbell rang, making them both jump. "Shit, shit, shit." Sara placed the baby on a blanket on the couch and prayed to all that was holy for her to stay asleep for a few minutes before opening the door. She burst into tears at the sight of Craig, his crooked, familiar smile the best thing she'd seen in a week. Suzanne lurked behind him, holding a plate of homemade cookies.
Craig hugged her, then pushed her back, his nose wrinkling. "Yeah, I'm here. Go take a shower. You reek of baby."
"Gladly. She's over there. Good luck." Sara escaped to the upstairs of the small Cape Cod she'd purchased. Katie had been so easy for a few weeks, then all colicky hell had broken loose, just in time for her parents to go back to Florida. Sara had never felt more abandoned in her life. She and Katie had sat and cried together for a solid hour that day. And things had devolved from there.
Reinforced but still bone tired after a long hot shower, she emerged to the sound of actual cooing. She tugged on jeans and a t-shirt and peeked around the corner. Craig sat with Katie on his legs, which he had bent up on the couch. They seemed to be communing or something and Sara couldn't help but smile at the sight of Craig's goofy face as he baby-talked his way into the record books. She fired up a pot of coffee, bringing them all a cup, happy to surrender the kid to someone else for a while.
She leaned on the doorway a minute, observed the utter chaos all around, boxes half opened, towels, dishes and clothes strewn all around the small two-story house she'd bought in order to feel more responsible as a mom. Her own mother had offered to help, to organize, but Sara balked, insisting she had a handle on it, unwilling to own up to how helpless she felt.
Not ready to admit defeat, that she really could not handle the new, smelly, complicated realities, tears pressed against her eyes. She blinked them back and handed Craig and Suzanne each a mug. Katie sat still, staring up at him from her vantage point on his thighs. Sara snuggled in next to him. Suzanne sipped her coffee from her spot on a
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