Page 65 of Roommate's Guide to Love

I’m in awe as I watch this unfold. “How did you know she was teething? And how did you know how to fix it? Also, why did you ask me if I had bananas?”

“I really didn’t know for sure,” she begins. “I remember a teacher friend a few years ago talk about when her kid was teething that it was the worst cries she ever heard, and she included herself giving actual birth in that comparison. There was a bunch of drool coming out of her mouth, so I took a guess. Now the next part, I can’t take credit for. That was Google and Ainsley. Also, get on Amazon right now and order teething toys. You’re going to need them.”

I do as she says, ordering ten different kinds because I don’t know the difference and I’d spend a million dollars if I thought it would make her never cry like that again. “How was I supposed to know that she was teething?”

“You weren’t,” Quinn says, holding Grace as she continues to dip and dab the washcloth into her mouth. “The fact that she barely cried since she’s gotten here wouldn’t have given you a clue, but yeah, if she’s about ten months like Missy said, Google says this is prime teething time.”

I fall back into my couch, thankful the cries have stopped, but horrified that I didn’t think to use things like a search engine. “I’m fucked, Quinn. I can’t do this.”

“Porter, you have?—”

“No! Don’t give me your bullshit,” I say as I stand up off the couch, starting to pace in circles, which is apparently what I do now when I’m freaking out. “I can’t do this. I learned to change one diaper today, thought I was a fucking pro, and told you go to cover the bar. And look what happens!”

“She was teething, Porter. I’m sure her diaper is fine.”

“It wasn’t! I fucked it up six times before I got it to go on.”

“Is it on now?”

I snap my gaze to her. I know she has a habit of cracking jokes, but this isn’t the time. “This is serious, Quinn. What was I thinking? I can’t do this. I’m not equipped for this. I thought that an industrial size box of diapers was going to last me months, not days. When does she eat? When do I do formula and when do I do food? Ainsley can’t keep making me a list forever. And how do I know she’ll like it?”

During my pace I happen to take notice of an outlet, also known as a death trap for babies according to one blog I read today during hour two of the crying. “Oh! And then there’s the fact that my house is not baby proofed in the slightest. It’s essentially a walking death trap.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Quinn says. “And you can get socket covers. Did you already put in the Amazon order? Add some to the cart.”

I stop mid-pace to look at her. “How are you making jokes right now?”

“They’re not jokes,” she says as she starts rocking Grace a little, who seems to be starting to doze off. “If they come out that way, I apologize. But nothing I’ve said isn’t true. You can buy socket covers. You can call over a few guys and have this place baby proofed in a day. You found out about her yesterday, Porter.Yesterday. In what universe were you going to be ready for this? None that I’m aware of. So give yourself some grace and give yourself some credit for the wins you have today.”

She’s right, but my stubborn ass refuses to admit it. “Wins? What wins?”

“Well, let’s see. She’s alive. Always the biggest win of the day when it comes to kids.”

“I told you no more jokes.”

“And I’m not joking. Ask any parent, teacher, or babysitter. Rule number one of every day is keep the kid alive. And you did it, Porter. Congratulations. And let’s not forget that both of you are probably confused and scared shitless right now for this new world you’ve suddenly both been thrust into.”

I fall back to the seat, my hands all but scrubbing my face as I try to make sense of this new reality. “I didn’t know anything. She’s just a baby. And I–I’m fucking this all up.”

Quinn doesn’t say anything immediately, which makes me think for once she’s going to agree with me. But then I look up to see Quinn taking a finally calmed down Grace to the pack-n-play Maeve dropped off tonight, laying her down in there. I try not to stare as she bends over, but that’s hard to do. I try to push aside how beautiful she looks as she maneuvers Grace into what I’ve learned is a sleep sack. But what I can’t push aside is how much of a godsend she’s been to me these past two days, and how I don’t know if I could ever do this without her. Sure, I could’ve called Wes or my aunt. I’m sure Jenny would’ve known what to do, or maybe a few others at the bar who I know are parents, but I didn’t want any of their help. No. Somehow I knew Quinn could help me. And somehow tonight, she knew I needed her, even when I was too stubborn to ask for help.

“Are you okay?” she asks as she sits next to me, taking my hand in hers.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I didn’t know anything. And then you…you just walked in out of thin air and knew everything to do.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“It isn’t,” I say. “You’ve known everything. You knew she was teething. You knew what to get her last night. You knew what to buy today.”

“That’s not because I’m some sort of baby whisperer. I have friends with kids. I’m an aunt to two, and their mothers talk a lot about baby growing stages. And I babysat three times in high school when families really wanted Maeve but she wasn’t available. That barely qualifies me as some sort of genius.”

I fall back into the couch. “What am I going to do, Quinn? She would’ve been crying all night if you wouldn’t have showed up.”

“Well, then, you’re lucky I did,” she says, looking over to Grace, then back to me. “She seems to be out for a bit. The banana, per your question earlier, is for her to chew on when she gets like that again. It’s currently in the freezer for when you need it.”

She starts to stand up, but I pull her back down. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home?”

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