I'm still naked in the bedroom when I hear the front door close. I can hear sounds coming from the baby monitor. Danny is awake. I rush down the stairs, pull on clothes, and run back upstairs, panting. Danny is starting to scream as if nobody is with him.

"Shh, baby," I say. I pull him out of his crib and hold him close. "Time for breakfast, huh?"

There's snot dripping out of his nose. He's the picture of misery. I feel like a terrible human being, even though I haven't even had a chance to brush my teeth today.

"Let's get you a bottle," I tell him, carefully walking downstairs with him. I pop him into a freestanding high chair and make sure that it's far away from the table. The leading cause of emergency room visits for babies under one year of age is fractured skulls from the wrong kind of high chair. I have zero desire to take Danny to the emergency room. I mix the formula and water together, letting the baby have a bottle that's slightly warmer than room temperature. He wrinkles his nose as the rush job but puts up with it.

While's he's occupied, I run for my toothbrush and brush my teeth in the kitchen, keeping an eye on Danny. When two minutes are up, I go back to my bathroom and spit before using some mouthwash. The second that I'm not in the room, I hear a thunk which makes my heart miss a beat. I skid straight back into the kitchen only to find that he's thrown his bottle on the floor, where it's leaking.

"Why'd you throw it?" I ask Danny. He blows some spit bubbles and looks mad. I guess today isn't going to be as easy as yesterday.

* * *

By six in the evening, I'm dragging ass. Nothing I did today pleased my little tyrant. He was unhappy every second of the day, and I just can't understand why. I remember now that I haven't given him the colic solution that Camilla gave me the recipe for. So while waiting for Jeff to come home, I realize I have to go to the store. I have no idea when he'll be home, so I need to take Danny with me. I hunt for a stroller in the garage. There's a giant one that kind of resembles a tank.

"Looks like we're walking to the grocery store, buddy," I say to Danny. He kicks his legs and fights me as I try to strap him in, so it takes me a few minutes. His face is getting red from temper. I pray that Jeff will be home soon. I realize that Danny might be cranky because he hasn't seen Jeff today yet.

We walk over to the nearest Target. I spend a lot of time in the spice and herbal medicine sections. Finally, I have all the components. It sort of reminds me of chemistry class. I pay and I push Danny home with the grocery bag tied to the sturdy big handle in the back. I don't think that a recipe from a midwife would actively harm the baby, so I put together the recipe and pray for the best while Danny is in the Pack n Play.

When it's finally done, I have to let it cool. But Danny is starting to scream again, so I pop some ice cubes into the solution to help it cool down faster. I pull him out of the playpen and pop him into the high chair. 

"Let's try this out and see if it works, okay?"

I strain the solution and come up with sort of murky looking liquid. I pop it into a bottle and offer it to Danny, putting the nipple in his mouth. To my great relief, he doesn't spit it out or bat it away. He's sucking on it as if it's just the same as formula.

I can watch him visibly relax. Sometimes, a baby will get sleepy when he or she is drinking milk. Whatever's happening with Danny has about two times the impact. His sucking gets a little sluggish. His eyes droop a lot. I pull the bottle out of his little hands. He yawns hard. I can see the greenish tint to his tongue. I pray that whatever it was is okay.

"Let's put you in your crib, okay?" I smell his diaper and feel it. He's peed, but I don't smell poop. I carry him upstairs, change him, and put him in the crib. He's normally a little crankier when he feels the cold air despite the towel that I put on him when I'm changing him. But he seems pretty Zen right now. I put him in the crib and he's all the way out.

Maybe I should make that recipe every day. I hear the front door open. After turning on the baby monitor, I quickly get out of Danny's room and skip down the stairs.

"What did you cook? It looks like a healthy shake or something." Jeff shudders in mock disgust.

"There's a midwife's recipe to help with colic," I say.

Jeff raises his eyebrows at me. "And did it work?"

"It put Danny to sleep. It remains to be seen if it helps."

"Did you buy the ingredients yourself?"

"Yeah." He sorts through the Target bags and puts the receipt into his pants pocket.

"I'll reimburse you for the cost in your next paycheck."

That's right. I'm his employee.

"Sounds good." I wish I could just wave it off, but he knows that I'm about to go to college. I have a trust fund that I get when I graduate, but until then, I'm just your average broke college student. My dad is paying for my tuition, fees, and room and board, but that's it. I'm paying for my own books and anything else, which is why I have a summer job.

I take a deep breath. "Fettucine alfredo?"

"You know it."

He starts to unpack dinner, which smells good enough to make me salivate. I swallow hard. I realize that I skipped lunch because of how fussy Danny was today. It just slipped my mind.

He does the same thing that he did yesterday, pulling out the actual stuff you need to set the table.

"Do you wash your own dishes, or is that something your Alfred handles?" I haven't seen a housekeeper or anything. "I schedule cleanings every few weeks when I know I'll be home. Yes, I load and unload my own dishwasher. Danny goes through bottles too quickly for me to leave it that long. But I'll admit my Alfred takes care of the laundry. " He waves his hand at the cloth napkins. "Any laundry you have, you can just leave it downstairs in the sink."

"Or I can walk to my house and do my own laundry when you're home. Maybe I'll do that today."

He shrugs. "Whatever you want."

And then both of us dig into our meals. The rich, creamy sauce is just what I want. There's broccoli and chicken in the dish, too, which makes it slightly healthier. I can see that he's eating grilled rosemary chicken with a vegetable medley on the side.

In a few minutes, my stomach is bulging and I've finished the whole thing.

"That was so good," I say. "What restaurant was it?"

"I'll have to ask Marjorie. Normally, I pick it up myself, but I stayed so late that she arranged to have a delivery guy from the restaurant swing by the office around 7."

"Cool." I don't understand the casual acceptance of having other people bring him stuff, but I guess I'm an employee, too. My dad is self-sufficient to an absurd degree, no matter how much money we have. I guess that without a wife and with a young baby, Jeff has allowed himself to delegate more tasks.

"I haven't been by the office lately," I say. "How's Marjorie?"

"Still a firecracker," Jeff says. I laugh, because I still remember the time when she used to unplug his intercom every day so that he'd have to go to her desk. Sometimes I felt like Marjorie ran the whole office, which was kind of true. She was in her seventies and had spent her entire career shepherding executives. She was the best of the best, which meant that she spoke her mind whenever she wanted. She was always sweet to me, constantly slipping me candy when I was a kid. She was the one who'd made sure that there were feminine products at my house when I was about to hit puberty. I watched the videos and stuff in health class at school, but she'd gone the extra mile for me. I hadn't had a nanny after age 10, but Marjorie was someone who thought of all the details.

"Maybe I should bring Danny by for lunchtime one day."

"How about tomorrow?" Jeff asks. "I'd love to see his face." A cloud drifts over his face. "I normally spend the whole day near him, but..." "I'm sure it's hard. He's had a little separation anxiety," I confess. "And I think it might help."

"Sounds good."

I clear my throat. I go to the sink to rinse off my plate.

"Um, so, I guess I'll go to bed?" My voice is a little higher pitched than normal. I'm agonizing over whether I should ask him if we're going to spend the night together or if he's too tired.

"Sure. If you want to bring your toothbrush in my bathroom, it might be easier on you."

No discussion, but he's making it clear that he's expecting me to go upstairs. Thank goodness. I don't even know how to have this kind of conversation. He's the only person I've ever had sex with. I don't know what kind of protocol or whatever applies in this situation, where I'm a teenage girl living with a grown-up while I take care of his kid.

I pop into my room, wash my face, grab a set of pajamas and my toothbrush, and head upstairs. I brush my teeth standing next to his sink, which in some ways feels more intimate than what we did this morning. When I put my toothbrush in the holder in his room, it means that I'll be sleeping here for the foreseeable future.

I know it's too early to go to bed. But tonight, I feel like skipping my normal ritual with my Kindle. I climb under the covers. My eyes drift shut and I'm asleep in Jeff's bed before I can even hear him coming up the stairs.