I groaned, leaning back right in my seat. “What do I do?”
“You have to tell Mason. Right now.”
I pulled out my phone and brought up our last text conversation. She was right. I knew I had to tell him, even if I wasn’t looking forward to the part of the conversation where I told him how and why we’d come to have the conversation.
Being an adult sucked sometimes.
I pulled out my phone and brought up our text chat and typed four simple words.
LAUREN: We need to talk.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – LAUREN
“Ssh. Ssh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” I gently patted Cara’s back as she petered off with her tears. She’d already vomited on me twice and given me a poop explosion, and if I were a worse sister, I’d wonder what the hell I was doing here.
All right, so I was. I was wondering why I’d insisted on taking my baby niece for the day when I could barely look after myself at this point in my life.
Well, I knew why. My sister being diagnosed with postpartum depression was the whole reason for our emergency doctor visit on Sunday, and now, on this bright and airy Tuesday, here I was.
Lauren Poppins.
Mary was way better than I’d ever be.
Jared was away working, and Iz was so overwhelmed with everything that I’d basically shown up first thing this morning and demanded she pack up all the baby things so she could have a break. She’d already texted me that she’d taken a three-hour nap, a one-hour bath, and gotten the laundry done without being thrown up on.
Cara finally settled after another ten minutes of rocking and walking around the room. I was pretty sure there was a good about of spit-slash-vomit down my back, but I was a little past caring. She was quiet, and that was all that really mattered right now.
Even Henry had taken cover in the linen cupboard.
But she was finally quiet. She was down, sleeping soundly on my shoulder. I blew out a long sigh of relief. I knew babies were hard work—I did—but I didn’t realize just how much until right now.
Two knocks thundered at my door, and I both grimaced and winced at the same time. Thankfully, Cara didn’t seem to be bothered by it, so I rocked her as I made my way to the apartment door and swung it open.
Mason stood on the other side. He’d clearly come straight from work because his jeans were ripped and dirty and dusty, and there were flecks of sawdust in his hair. I couldn’t help but grin at the sight of him, especially when he caught sight of the tiny human resting against my shoulder.
He raised one eyebrow. “Something I should know?”
I covered my mouth before I laughed too loudly. “No, it’s my niece. Come in.” I moved back for him. “My sister’s appointment at the weekend was an emergency one. They diagnosed her with postpartum depression, so I told her I’d take Cara for the day until I have to work in a couple hours.”
“That’s sweet of you. Is she doing okay?”
Ugh, why was he so kind? “She’s fine. She’s not covered in poop or vomit unlike me, so she’s probably feeling better.” I grinned. “Let me put her down and change my shirt, and then we can talk.”
“Right. Do you mind if I make a coffee? Do you want anything?” He paused at the kitchen island.
“No, and yes, a coffee. Please.” I smiled and carried Cara through to my room where her bed was temporarily set up. After making sure she was safe, I changed my shirt and gave myself a quick once-over for traces of vomit.
Finding none, I sprayed myself with deodorant and pulled the door over behind me.
Look—vomit lingered, okay?
“Here.” Mason handed me a cup the second I stepped back into the living room. “You look like you need it spiked with whiskey, though.”
I laughed and leaned against the counter. “Babies are hard. Like really hard. And messy!”
His lips twitched.
“This is my third shirt today, and I don’t even have leaky boobs as an excuse. Nope. Just vomit. People tell you babies are hard work but fuck me dead.” I shook my head. “My poor clothes.”
“Of course they’re hard work. They rely on you for everything.”
“Obviously, I know that. You just underestimate how long everything takes. Getting my mail earlier took me twenty minutes, and I didn’t even have to leave the building!” I cradled my mug and raised my eyebrows. “You know what’s false advertising? Those baby commercials on TV where it’s all sweetness and light and chubby-toe kissing. It’s all shitty backs and spittle in your hair.”
He dropped his head. His entire body shook with silent laughter, and I pursed my lips.
“Thanks for the support.”
“You’re welcome.” Mason grinned. “What did you want to talk about?”