Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(28)

“I wasn’t trying to make you laugh. You just have no respect for my feelings.” I turned away, hiding a smile. Don’t think I’d ever been so bone-weary tired, yet so wide awake. The new mother, on the other hand, had dark bruises beneath her eyes, her face pale. Not good. “Why don’t you try to sleep? I’ll wake you if she needs you.”

“I slept a little in recovery. I’m fine.”

“Remember everything the nurse talked about,” I said. “You need to be careful. This is some serious sh—… stuff you just went through.”

“I know.”

“Then there’s the pee and poop thing.”

“Oh my god,” said Jean, color rising to her cheeks. “Can we not talk about me using the bathroom? Can I be allowed that small amount of dignity?”

“Sorry.”

Jean nodded with a frown. “There’s so many rules. How the hell am I supposed to avoid stairs living in a second-floor apartment?”

“It’ll be okay,” I said. “We’ll all help with getting whatever you need.”

She didn’t respond.

“Lots of other people make it through this and you can too,” I said. “Look at Ada. You made her! This pretty much makes you Wonder Woman in my eyes.”

Her face softened.

“Hey there.” Nell swept into the room, face alight at the sight of the bundle of joy. Pat was behind her, weighed down with bags of stuff and flowers. “Here she is. Hi, you gorgeous little girl. Give her to me before you drop her, Eric.”

“I’m not going to drop her.” Jesus. I thought about mentioning the cognac, but decided against it. Reluctantly, I handed her over. “And her name is Ada. Watch her neck, she’s floppy.”

“Ada—that’s a beautiful name. And I know how to hold a baby, Eric.”

“Hi, Pat,” said Jean, giving him a vague smile.

“Nell checked with the doctor, she’s not contagious or anything,” he said. “But I’ll stay over here just in case I am.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

The man leaned against the doorway, watching us with interest. Seeing Nell and me fussing over a baby had to stir up all sorts of weird shit for him. Whatever his thoughts were, however, the bushy black beard hid them well.

Nell’s face crumpled. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“It’s okay,” said Jean. “Turns out Eric makes an excellent birth partner.”

“She’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen,” said Nell, eyes wide. Never missing a chance to change the subject once someone is saying something nice about me.

“Isn’t she beautiful?”

For a while, the two women gushed over the baby. Then Jean moved on to recounting the birth in great detail. I took the opportunity to grab a seat and close my eyes for a second. That’s all it took. Next thing I knew, Pat was shaking me by the shoulder.

“Damn.” I wiped a hand over my face. “Did I fall asleep?”

“You need to go home and get some rest,” said Jean, busy nursing Ada. And when I say nursing, I mean breast-feeding. With breasts and everything.

I did my best to keep my eyes on her face and no lower. But oh my god, Jean’s breasts. Only in my dreams had I imagined getting to see both of them, let alone a glimpse of one. And maybe it was because of the pregnancy or the body preparing for the breast-feeding or whatever, but they were as full and round as imaginable. To have my dream come true in this context was all wrong. But for fuck’s sake, I was a guy who liked women. The bulk of my life I’d been taught that when given the opportunity, you looked at a woman’s breasts—whether pumped-up cleavage, tantalizing half-see-through blouses, slick wet bikini tops, or (when the fates really smile on you) beautifully bare breasts. You ogled them, appreciated them, played with them, and pretty much made them your best friends. Frankly, if the girls want to show them to me, then I want to look. I’m open minded like that.

Except, not here. Not like this. This was all so very wrong.

In the end, I settled for staring at the puke-green wall over her shoulder, and tried to remember what Jean’s question had been. About getting some sleep. Not about breasts or fullness or nipples at all. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Are you okay to drive?”

“I can drop you back if you want,” said Pat, still leaning against the door frame, tatted arms crossed.

“Nuh, I’m good.”

Apparently, along with missing the initial baring of the breast, I’d also been asleep long enough for Nell to have put the flowers in a vase and for Jean to have unwrapped about a bazillion presents. Ada let out a lone wail of despair and Jean fiddled with her boob, getting the baby going again. Such pale creamy skin. I swear I didn’t mean to, but it was just human nature to glance at what was going on, right?

I was going to burn in hell.

“Poor baby,” cooed Jean. “It’s okay.”

How could it ever be considered okay to put such gorgeous breasts out on display and expect me not to look? Was I a superhero or something? No, I was not. Some days being an adult was really hard.

“You’re turning red,” said Nell, looking at me. “Are you sick or something?”

“I’m fine.”