Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jason
One Week Later
"Why did she make you live here when she was just going to say yes in the end?"
"You're the one who told me asking to move in had been the wrong move," I said to Lake as we walked down the stairs. We had been trying to get the couch down the stairs, and it hadn't been the easiest project. Getting it up it had been in pieces, in a box. Out of all my furniture which wasn't a lot to begin with, Shel and I weren't keeping that much. The bed was out because we were going to be sharing hers. She had a dining table, so mine wasn't coming either. We had agreed to get a work desk that fit her space for me to use instead of that one. That had left the couch. For as long as I still had the old place, the old pieces had a place to stay while we figured out a way to sell them.
"First of all, you didn't ask her anything, that was your whole problem," he said, looking over his shoulder, trying not to fall as we got the couch down the stairs. "Second, I didn't know she'd let you off the hook so fast when I said it. Why did she say no if she was just going to say yes a few weeks later?"
"Shit, Lake, you're beginning to sound like me," I laughed.
"I'm just saying. Sounds like she was just holding out on you," he grumbled. A while ago, I would have thought that too. He was just mad that I had roped him into helping me move. He had gotten a pickup from a friend of his, and once the couch was down, all that needed to follow was my bags and the one moving box full of the kitchen stuff that I had bought. That was it; I didn't know why he was complaining so damn much. The bed frame and mattress would take another trip, but it was only about noon. We had been at this maybe the last half hour, hour at the most. I had had almost nothing; this had been the easiest move I had ever had to make in my life. We had literally gotten out at the sweet spot after Damien had gone down for his morning nap and would be at the house most likely before he was up again.
Shel and I were going to figure out what to do with the things I had in storage back in New York. They would at the very least have to come to L.A. even if we didn't move anything in. Her house didn't have the most space for new things, but chances were in the next year or so, we might have been looking at a new place ourselves. It was still a big maybe; I was still waiting on the sale of my penthouse. Once the money came in from that, we could have a real conversation about it. Until then, we were staying at her place.
She was at the apartment, sick, in bed. She had caught a bug and had hardly been able to get out of bed at all. It had started the day before. She had said Thursday night that she hadn't been feeling that great when she had come to pick Damien up but hadn't been too worried about it. Friday morning she had called me saying she was too sick to go to work and she needed help with Damien. Where I worked didn't have onsite daycare, so I had worked remotely for the day, which I had gone into believing it would have been a lot easier than it had turned out to be.
In fact, the only reason I hadn't gotten a sitter was because the move was going to be so fast. I was back on baby duty the minute he got up from that nap. I had slept over at Shelby's before and helped her with Damien but never solo. He usually slept through the night, but last night, he had been restless and gotten up twice even though he hadn't been hungry or wet either time. It had been a long night. Shel had told me that once in a while, that would happen even though he was fine but, fuck, how the hell had she done this since he had been born when he had only been sleeping an hour and a half at a time?
Even just going through the nighttime routine alone had been chaos. Damien had waited till I had gotten his diaper off to let rip and it had gotten everywhere. I had had to get him sorted out, then clean up. For some reason, once I finally put him to bed, he would just cry till I picked him up again. I knew that I was fucking up the sleep training Shelby had done with him, but he just wouldn't stop. She had been sick, so I hadn't been able to ask her anything; it had been crazy because she had needed my help too.
Getting back to her place, I went ahead of Lake to get the door open and check on them. Damien was still napping, and Shel had been in the kitchen when I had walked in.
"Feeling better?" I asked, seeing her on her feet.
"I was thirsty," she said, showing me her glass of OJ. She was pale as death with circles around her eyes. She looked exhausted, but at least she could stand again. I walked over and held a hand to her forehead; cooler than she had been the day before, thank god. I had thought at one point that I would have to take her to the hospital.
"You should have waited for me to get that for you," I said, ushering her out of the kitchen. She complained as I walked her back to the bedroom and made sure she was back in bed before leaving again. After looking in on Damien one last time, I went back out to help Lake bring the rest of my stuff inside.
"Everything okay here?" he asked.
"Shel seems to be feeling a little better, but it's only been a couple days."
"Huh. You should stay here with her. I'll go back and get the bed."
"Are you serious? Damien's still asleep; I think we could get it before he's up again. Worst case scenario, we bring him with us." Lake insisted that it was all right. I was the one who had people to take care of: he wasn't. The only challenge would have been the mattress since I had already taken the frame apart and put it back in its box. I thanked him, and he left.
Instead of starting to unpack, I went to the kitchen and fished some soup I had bought out of the fridge. Shelby had been too nauseated the night before to have any, so I heated it up to see whether she was up to it now. Before I could even fill a bowl for her, Damien started up. I went to get him, finding him already trying to sit up in his crib. I plucked him out and changed his diaper, walking to the kitchen with him. He never agreed to have his milk cold, so I played with him as it warmed up to room temperature. Once he was fed, I placed him in his baby swing so I could heat up Shelby's soup.
"Babe?" I said, walking into her room. She was curled up on top of the bedding, wearing an old university sweatshirt and no pants. She rolled onto her back hearing me come in. "Ready to try again with the soup?"
"I don't know, we'll see," she said darkly. She had spent most of the night before throwing up. Between her and Damien, I had gotten maybe an hour and a half of sleep, tops. I felt like ass, but they needed me. I knew she hated being reliant on help; she had been fighting me since she had been too weak to even get up about it. I handed her the bowl and sat down next to her.
"If you wait for two to five more days, I can help you unpack," she said, trying a spoonful of the soup. I scoffed, kissing her forehead and smoothing some of her hair down. It was long and curly, so it had suffered the past couple days of her not being able to put a blow dryer or straightener to it. She had it in a bun that had been messed up from hours of tossing and turning in bed.
"No, you rest. I'll take care of it. And you." I stayed with her till the bell rang.
"Thanks for this, man," I said to Lake, helping him get the mattress into the house. I was going to put a cover over it and store it under Shel's bed in the bedroom, but maybe I'd wait till we could do it together.
"Don't worry about it," he said. He noticed Damien in his swing and went to say hi. He lifted him up, laughing when Damien squealed. Between us, Lake had always been the more family-oriented one. It had literally been dumb luck that I had gotten there before he had. Dumb luck and unreliable birth control. I hoped he’d find someone. He had talked about wanting kids of his own in the past.
"Is this the first time you're meeting him?" I asked, offering to take Damien.
"I think it is," he said. "I had been a little scared; you know how awkward it is when someone's kid's ugly, and you don't want to tell them." I raised my brows, waiting to hear what he'd say; whether I'd have to beat him up in front of my son. He must have caught my reaction because he laughed a little. "Hey, all I'm saying is he's lucky he looks like his mom." I rolled my eyes and took Damien.
"She's right in the bedroom; you want to say hi?"
"Isn't she sick?" he said, following me anyway. I pushed the door open and saw her sitting up still tackling the soup. He said hey from the door, and Shelby thanked him for all his help. Once she was better, they could have a real introduction. He left after that. I put Damien back in his swing and got to work moving the couch into the living room. It took a little time since I was alone. Shifting the two couches she already had, I made space for mine. It made the room a little snugger, but not overcrowded since one of hers had just been an armchair.
I stopped to eat and play with Damien then did the kitchen stuff. I had lived with one woman in my life, a girl I had started dating about a year out of college. We had been having fun together, and suddenly, she had started spending more time at my place than hers. She had had some lofty plans: marriage, and kids and at that time of my life, I had just been trying to get a foot in the door of the broadcast media world. Everything in Shel's house was just nice somehow, it all went together and matched. I liked it. I hadn't gotten to see a lot of the domestic side she had; I was looking forward to it.
Damien went down for a second nap, and I raided Shelby's fridge for something to eat at lunch. She was sleeping too when I went into her room. During the week she had been making space in her closet for me. There was one in the nursery which wasn't full, so I had that space too if I needed it. Today, all things considered, had been a good one. Shelby was still sick, but she was getting better. I wasn't going back to the studio again, and we were finally together, as a family. If I had another night like the one that had just passed, so what, I was here. We were together. The only place we could go was up, or at least forward. We'd figure it out.
Thinking about the chaos of the night before, I thought maybe a nap wouldn't have been the worst idea. With a few more hours of sleep, I wouldn't feel like shit tomorrow morning if Damien had a bad night. I went to the couch and turned the TV on, just some background noise, so I wasn't trying to fall asleep in total silence.
I was dozing when I heard Damien waking up. He is crying, wet, probably, I thought. I went to the nursery and pulled him out of his crib, taking him to the nursing table. I checked his diaper, and it was completely dry.
"What's the matter, buddy?" I asked out loud, looking down at my crying baby. He had had a bottle just before falling asleep. Was he really hungry again? I picked him up and bounced him up and down gently, on our way to the kitchen to try to soothe him. I pulled a bottle out of the fridge, cursing because I would have to warm it up. I shushed him, holding him against my chest as I held the bottle under hot running water with my other hand. He coughed suddenly, and I felt something wet down the front of my shirt. I sighed dropping the milk and looking down to survey the damage. Good thing this was an old shirt. I turned the water off and went to the living room. Damien was still crying as I put him down on the sofa and started unbuttoning his onesie. I had gotten it off when he threw up again, all over himself and me.
Shit. Shit. Something was wrong. He had been crying since he had gotten up. If he wasn't wet, hungry or colicky, it was something else. I gingerly took my soiled shirt off and used the clean parts to dry Damien off as best I could before picking him up and walking back to the nursery again. His forehead was against my cheek. He felt warm, warmer than usual. Fuck.
"Jason?"
"Go back to sleep, Shel," I said, looking over my shoulder and seeing her. I put Damien in his crib so he couldn't roll over and get hurt then started searching his dresser drawers.
"What happened? Why is Damien crying?" she asked. I finally found what I had been looking for: the thermometer. I hurried back to the crib, putting it gently under Damien's armpit. It beeped, and I looked at the reading. A hundred. He had a fever.