They say that sometimes in life you get premonitions, or you see things you otherwise wouldn’t be able to see. Well, something about the walk in the park tonight allowed me to see things in a different light, like tapping into an alternate reality. The old couple on the bench saw it, too. They thought we were a family.

Could we be?

But Ethan seemed distracted. I’m sure it’s because of work, but I wanted to be sure it wasn’t me, so after we put Lilly Belle to bed at night, I close the door and turn to him. “Do you want to come to my room?” I ask, putting myself on the firing line.

“I can’t,” he says. “Have a Skype meeting in the morning I have to prepare for, but maybe another time.” Another time. Not tomorrow, not any day/time specifically, just “another time.”

Rejected.

But hey, I get it. What’s happening to us is weird, and he’s allowed to feel weird about it, and I should give him space if he needs it. Same with me. “Sure, sounds good.” I fake a smile and slip into my room to let out an antsy breath, waiting to see if he’ll kiss me or change his mind, come charging in to take advantage of me. My body tingles with anticipation and need. I want him so much, but I also want to know where we stand, and if he can’t commit to a kiss, then I should probably push him out of my mind.

He leaves quickly while I get ready for bed.

Only I don’t get to rest long, because Miss Lilly Belle Poopypants has decided she can’t sleep either. I don’t understand. I did everything right—I gave her a nice lavender bath, I gave her a full bottle, sang her “You Are My Sunshine,” and I even put her in her favorite brushed cotton PJs.

It has to be the teething, only when I enter her room, I find her, not only burning up, but sick to her stomach. After changing her, I fetch her some water, but she pushes the bottle away, so I look for the thermometer and see she’s got 101. Baby Motrin, it is. Tummy virus, most likely. We’ll have to go to the doctor in the morning.

I wonder if Ethan would come with us again or blow us off like we don’t exist.

Hot and cold, hot and cold. Ethan is like Lilly Belle’s fever, on and off.

As it turns out, Lilly has a stomach virus, but thankfully, it’s only the 24-hour kind. We don’t go out much. I guess it doesn’t matter. Germs are everywhere and we did walk through Central Park yesterday. Ethan comes in to check on her every once in a while, looking concerned, and I have to assure him that babies get sick just like adults do, and she’ll be fine.

“I just want to make sure,” he says several times.

“Ethan, it’s all good. I promise.” And it is for the rest of the day, but I’m happy to see him worried for her. He should be. Lilly Belle gets back on her feet—well, not literally—but soon, she’s her happy peppy self again, playing with rings, sitting up, falling onto her side and rolling around the room, her preferred method of mobility.

That night, she sleeps like a rock. Taking care of her hasn’t given me much time to think about much else, but I’ve noticed Ethan lingering around a lot, almost like he’s not sure if to come in or not. When he stands in my open doorway in workout pants and no shirt, I almost faint at the sight of him. I expect him to chastise me like he used to for leaving the door unlocked, but he only leans against the frame watching me.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what? Just doing my job.” I pull the comforter close to me. So cold outside. Meanwhile my body heats up for his touch.

“For taking care of Lilly. I know you are, but you don’t have to do it well. You don’t have to care, but you do.”

“Are you just going to stand there? Come in,” I say from my bed.

“The sassy one speaks. You know, you forget who owns this house, I think.” He walks in and sits on the edge of my bed, like he’s scared to lie down with me. I never know how he’s going to be feeling from one day to the next.

I take his hand. “I haven’t forgotten. Just fucking with you, Ethan.”

His eyes light up with a smile. “I like when you fuck with me.” The following sigh is so heavy, I can tell there’s a lot on his mind. I pull on his arm to encourage him to lie down with me, and he does. Dying for warmth, I curl up into his chest which feels cool to the touch under the ceiling fan, but after a minute warms up against my skin. I don’t know if we’ll kiss or make love or what. Not feeling well anyway. Must be exhaustion.

I shiver against him.

Ethan places his hand on my forehead. “You feel warm. I think you’re getting sick, too, Sweetness. Stay here.” He scrambles off the bed and disappears down the hall, coming back a few minutes later with a glass of water for me and a thermometer. “Yep. You got whatever the baby had. Shit,” he says dramatically.

“It’s alright. It’s not like it was your fault.”

“I could’ve helped more. I could’ve given you time to yourself.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. Once you catch a virus, you’ve caught it.”

He gives me two fever-reducing pills, which he practically has to force feed to me, since in the time he’s been in my room, my fever chills spike. I tremble underneath the comforter, wrapping it tightly around me, even though I know I’m not supposed to.

Right away, he’s on his phone searching for information. “Says here you shouldn’t do that. You should let the ambient air cool your body down.”

“I know, but I’m so coooolddd…”

By morning, Wilson is there to make me chicken soup and take care of Lilly Belle, all the while I stay in bed curled up and watching Netflix sideways against my pillow. Ethan doesn’t leave my side. He watches the show with me and even works from his laptop on my bed. It’s weird to hear him talking to secretaries and supervisors about steel and projection charts and all sorts of business things. He takes on a completely different tone when he talks to them—the cold, steely Ethan.

He really is two different people.

I wonder if there’s a way to get him to be one amalgam instead of two polar opposites.

Once off the phone, Ethan goes back to playing nurse, fetching me cool towels to lay on my skin. I end up in the bathroom half the day, and I always ask him to go downstairs when I do, because I don’t want anyone near me when I’m audibly sick. I know you’re not supposed to care about things like that around people you trust, but my heart is confused about what it’s supposed to be feeling.

When he returns to my room, it’s with Lilly Belle. He’s holding her in the doorway, and I have to say, my heart soars seeing him carrying her. He bounces her up and down. “She was worried about you. See? There she is. There’s your…nanny.” Mommy. He almost said Mommy. “She’s sick, just like you were, but she’s going to be okay. Okay?”

Wilson slides into the picture to see if I need anything else, and it occurs to me that I’ve never had so many people taking care of me at the same time. At home, whenever I got sick, it was only my mom to care for me. My siblings were usually asked to stay out of the way, and my dad was almost always at work.

“Why don’t you go home?” Ethan asks Wilson. “I got everything covered here.”

“You sure?” Wilson is not convinced. Honestly, I’m not either. Who’s going to bathe Lilly Belle—him? Feed her, rock her, sing to her—him? Who’s going to change her diapers—him?

“Yes, go. How hard can it be? Bring Miss Wallach chicken soup and crackers, give Miss Lilly Belle a chew toy now and again.” He shoots me a knowing smirk, bouncing the baby a little too much. I would tell him to do it less, except it’s really nice to see him connecting with his niece.

His niece who will hopefully be his daughter one day. His mother’s words that night at the front door come back to haunt me. I just can’t bear the thought that Lilly may go to an adoption agency.

Wilson pats him on the back. “Goodnight, folks. If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be right over. All the way from Brooklyn,” he adds facetiously. As he’s leaving, the old man eyes me over Ethan’s shoulder, makes the universal sign for “call me,” and points at Ethan. I laugh so hard, I almost have to use the bathroom again.

I love that guy. Ethan doesn’t know how good he has it. Wilson has been taking care of him for years. I know—I’ve talked to him so many times now. The man has his own family in Brooklyn but comes up three times a week, more if needed. I asked him why he hasn’t retired yet, and his response?

“Who will take care of Ethan?”

Pretty sad. All he wants is to retire and live the rest of his life on a fishing boat off the coast of South Carolina where his extended family lives, but he’s still here because Ethan does need him.

Ethan has nobody else in this world.

My fever spikes again for what feels like the tenth time. I did not get the 24-hour variety of the stomach virus like Lilly Belle did, as it turns out. While Ethan goes through the baby’s bedtime routine all by himself, I vaguely remember telling him to wash his hands often, then I snooze in and out of consciousness, the state of mind reserved for the sick and those on mind-bending drugs. So far, he hasn’t called for help, and I’m surprised when Lilly Belle goes down without protest.

She must be shocked that her uncle is helping. I’m shocked he’s helping.

When he comes back to my room, he looks like he’s run a marathon. He lies down flat in the middle of the floor and tosses a small hand towel onto his chest. “How. The fuck. Do you do all that?”

“And you only took care of her one night,” I remind him.

After a minute’s rest, he gets back on his feet, sits at my bedside, and caresses my hair back. “You okay?”

I close my eyes and just feel. His hands on my forehead. His fingers running through my hair. His soft breath near my cheek when he stoops low to hear my faint replies. His warm kiss on my cheek and his care, more than anything. Two sides to Ethan Townsend? I’d say three, four, at least.

As he makes himself comfortable on my bed, I’m vaguely aware of him glancing at my open laptop, checking out my website, and making a few tech changes in the design.

I let him. He’s only trying to help. Hey, I will gladly take all the free help I can get from a successful billionaire. But it’s his voice talking to me quietly about different things—about his evening with Lilly Belle, about business, about the Netflix episode we watched, about return on investment, about any topic he feels like mentioning—that makes me drift away. His soothing presence lulls me back to sleep, and I vaguely dream about hearing it at bedtime every night for the rest of my life.