I agree, then strap the pump to my chest before getting Jett out of his high chair and taking him down the hall to his room.
I painted it light blue, and not because he’s a boy, but because it reminded me of a cloudless, clear blue sky. When I was pregnant with him, feeling abandoned and broken, I used to lie on my back and watch the sky. It was one of the only things that brought me slivers of peace. Pottery had lost its peacefulness because stupid Dustin had tainted it.
Selling my studio in the city was harder than knowing our house was sold. The studio held more happy memories than our home–and that in itself should have been a red flag far earlier than it was.
After changing Jett’s diaper, packing his bag, packing milk, and throwing on a wrinkled sundress, I put my hair in a messy heap and head to my parents’ house.
They are literally outside waiting for Jett, wiggling fingers with wide grins. God, I love my parents.
“I’ll call you in an hour, and we’ll go from there, okay?” I ask. I trust them with Jett; it’s just that he’s been teething so bad lately–if he gets fussy around naptime, nothing will calm him but the boob.
It’s a fact.
“Go, go,” mom waves me off as she snatches Jett from my arms. Dad plucks the bag from my shoulder, and a moment later, the three people I love most are inside.
Now it’s time to get Beau to work.
* * *
Despite the early March chill,Beau’s leather jacket is off, slung over his back, putting his broad chest on display. I never get to really ogle it like I’d like because I usually only get to see the top quarter of his body in my rearview mirror.
Except when I pick him up.
I drink in as much of him as I can as I navigate to my usual parking spot. His grin is contagious, and man, I can’t remember a single fucking time when Dustin smiled so large and gorgeous that I couldn’t resist smiling, too.
I’m pretty sure that never happened. Like, ever.
“Hi,” I greet as he pops open the door. He slides into the seat behind me but doesn’t close the door right away.
“Where’s Jett? Is he okay? Is he sick? You didn’t pick someone up and expose him to germs, did you?” His voice is laced with panic, as if Jett’s whereabouts are directly tied to his mental well-being.
It makes my stomach flip. It makes me dizzy with warmth. But my job as Jett’s parent, role model, and protector is to play it safe with both of our hearts. So instead of melting and enjoying the moment–I roll my eyes.
“First of all, how would I know if someone was sick and I gave them a ride? Most people don’t even know they are sick for a few days.”
His eyes are still wide as they flit between the barren seat and me. “He’s okay?”
Finally, I smile. “Yes, Beau. Jett’s okay. He’s with my parents.”
“Why?” he asks immediately.
“Weren’t you giving me crap about how unsafe it is to bring Jett to work with me?” I tease, but his face grows serious, and I realize none of this is light-hearted to him. He genuinely was worried about Jett. “I left him at my parents house,” I tell him, wanting to put that tortured expression on his face to bed.
“Why?” he asks again.
I sigh. “Buckle up so we can get you to work,” I say, reversing my car out of the small parking lot. “Someone saw me driving you to work and saw the WGY sticker and the car seat… and called on me.”
“Called on you?”
I nod, adjusting the AC because, holy shit, why am I so hot? My skin is slick and damp out of nowhere. I lick my lips, sucking in a deep lungful of the cool air.
“Yeah, I guess I’m not allowed to bring him with me after all.”
His seatbelt clicks into place as I come to the first red light in our short drive. He’s quiet, and when I find his face in the rearview, he looks like he’s got a mouthful of bees he’s trying not to release.
“What?” I question.
He sucks in air through clenched teeth before sighing his response in an irritated rush. “You shouldn’t be driving strangers around anyway.”