The Break(9)

“Sean,” he corrects.

“I’m so sorry,” I say again. “Is June here?” I ask, but Lila’s crying so loudly I’m not sure he hears me. She’s obviously hungry, and a panicky feeling races through me. “I really need to nurse her,” I say. Why didn’t I plan for this?

He stares at me. People nurse in public in New York City, but most do it discreetly, and I doubt Sean’s seen a thirty-four-year-old woman nurse her baby at close range. “I could nurse in a different room,” I say, gesturing to a closed door. “Or if you have a blanket, I can cover up.” I rip off my hat and hold it there, ashamed. The dog is still barking, Lila’s still crying, and I have that all-over itch I get when the fire alarm goes off in our apartment because we cooked and forgot to open a window. “Please,” I say, and then I apologize again, and then I think about how I shouldn’t apologize for my newborn being hungry. Sean moves toward a closet and comes back with a fuzzy blue blanket, the kind of blanket you have when you’re in your early twenties, when no one has ever made you get rid of things that look too shabby but are actually perfect.

“Thank you so much,” I say, taking the blanket and sinking onto the sofa. I drape it over us.

“Boomer, shut up,” Sean says to the dog. He keeps barking.

Mercifully Lila latches on the first try. I feel the pinch of pain followed by a release of something when the milk lets down (oxytocin?) that floods me with relief. Lila’s on me and she’s eating; we’re okay. I glance around the apartment, feeling myself relax, my body still and warm, like this all makes sense now, like this is the perfect place to nurse my baby in front of a strange boy. Hormones are nuts.

Sean’s still standing, trying not to look in my direction. His eyes are fixed on a fish tank in the corner. It’s an odd choice for such a small apartment because it takes up so much space, but it’s kind of cool. Half a dozen goldfish circle neon-colored castles in water that’s a shade too murky. Sean bends to put down the dog. “It’s the only way he’ll be quiet,” he mutters. The dog runs over to my feet, sniffing my boots. I feel bad I didn’t take them off at the door, but Sean’s wearing a beat-up pair of Adidas, so maybe he doesn’t care.

The apartment is finally quiet. My hand goes to Lila’s back, her tiny ribs palpable beneath her onesie. “Is June home?” I ask softly. There’s a cracked door to a bathroom, and then two closed doors off the tiny living room, but I can’t imagine any circumstance in which June would be here and not come out to see what the commotion was. Unless she’s sick or something? My stomach knots when I think about her hiding behind one of the doors, inches away from us, not wanting to see me. Scared.

“June’s out,” Sean says matter-of-factly. His gaze goes from the dog to my face, and I see that his eyes are hazel with a golden glow. The black pupils are tiny, as though he was in the dark and then turned on all the lights when we showed up. He’s cute, five nine or so, with broad shoulders and a big neck like a wrestler. His uneven white skin is flushed at the hairline like he’s upset, which makes me think maybe June told him what I did to her and he’s nervous to have me here.

“I’ll give her a call,” I say, fishing for my phone with my free hand.

“Don’t bother,” he snaps.

“Oh,” I say, nodding like that makes sense. I’m not sure what to do. I need to feed this baby, and June not being here seems like less of a problem now that she’s eating. And maybe June will show up if I hang around a little.

Sean’s staring hard at my face. I look away, but then I feel bad, like maybe he doesn’t know where else to put his eyes because of the nursing. I force my gaze back to him. “Would you mind if I stayed until the baby’s done eating?” I ask. I need to give Lila twenty or so minutes before I stuff her into that carrier again. This need seems bigger than my imposition, and that makes me wonder if becoming a mother will finally be the thing that exorcises my politeness.



“Suit yourself,” he says, sounding like a fifty-year-old man. He can’t be more than twenty-five.

“So how do you and June know each other?” I ask, trying to act casual, as if all of this isn’t bizarre. I shift my weight, my right leg already falling asleep. Sean’s standing near a red plastic microwave. In the tiny kitchen, design magazines are stacked next to Hello Kitty salt and pepper dispensers.

“June and I met on Bumble,” Sean says. He comes closer, taking a seat in an armchair across from me.

“Oh,” I say. I really hope I didn’t show up here to find June living with a boyfriend while she’s dating Harrison.

Sean’s features soften a little. “It’s funny, really,” he says. “June and I went on a few dates. So random. And it didn’t work out like that. But I’d been looking for a roommate for this place.” He sweeps an arm around as if he’s Vanna White and this apartment is a new puzzle. “We’d only gone out like four times, once to a Midtown bar, once to Bowery Ballroom to see Phoebe Bridgers, Welcome to the Johnsons, the Bronx Zoo . . .” He’s animated now like he really wants to tell me these things. “But I knew she’d be a great roommate. Though I kind of got the idea she thought the zoo was an odd place to go on a date,” he says, looking genuinely perplexed, like he still hasn’t figured out why.