Page 95 of Bountiful
In the kitchen, as promised, there wasanote.
1. She will want the bottle in the fridge. Nuke it for fifteen seconds and then swirl the contents because microwaves create hot spots. Then run the nipple under warm water for a few seconds so itisn’ticy.
2. You can turn on Sesame Street and hold her on the couch while she drinks it.Channel49.
3. When the milk is gone she can have a small bowl ofCheerios.
There was an arrow on the page pointing at a small plastic bowl that I was supposed to use for the Cheerios, which had also been left out on thecounter.
Zara had idiot-proofed my hour alone withNicole.
The baby was pretty excited about the whole thing. She made impatient noises while I got her bottle warmed and carried her over to the sofa. I forgot to find the remote for Sesame Street, but she didn’t seem to care. She made herself comfortable on my lap and leaned her head back on the arm of the sofa. I lifted the bottle for her, but she grabbed it with her own two hands to guide it to her mouth.Give me that, rookie. I’ll take itfromhere.
And that was it. For now, that was the whole job. I sat there, propping up the bottle, behaving as her very own human lounge chair for ten minutes or so, while she took long, luxurious pulls from the bottle. Her eyes went half-mast, and one of her hands drifted over to my wrist, where her small fingers sifted absently through the hairthere.
My phone was on the coffee table where I’d abandoned it the night before. When Nicole gave up on the last bit of milk in the bottle, I reached over to trade the bottle for my phone. There were text messages from Bess.Where are you?And then another one an hour later.Never mind, I retract thequestion.
There was also a text from my lawyer earlier in the evening.Just got the DNA test results back. As you’d assumed, you are thefather.
I dropped the phone onto the sofa and lifted a startled Nicole slowly into the air and then lowered her onto my lap again. She smiled at me, so I did it again. “Looks like you’re stuck with me,” I told her. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you orapologize.”
Her response was to point at the darkened television screen and babble acomplaint.
I found the remote and turned on the television to her station. Then, while she was staring at the screen, I went into the kitchen and poured a baby-sized bowl of Cheerios from the box beside the note. I added some milk from the fridge. Given Zara’s level of detail, it was sort of surprising that she hadn’t left a spoon out for me, but I found a pink plastic one in thedrawer.
Then I carried the whole thing over to the coffee table, along with a paper towel in case ofaccidents.
Nicole slid feet-first off the sofa and gave her bowl of cereal a look. Then she turned her Zara glareonme.
“What? The note says you like this.” I spooned up a couple of Cheerios and lifted ittowardher.
The baby’s expression was blatantly accusatory. In response, she plunged her little hand right into the bowl and grabbed a few pieces of cereal, then lifted them, dripping, to hermouth.
“I like my way better,” I said, grabbing the paper towel and catching the milk that was dripping down her arm. “But you gottabeyou.”
Luckily it was a small bowl of cereal, because Nicole made a royal mess of it. And she was a slow eater. She got distracted by Elmo on the television, which gave me time to clean her up between every handful ofcereal.
When she’d eaten almost all of it, the apartment door banged open, startling us both. Zara’s brother Alec stood there in a pair of shorts—one level up from the boxers-only outfit I was wearing—looking sleep-drunk and pissed off. “What the f…fudge are you doing here?” hedemanded.
Buddy, you really don’t want me toanswerthat.
Wordlessly, I wiped another milk slick offNicole’shand.
Alec’s face reddened as he did the math. When he opened his mouth, I was sure I was about to get an earful about how I wasn’t good enough for Zara. But instead he said, “Zara gives her theCheeriosdry.”
“Oh,” I said, slowly. The note had said “a small bowl of Cheerios.” There had been no mention of milk, come to think of it. “I guess that makessense.”
Alec made a rude snort, then staggered over to the couch and flung himself down. “This is my shift. You cangonow.”
“Nope,” I said. “I’m good. You can go backtobed.”
Alec glared at me anddidn’tmove.
I didn’t moveeither.
Nicole gave up on her cereal, and I scooped her up in one arm and took the sticky bowl with my other. I carried her over to the kitchen sink and turned it on. “How about you rinse off your hands?” Isuggested.
Miraculously, she stuck both hands under thefaucet.
