“I really want to, but I don’t know where to find one.”
Elise rolls her eyes as she picks Westley up, putting him on her shoulder and rubbing his back. “Find one or hold the smelly toddler. Your choice.”
Nodding once, I leave the room. I head to the bathroom, since it stands to reason there may be a laundry basket in there. If not, Adrian probably knows where to find one. He’s kneeling on the floor, one arm in the bath as he tests the water’s temperature. He lifts an eyebrow in question when I come in.
I lean against the sink. “Is there a laundry basket around here somewhere? I just realized I haven’t done laundry in four years.”
“Have you missed it?” he asks, lightly.
“I’m going to write sad ballads about how much. Where are laundry baskets?”
“When you get to the bottom of the stairs, the door right in front of you is the laundry room. Should be baskets in there.”
“I am horrified that I didn’t know this,” I tell him, turning to go in search of one.
Mateo remains at the table, hands laced together over his torso, relaxed as can be. I cock a judgmental eyebrow at him for not offering to help, but he doesn’t seem the least bit remorseful.
“Hey, I don’t clean up shit like that for my own kids, you think I’m gonna rush to clean up after Adrian’s?”
Indicating my swollen stomach, I ask, “Are you not going to help me when this happens with this one?”
“Is that my job?” he asks, sounding legitimately confused. “We have maids.”
“It doesn’t matter if we have maids. When a baby gets sick, you have to act fast, you can’t wait for maids to come clean it up.”
“Yes, you can,” he says, with the confidence of a man who has done just that.
I grip my head to keep it from exploding, but I don’t have time for this right now; Elise needs a laundry basket. All the way to get the laundry basket and back, I’m internally lecturing Mateo about the bond of parenthood and how as my baby’s father—biologically or not, it shouldn’t matter!—he is definitely the person I’m supposed to be able to count on to come to my aid in the middle of the night when I have a sick kid. Given he has so many children already, I don’t understand how this hasn’t come up by now. I guess I never thought about it. I wasn’t around at all for Beth, and Meg was so accustomed to being a single mother she may have had her own groove and didn’t bother him. Also, realistically, it’s probable that when Rosalie or Lily got sick, Mateo was in my bed and Meg was tending to them.
I’m so annoyed with him I don’t even look at him as I head back to Westley’s bedroom to help Elise. She is already in the bathroom with Adrian, but she left his soiled clothing on top of the bedding, so I hold my breath and strip the bed.
I ignore Mateo again as I head down to the laundry room and throw all this gross laundry into the washing machine. I’ve never used these machines before and they have far more bells and whistles than the ones I grew up using. When Vince and I lived at the mansion briefly, our laundry was done by the maids. When Vince and I moved out, we had a standard, cheap washer and dryer set.
These ones sort of look like I’m piloting an aircraft. I don’t understand why there are so many settings. It’s laundry! How complicated does laundry need to be?
Once the laundry is going—or the plane is prepared for take-off, I’m not entirely sure which—I go to one of the downstairs bathrooms to wash up. I feel gross. I need a shower.
When I get back upstairs I see that, while Mateo has not moved from the table, he has at least cleared the Scrabble board and put the game away. He glances up at me as I pass, but I head down the hall to check on Adrian, Elise, and Westley.
“How’s Westley feeling?” I ask.
Elise glances back at me, but she’s busy bathing Westley. Adrian is standing in front of the sink with his arms crossed and nothing left to do, so he answers me.
“He seems to be okay now. No fever, so maybe it was just something he ate.”
“Poor little guy. Do you want me to get him a drink or anything? Crackers?”
“Nah, I think we’re good. Thanks for coming to help. I don’t think the lady of the house is supposed to rush to clean up the servants’ quarters,” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “Neither of you are servants and when children are sick, those with hearts come to help.” None too subtly, I narrow my eyes at the end of the hallway, hoping Mateo can feel my disapproval since he’s not looking at me.