"So much no," she whispered.
"Oh come on, those are Frank Zappa's daughter's names," I said. "If it's good enough for Frank--"
"Can you see her yet?"
"Not yet." I concentrated on keeping both of us calm. Nice and relaxed. Everything good. "I really think you're being too harsh on my choices of baby names."
The nurse snorted.
Jean huffed out a breath. "I don't even know who Frank Zappa is."
"He's one of the greats of American music," I said. "How can you not know Frank Zappa?"
"Don't let them take her away from me."
I nodded. "No one's taking her anywhere. Got it. Ready to hear all about the greatness of Zappa?"
She said nothing. I took that for a yes and kept talking, speaking absolute shit, on and on. It turns out that barkeeping skills actually do come in handy in real-life situations. Nonsense tumbled out of my mouth, silly trivia on Zappa's role in Deep Purple's rock anthem. On and on I went, losing track of time. There was only the professional murmuring of the medical team, Jean's worried but dazed face, and my own faux-cheerful ramblings. Two minutes might have passed, or twenty. I went on talking right up until an extremely pissed off little cry filled the air.
"Wow. She sounds mad."
"She was very happy in there," said the doctor, still busy behind the sheet. "But it was time to come out. Congratulations, Jean, you have a daughter."
"My baby," whispered Jean, her voice equal parts awe-filled and tired.
They carried the wailing baby to a table off to the side. Another midwife or doctor or whatever checked her out.
"I want to see her," said Jean, arching her neck, trying to watch everything going on.
Past the sheet, the doctor looked up. "You need to stay still, Jean."
"Here she is." The nurse arrived back and rested a tiny bundle wrapped up in a blanket beside Jean's face. "Eric, can you hold her?"
"Me?"
"You'll be all right," she insisted. "Just slip a hand under her neck to support her head and another beneath her body."
Bomb squad people probably felt this kind of fear. Oh so fucking carefully I took over control of the tiny angry person. Her little face was bright red, dark eyes accusing.
"It's okay, Ada," said Jean, tears spilling down her face. "Mommy's here."
And just like that the baby stopped crying.
"How'd you do that?" I asked in wonder.
"She knows my voice. Don't you, baby?"
"Wow." The bundle in my hands wiggled a little. But nothing else happened. "Ada, huh?"
"Yes. It was my grandmother's name."
"Sure I can't sell you on Moon Unit? Last chance."
Jean just gave me a tired smile. "Ada, meet Eric. Eric, this is Ada."
"Ada." I sighed, smiling too now. "Amazing."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"She's judging me."
Jean, lying exhausted on the hospital bed, just raised her brows. "How exactly is she judging you?"
"The look she's giving me is totally judgey." I frowned back at the baby lying in my arms. I'd been holding her on and off for hours now. Turned out, the longer I held her, the less scary it got. It was kind of silly to be afraid of something so small. Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.
Initially, I'd been terrified that I'd drop her or damage her in some way. I'd had to remind myself it wasn't the first time I'd held something fragile and precious. The top shelf back at the Dive Bar had a bottle of cognac that was worth more than I was, and I could spin that baby over my wrist without a second thought. Not that I'd be spinning Ada, because fragile.
"To her, you are just a weird blob," said Jean. "She can barely even see you."
That might be it, unless ... "Maybe I made a bad first impression. I think I swore. That might be why she doesn't like me."
"She likes you just fine. And I think she was probably more occupied with the whole welcome to the world thing. Highly doubt her mind was on you at all." Jean released a heavy sigh. "They haven't given me nearly enough pain meds for this conversation. You know, I just had a baby taken out of me. Why are we even talking about you?"
"I'm keeping you distracted. What sounds like narcissism is actually strategic kindness." I rocked on over toward the bed. Ada liked being rocked even if she didn't like me. "What would you like to talk about?"
"I don't know."
"Are your stitches hurting? Do you want me to get a nurse?"
"No." Another sigh. "I'm just tired and feel like crap."
"Still bummed about the delivery? I know it didn't go according to plan."
"A little, but that's stupid. I mean, she's a beautiful healthy baby."
"Jean, you're allowed to feel however you want."
"Hmm."
Guess she really had cut ties with her old life. Because she hadn't called anyone, not even her folks. I couldn't help but wonder if she thought about Ada's biological dad at all. The dude was missing out on a lot. A whole new life that he'd contributed to coming into the world. Maybe it's how he would have wanted it. The idiot didn't know what he was missing out on.
"You'd been thinking about it, planning it all, for months and then it went sideways on you," I said. "The whole thing was pretty scary. It's okay not to like how it happened."
"I guess I thought I'd just be glowing with motherhood or something by now." She lifted a hand, stroking the baby's cheek. "She is beautiful."
"She really is," I agreed. "Judgey as all hell, but the gorgeous chicks always are."
Jean chuckled, then winced. "Ow. Don't make me laugh."
"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 somethi
ng 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.