Page 72 of Need You to Choose Me

She nibbles her bottom lip before eventually nodding. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We just never leave him for very long. The other day, I went to the mailbox and got talking to the mail lady while he was napping and my anxiety almost peaked knowing he was inside alone. You’d think it’d get less stressful as they get older, but that’s not true at all.”

My mother said she used to be that way with Sebastian. With me, she’d learned how to calm down. Slightly. That’s either the blessing or curse of being the second born. “I’ll give you lots of updates if it’ll make you feel better. But he’s already falling asleep, he’s been fed and changed, and I know what to do if something comes up. But DJ is right. You’ve been planning this for a while, and real estate around here has been going fast. You need to go look at these houses and figure out if either of them would work for you. Not to be selfish, but I hope they do.”

Not that I know where I’m going after graduation. Back to Vermont? Maybe. I never liked the cold much, but I love my mother enough to suffer the winters. And it isn’t like Lindon is much better. There have been winters in the past here in New York that were worse than back home.

Skylar pulls her phone out. “It’s my mom. They’re probably wondering where we are. Okay.Okay. Let’s go before I change my mind.”

I wave them off as DJ all but drags her to the car, after kissing Bentley three different times. When it’s just me and my pseudo-nephew, I bounce him until his heavy eyelids begin to fall heavier and heavier closed. Skylar basically quizzed me onhis schedule, so I know it like the back of my hand. She even watched me prepare his food, change his diaper, and put him in his crib for practice.

Knowing her, she’ll call me in twenty minutes checking in. Not that I blame her.

After Bentley is down for his nap, I quietly escape the little nursery with his baby monitor in my hand and head to the living room. The TV has been playing the news since I got here, which is too depressing to watch. So I find the remote stuffed between the cushions where DJ probably lost it and change it to ESPN.

With the hockey season starting soon, there’s a lot of talk about preseason games and who everyone thinks will make it to the championships. Thankfully, Sebastian’s team seems to be a top pick for a lot of people after how close they came last year. Alex’s team…not so much.

And because I’m not a total masochist, I change the channel just as Pittsburgh is mentioned by one of the anchors. Because I miss him, and I don’t like that I miss him. I don’t like any uncertainty. It’s bad enough I’ve been scrambling for a post-grad plan. Adding Alex to the mix is making my anxiety worse. I don’t want to make him a reason I choose where to go when I have no idea what it is he’s waiting for from me.

A relationship? More casual sex? There’s no definition, and too many questions. His future may be secured, but mine isn’t. That’s what I need to focus on.

For the next forty minutes, I watch a random documentary on Bernie Madoff and the Ponzi scheme he pulled off for decades. I’m almost impressed and about to click the next episode when Bentley’s harsh cries echo in the monitor.

“What’s wrong, buddy? Miss me already?” I ask, picking him up and noticing how red his face is. I frown, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead to see if he has a fever. He doesn’t feel warm, but his cries are hardly the same ones I hear when he’shungry or needs to be changed. “Come on, Chicken Nugget. We can bond in the living room. It’s never too early to learn about Ponzi schemes, right?”

I think about that for a second.

“Not that you should strive to be like Madoff,” I tell him as if he can understand me. His crying doesn’t stop, so it’s likely he can’t even hear me over them. Rocking him on my lap, I give him a pacifier which seems to help for all of ten seconds before he spits it out and cries louder. “Do you want one of your toys? I think I saw your stuffed turtle in the other room. You love Mr. Slow Poke. He looks just like Daddy’s turtle. Sort of.”

If DJ were here, he’d correct me on Shelldon being a tortoise, not a turtle. Then he’d tell me all the ways they’re different. At this point, I only do it knowing that he’ll react.

The second I pass Bentley the stuffed animal, he throws it onto the floor and wails at me.

My ears ring as I try figuring out what’s the matter. He can’t be hungry already, can he? He ate an hour and a half ago. I smell his diaper and, thankfully, don’t smell anything foul. “Bentley, buddy, work with me here. I promised your mom that everything would be fine. Give me some sort of clue how I can make you feel better. A bottle? A snack? Mr. Slow Poke? Do you want to watch one of your weird kid shows? I know Bernie Madoff probably isn’t your top choice, but he’s an interesting dude. Did you know he was basically scamming people since the sixties? That was a long time ago. You’ll understand the concept of time when you’re older.”

It’s obvious talking is the last thing Bentley wants to do, so I groan and hug him to me. He’s not warm. He doesn’t want his stuffy or pacifier. When I offer him some of his gross rice puff snacks that he usually devours, he eats two and then dumps the rest of the floor.

Closing my eyes, I count to three and then decide to make him a bottle.

But that doesn’t seem to appease him either.

Not wanting to disturb Skylar, who would undoubtedly come home in a heartbeat if I told her Bentley won’t stop crying, I opt to try my mother first.

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Claire Henderson. I can’t come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I’ll get back to you promptly.”

Dropping my head back, I hang-up before the beep and weigh my options. Today is the first time in a long time that Skylar and DJ have gone out and left Bentley behind. They deserve some time with their family without having to worry about their son.

So, I call the only other person I can think of.

“O-Dawg,” Bodhi greets on the second ring. “What’s—Is that a baby crying?”

“He won’t stop, Bodhi. I’ve tried feeding him. Playing with him. Bouncing him. Soothing him. He didn’t have an accident, and he won’t eat. He’s a little red, but I don’t know what to do. Bernie Madoff isn’t soothing him either!”

“Bernie Madoff? Didn’t he die in prison not that long ago?” he questions.

“Not the point, Hoffman!”

“Okay, okay.” Suddenly, I’m glad Bodhi has experience with kids. Because something tells me Google wouldn’t be very helpful if I’d chosen to search for answers there. “How old is he? He might be teething. Or he could just have an upset stomach and might be gassy.”

“He’s got most of his teeth,” I answer, checking his gums to be sure. “And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about gas. His mom burped him earlier.”

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