Page 6 of She's the Star

I send a prayer into the universe. Keys. Phone. Either will do.

Nothing materializes. Stupid universe.

Suddenly, I realize Maddy isn’t crying, and my head snaps up. I brush the wall of hair off my face. The sight that greets me is astonishing. The man’s knuckle is wedged between Maddy’s gums, and she’s gnawing on it like it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted.

I gawk at the impossible.

My keys. My phone. My distress. Everything is forgotten. Because I’m transfixed by my daughter’s wide-eyed delight.

“I think she’s teething,” the man says softly.

I snap out of my daze, suddenly aware that I'm staring at my daughter as if seeing her for the first time. “Teething.” I try to hide my surprise as I rise to my feet.

He studies me steadily, and if he recognizes me, he’s kind enough to keep it to himself.

“I think so. Her chin is covered in drool and her bottom gum looks a bit swollen. Plus, she seems pretty happy now that she has something to chew on.”

A strange mixture of relief and disappointment bubbles up inside me. I’m pleased he knows how to soothe Maddy, but I’m embarrassed that teething didn’t even occur to me. Why is nothing about raising a baby intuitive?

“I’m impressed,” I tell him.

He shrugs casually, as if he hasn’t done the incredible.

With my daughter chewing on his finger, he couldn’t appear less threatening, and I have an irrational urge to start asking him every baby-related question that pops into my head.

Because that wouldn’t be weird.

I study him carefully, as if I can figure out his baby whispering secret just by looking at him. His button-up shirt and pressed chinos are understated and give him an average guy vibe that I don’t encounter very often. Musicians, dancers, athletes, celebrities—we’re all trying to make a statement. But this guy, with his tidy haircut, smooth-shaven cheeks, and calm voice, doesn’t seem like he’s trying to garner attention.

His lack of artifice is as odd as his easy confidence. Who is he, and why is he here?

And why did he think Maddy might be teething?

Does he have kids of his own? Younger siblings?

Is he a genius?

He can’t answer questions I’m too embarrassed to ask, so I’m left with no choice but to speculate. I can’t seem to pinpoint why I’m so desperate to understand him—maybe it’s because I don’t know anyone other than my mother who can pick up a baby and simply know exactly what to do.

I give a little shake of my head and try to focus on my current problem.

I open my mouth to confess that I’m stranded just as his gaze flicks to Maddy. He smiles at her, and my heart melts at the expression on his face. It’s almost affectionate. He obviously likes kids and isn’t intimidated by tears. Maybe the universe was listening. It didn’t give me my keys, but it did deliver him.

“Do you know a lot about babies?” I blurt.

“I have a bit of experience,” he responds as the breeze ruffles his brownish hair. He’s handsome in a nondescript sort of way. A bit taller than me. Lean, but not skinny. Eyes that might be brown, although I think I spot a hint of green, too. With the sun behind him, I can’t quite tell. Is it strange that I’m focused on deciphering his eye color?

“Well, you certainly know more than me. Maddy looks happier than she’s been in days.”

His lips turn up. “Don’t take it personally. Teething can make babies quite fussy.”

What an understatement.

I’m surrounded by people all the time. How is it that none of us considered Maddy might be teething? I guess it would’ve helped if someone in my entourage had kids.

This whole morning has been an unwelcome reminder that I need to find a nanny, like, yesterday. If I would stop rejecting candidates, I’d already have one.

“Did you find your keys?” the man asks as the silence stretches.

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