She's My Baby

She practiced bouncing the baby and patting her back the same way Garrick had, but it wasn’t working. Neither were her sorry attempts to warm up a freakin’ bottle. She’d warmed one up in the microwave with disastrous results, and she quickly learned leaving a bottle to heat for more than ten minutes on the stove caused the milky stuff to separate from the watery stuff.

Now she was on the quest to discover the perfect time for a baby bottle to warm. Meanwhile, Emma hollered as though she hadn’t eaten since Philip had passed the bread at the last supper.

“Okay. Okay, Emma,” she cooed. “I think this is going to be it.” Leila removed the bottle. “So far so good.”

Belatedly, she remembered seeing Roslyn test a bottle by squirting milk onto the back of her hand to double check the temperature, and she followed suit. However, the top wasn’t screwed on tight enough and it popped off the moment she turned the bottle over on her hand.

“Damn it!” She jumped back and managed not to drop the baby.

Emma screamed and nearly pierced Leila’s eardrum.

“What? Why are you screaming? I’m the one scalded.”

Her niece didn’t seem to care as she sucked more oxygen into her lungs and let it rip a second time.

Tears welled in the back of Leila’s eyes as her frustration reached an all-time high. She simply wasn’t made out for this sort of thing, but what choice did she have but to trudge through it?

“Okay. Okay. Please stop crying. Auntie Leila is doing the best she can.” She bounced and patted her some more as she made her way back to the diaper bag. “I’m sure we have another bottle in the bag.”

She was wrong.

“Oh, no. No. No.” She searched every inch of the bag at least ten times. “Please, God. Say this isn’t happening.”

But it was.

“Okay. I have to think.” However, Emma’s screams made it impossible.

Maybe her next-door neighbor…

Leila shook the rogue thought from her head. She couldn’t go back over there after the way she’d behaved—and she’d behaved badly. She still held in her defense that she’d practically begged the man for help, but he’d been so damn determined to bolt out of there that she…Okay, so there was really no excuse for her behavior.

Exhaling, Leila dug back through the bag and found small glass jars of baby food. “Oh, thank God.” She exhaled. “Let’s see what we have in here.” She returned to the stove, but once again was plagued with how long it took to warm up food.

Her stomach rumbled and reminded her that she, too, needed breakfast. “One thing at a time,” she told herself. “Okay, we have some very interesting-looking chicken and beef here.”

Emma bucked in her arms and grabbed a healthy portion of Leila’s hair.

“Ouch, you little spoiled brat.” Leila dropped one of the glass jars and ignored it when it shattered at her feet. “Let go.” She tugged for Emma to release her hold. Instead, the child yanked harder and intensified Leila’s mountainous headache. With one last pull, she finally let go.

“Oh, I give up.” Leila spun around and marched out of the kitchen. “Pride be damned. I can’t do this.”

Now dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and a T-shirt, Garrick returned to the sparsely decorated living room with a six-inch tabletop Christmas tree that easily made Charlie Brown’s worthy for Times Square.

As he entered, Omara shrieked with joy at the sight of the armload of gifts he’d purchased.

Tamara rolled her eyes and shook her head. “We’d agreed on just one gift.”

“You said one gift, but I never agreed to it,” he reminded her with a soft smile and set the gifts down in the center of the floor.

His niece squealed in delight as she flew from her father’s lap to the packages.

“You two do nothing but spoil her,” Tamara complained.

Garrick laughed. “That’s what you’re supposed to do with little girls.”

“She knows,” Orlando said, winking at his wife. “She’s nothing but a big daddy’s girl herself.” He returned his attention to his brother. “Every time I see her father, he’s cleaning his gun.”

“I don’t blame him. She could’ve done better.”

Orlando’s brows dipped. “Hey!”

“What?” Garrick jabbed a thumb at his chest. “I was available.”

“You stay away from my wife, bro.” Orlando looped an arm around her waist. “I mean it. You play too much.”

“Daddy, look!” Omara tottered over to showcase her latest baby doll. “It cries just like a real baby!”

“Oh, joy.” Orlando smote his brother with a narrowed gaze.

“Hey, anything for the kids.” Garrick chuckled.

“That’s all right,” Tamara said, patting her husband’s leg. “Revenge will be ours when he finally has children.”

“If he can convince a woman to reproduce.”

Garrick’s smile disappeared. “That’s a low blow, man.”

“Cheer up. You were a hot commodity back in college. You just need to dust off your old player skills and jump back into the game.”

“Thanks for the pointers.”

“Anytime.”

The doorbell rang.

Garrick stood and headed for the door. “But Tamara’s right. I’ll have my turn one day. Hopefully sooner than later.”

Orlando and Tamara glanced at each other with knowing smiles.

“Is there something you want to tell us, bro?” Orlando shouted after him. “Do you have a bun in the oven somewhere?”

Garrick opened the door and then jumped back as a hysterical Leila breezed through.

“I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” She thrust Emma into his arms. “Here. If this is a woman thing, I’m missing a few genes.”

“What—?”

“I can’t fix a bottle…. I can’t even warm a jar of food—a damn jar.”