Page 64 of Roommate's Guide to Love

I’ve changed her diaper. I’ve tried to feed her but she keeps shoving it away. I’ve tried to rock her. I’ve tried to bounce her. I just tried to even lay her down, wondering if she’s just over me and needs her space.

None of it has worked. It’s now two in the morning, I don’t think I’ve slept in twenty-four hours, she won’t stop drooling, and if this keeps going, I’m going to have my own breakdown.

I continue pacing back and forth with a crying Grace in my arms, her distress physically stabbing me in the chest because I don’t know what’s wrong with her.

Maybe I can’t do this. I know if Quinn were here, she’d tell me that it’s okay because I’ve been doing this for a day. But maybe this is a sign… Grace’s way of telling me that I’m not really cut out for this and to take all of the baby items back to the store while I can still get my money back, because there’s no timeline or dimension on this planet, or any other, that I’m equipped to be a dad.

No. Guardian. Uncle. Stand-in dad? Wait. Why am I thinking about my title when right now the only one I deserve is “moron who can’t get the baby to stop crying.”

“Is everything okay?”

I spin around to see a concerned Quinn standing in my living room. I had her work the bar tonight because I didn’t feel right about pawning Grace off on her—and I wasn’t ready to face the firing squad of my customers. But maybe I should’ve sucked it up and gone. Clearly I’m doing a bang-up job here.

“Yup. Great. Just having a middle-of-the-night scream party. I read on a baby blog it’s good for their lungs.”

Quinn laughs, even though this is not a laughing matter. “I didn’t realize a sleep-deprived Porter had my level of sarcasm.”

“Well, stupid questions get stupid answers,” I bite. “Clearly I’m not doing okay and neither is she.”

Quinn puts up a hand. “Okay, first, I know you’re tired and apparently are dealing with a screaming baby, but there’s no need to bite my head off.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” I say as Quinn comes over and relieves me of my Grace holding duties. Unfortunately though, Grace doesn’t stop crying, though the way she curls into Quinn’s shoulder at least lets me know the child is seeking comfort. We just can’t find it. “She’s been like this for hours.”

Quinn’s eyes are double the size as she turns to me. “Hours? Porter. Why didn’t you call me?”

I fall to the couch and run my hands through my already disheveled hair. “Because I can’t call or run to you every time she cries. Grace is now my responsibility. Not yours.”

“You dumb, stupid, man.” Quinn quits talking and I fall over into a lying position, closing my eyes as I try to even myself out. Which is hard, because just as it seems like Grace’s cries are coming to a stop, she starts all over again.

“Hey, take her,” Quinn says, and just as I’m opening my eyes, Grace is laying down next to me and Quinn is…texting? What the fuck?

“What are you doing? Who the fuck are you texting now when we’re in the middle of a crisis!”

“Calm your tits. I’m going to go raid your kitchen. Because if me, Ainsley and Google are right, you’re about to owe us for life. Also, do you have any bananas?”

“Yes?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure even if I wasn’t on the edge of insanity, I’d be confused by her question. And really that whole monologue in general.

“Great. Be right back.”

I just lie on my couch, a crying baby next to me, as Quinn disappears into my kitchen.

“What is she doing?” I ask Grace. Not that I was expecting an answer, but the fact that she’s quieted down a little does make me think that she’s also in a state of confusion.

“Here we go,” Quinn says, bringing back what looks like to be a washcloth and a cup of ice water. “Can I try?”

I pass Grace back to her. “Try whatever you want. Please.”

Quinn positions Grace in her arms so she has access to her mouth, dips the washcloth into the ice water for a few seconds, before inserting it into Grace’s mouth. She protests for a second, trying to push Quinn away, but soon she stops squirming. She stops fighting.

And even more amazing, she stops crying.

“What in the Hogwarts shit did you just do?”

My comment seems to surprise Quinn. “Okay, when we’re not in the middle of the baby crying torture chamber, we’re definitely having a further discussion on that reference. But we have much more important things to do.”

I watch as Quinn continues to dip the wash cloth in cold water, then go back to putting it in Grace’s mouth.

“She’s teething,” Quinn explains. “The cold compress helps with the gums to numb them a bit because you try being a baby and having things pop out of your mouth suddenly. You’d be screaming, too.”

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