Baby Love (Baby #2)(60)

Thursday night I bathed Preston and got her dressed in her pajamas. I sat with her in the rocking chair in her bedroom and read from her favorite book, "Goodnight Moon."

She would try to turn the pages before I was finished reading. She soon became distracted from the book and squirmed against me rooting for my breast. She hadn’t done that for a while.

"What's the matter baby?" I asked softly, lifting my shirt and unfastening my nursing bra.

She immediately leaned over and latched on to my nipple. I watched as she curled up against me sucking gently.

Trey had been working in his study and passed by the nursery where we were. He poked his head in and asked if she was ready to go to bed.

"As soon as I finish nursing her," I said, "Why?"

"I just wanted to kiss her goodnight," he replied.

"Don't let me stop you Trey."

He came over to where she was safely ensconced in my arms and leaned over, brushing her hair gently with his hand he kissed the top of her head several times.

"Good-night Preston, Daddy loves you more than anything," he said softly.

He turned and left the room without acknowledging my presence for all intents and purposes. I actually felt my heart ache from his treatment of me. I had never felt so disconnected and distant from him. A single teardrop spilled from my eye, running down my cheek and dropping onto Preston. She was watching me as if she knew and sensed that something was amiss between her father and me. Her little mouth curved downward as if she were ready to cry.

I continued to rock her, gently stroking her hair and singing softly to her until she fell asleep in my arms. I lowered her gently into her crib, tucking her in. I placed her favorite stuffed toys next to her.

I shrugged off my shirt and jeans and crawled into the bed in the nursery finding comfort in being close to the one person in this apartment that I knew loved me unconditionally.

I awoke the next morning hearing Preston chatting baby talk in her crib. She was sitting up and had arranged her stuffed toys around her in a circle. She was pulling at her diaper under her pj's.

(Shit! What time was it?)

I glanced at the clock on the dresser seeing that it was 8:27 a.m. I couldn't believe that Preston had slept this late. Trey had apparently left for work without saying good-bye. My heart was heavy once again.

"Does Preston need a fresh diaper?" I asked.

She immediately glanced over in the direction of the bed not realizing that I had been in her room all night. She broke into a wide grin, crawling over to the crib rail, trying to pull herself up.

I lifted her out of her crib, placing her on the changing table while I got a clean diaper and a baby wipe for her. I unsnapped her pj's and removed the wet diaper and cleaned her up. I fastened a fresh diaper on her.

After I fed her breakfast I dressed her for the day. Gina was over at the apartment promptly at 10:00 to quiz me on my knowledge of mixing drinks. She had turned it into a science as far as her club was concerned. She had managed to go into the database on her computer at the club and capture the most popular mixed drinks sold there aside from the usual ones such as rum and coke, gin and tonic, vodka and orange juice - the very "generic" drinks as Gina liked to refer to them. The drinks I had been studying were the most popular at the Sanctuary over the past year that required memorizing the recipe.

"Okay girlfriend," she said very seriously.

"Are you ready?"

I nodded my head nervously. I really wanted to succeed at this. I knew that there was both an art and a science to mixing drinks and tending bar in general.

Gina had a stopwatch. We had arranged various containers of colored water to represent the various liquors and liqueurs, along with an ice bucket, tongs, and various sizes of glasses. I would use an unattached hose nozzle when I had to add the various sides such as soda, tonic, Coke and Sprite.

"Okay now remember, when I call out the drink you repeat out loud the ingredients as you are making it so that I know you understand the ingredients."

"Yes Gina," I replied warily.

She had been a relentless taskmaster over the past couple of days.

'Gimme a "Grateful Dead," she ordered, clicking on her stopwatch.

I put myself in action with the array of bottles that had various levels of food-colored water in them.

"A 'Grateful Dead," I repeated, picking up a Collins glass and shoving ice into it.

"One part tequila, one part vodka, one part light rum, one part gin, one part Chamburd and raspberry liqueur."

"Very good," Gina beamed stopping the watch, allowing me time to empty the contents of the drink into the sink and prepare for the next concoction.

"I'm ready for "Sex on the Beach," she purred.

"Sex on the Beach is two parts vodka, one-half part peach schnapps, top it off with equal amounts of cranberry and orange juice."

"Great," Gina said, smiling.

"Now gimme a 'Kiss on the Lips," she ordered.

"Huh?" I asked, puzzled.

"Oh for Chrissake, Tylar - it's a damn drink."

I had to pause for a moment, trying to recall that particular drink from the book she had ordered me to memorize two days ago.

"Hint," she hollered, "It has frozen mango mix in it."

"Oh yes, 'Kiss on the Lips' - one and a half parts peach schnapps, one part frozen mango mix and one tablespoon grenadine."