Hadley & Grace(55)

“Maybe it’s my irresistible charm and personality.”

Hadley scoffs and Grace laughs, the moment cut short by a small whinny from inside the room. Grace freezes, then races inside.

She scoops Miles up and jiggles him up and down as she reaches into the diaper bag for a bottle. He starts to cry.

“Stop bouncing him like that,” Hadley says, and Grace realizes she’s followed her into the room.

Grace switches his position to cradle him in her left arm and sways him back and forth as she continues to rummage through the bag. Miles screams louder.

“For Christ’s sake, you’re going to give him whiplash. Hand him over.”

Grace does as she says, her jaw sliding forward.

Hadley sits on the mattress and drapes Miles over her shoulder. She pats his back as she coos to him in a gentle, soothing tone, and immediately he stops crying.

Grace stares at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Fix his bottle,” Hadley says.

Grace grabs the formula and hurries into the bathroom to mix it, then races back and hands it to Hadley. A second later, Miles is in her lap, the bottle plugged in his mouth. He grabs onto it with his greedy little fists, sucking furiously.

“You’re fine,” Hadley says to Grace’s obvious distress. “You’ll get the hang of it. It just takes time.”

Grace shakes her head. “I suck at it.”

And Grace can tell Hadley doesn’t mean to, but before she can stop herself, her head moves a fraction up, then down, confirming what Grace already knows, that she is entirely incompetent at the single most important job in the world.

“Sit,” Hadley orders.

Grace plops beside her, her hands beneath her rump. Beside her, Miles continues to guzzle, his eyes rolled back in near elation.

“Here, you take him,” Hadley says, holding him toward her.

Grace scoots sideways and shakes her head. “He’s happy.”

Hadley pulls him back, the hand that holds him caressing his foot as he eats.

After a moment, a smile curls Hadley’s lips and she says, “Do you know what I’d be doing if I were home?”

It’s Sunday night, almost midnight. Grace has no idea what Hadley would be doing, but she knows what she’d be doing. She would be home with Miles, who would be screaming his head off, and she would be trying to comfort him in every way she could think of while praying for him to pass out so she could pass out beside him.

“I’d be doing this,” Hadley says. “Without Miles, of course. But I would be sitting on my bed after sneaking a cigarette. Only I wouldn’t be enjoying it because I’d be thinking how much Frank hates that I smoke, and I’d be worrying that he might come home and smell it on me. So, I’d be neurotic, sniffing the air and trying to smell my own breath, probably pacing or cleaning. I do that when I get nervous. I clean.”

“So, for you, this is actually an improvement?” Grace says.

“A sad statement on my life.”

“Your life’s not over.”

“I’m almost forty.”

“Really? I thought you were older.”

Hadley’s face snaps up, and Grace smirks an “I gotcha” look at her.

“Ha ha, very funny. You just wait until your first wrinkles start winking at you in the mirror. We’ll see how much you’re laughing then.”

Miles has conked out, formula drooling from his open mouth, his hand still holding the bottle.

“Burp rag,” Hadley says, and Grace hands her a towel.

Hadley drapes Miles over her shoulder and coaxes several small gas bubbles from him. Grace would have never done that. She would have just let him sleep.

Hadley notices Grace’s expression. “You need to get the air out; otherwise it causes cramping.” She looks around. “Hand me one of the bath towels.”

Grace retrieves a towel from the bathroom.

“Lay it flat on the bed.”

Hadley lays Miles on the towel diagonally and folds the bottom corner over his feet.

“He doesn’t like to be swaddled,” Grace says.

“Of course he does,” Hadley says, pissing Grace off.

Grace folds her arms across her chest, waiting for Hadley to finish and for Miles to let out a howl. Since he was born, he has hated the constraints of a blanket being wrapped tight around him.

Hadley finishes and straightens. “There you go, big boy, all set for the night.”

He is not howling. Rather, he is sleeping soundly, snug in his cocoon, except for his arms, which are slung over his head like a champion.

“Most boys like to have their arms free,” Hadley says, like it’s no big deal, like everyone knows that. But Grace didn’t know that. No one ever told her that. It’s a miracle, the simplest, most remarkable trick in the world. Miles is entirely content, his face not contorted in the least like it usually is as he wrestles himself to sleep. “You’ll get the hang of it,” Hadley repeats; then she stands and retrieves her crutches. “Well, good night. Another big day tomorrow, hopefully one not nearly as eventful as today.”

“Thank you,” Grace manages, the uncomfortable feeling in her chest returning.

Hadley tilts her head. “You do realize it’s the other way around, don’t you? That I’m the one who should be thanking you?”