The Bachelor and the Babies

Since orange juice seemed to go with the cereal theme, that’s what Harrison poured. He reached for a glass, then realized what he was doing and chose a plastic cup he’d bought at a Rockets basketball game. Who said he didn’t have parenting instincts?

He poured a small amount of juice into the thirtyounce souvenir cup and offered it to Nathan.

“Joose?”

“Juice,” Harrison reassured him.

Nathan gleefully grabbed the cup with both hands.

“Need some help?”

“Nathan do it.” He swiveled his body away and tilted the cup.

All the liquid rushed from the bottom of the tall cup to his face, startling him. He dropped the cup, blinked in surprise, snorted juice out his nose, then howled.

Harrison stared. With breathtaking speed, his kitchen, painted a fashionable white, with white tile and cabinets, had been splattered far and wide with dribblets of orange juice and pulp.

He picked his way to the paper towel dispenser and attempted to mop up Nathan.

That was the scene which greeted Jon’s return. “Nathan,” he called from the door, propping it open with a case of formula.

“Da-da!”

“Everything’s under control,” Harrison told him as Jon tossed in plastic bundles and boxes of diapers, which bounced and rolled over the couch. “We only spilled juice.”

Jon walked over and stared at the mess. Bending down, he picked up the cup. “Is this what you gave him?”

Nodding, Harrison threw more paper towels on the floor. Nathan had stopped crying, his interest caught by Cheerios floating in the orange juice on his tray.

Unfortunately Nathan’s crying had awakened the baby, Matthew.

How could such a tiny person make such a loud sound?

“Nathan has a cup with a lid on it in the diaper bag. Use that,” Jon suggested as he went to tend to Matthew.

“Now he tells me,” Harrison muttered.

“Oh, and you’ll have to strain the orange juice. The pulp clogs the spout.”

The only strainer Harrison possessed was a cocktail strainer. It was barely adequate.

“You want a diapering lesson?” Jon asked.

“I can figure it out.” Harrison spoke from the kitchen floor just as something dropped in his hair. His fingers encountered a squishy lump. Cereal. Or what used to be cereal before it absorbed orange juice. He looked up and caught Nathan shoving more over the side of his tray.

“I’ve learned a couple of diapering tricks that might make your life easier,” Jon said.

“And other than keeping your children in a cage and hosing them down twice a day, that would be...?”

Jon laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But seriously, don’t leave Matthew alone on a table or he’ll roll off, and keep him covered at all times.”

“Why? He’s not going to get cold.”

“He squirts. And this kid has got an impressive range.”

Harrison stood and peered over the kitchen bar. His brother had unfolded a plastic pad and was changing Matthew’s diaper on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Harrison had fond memories of other activities that had taken place on the floor in front of the fireplace.

He would never feel the same about that area of his home.

A knock sounded at the door. “Excuse me?” A grouchy Carrie Brent stood framed in the open doorway. “How’s a person to get any sleep around here?”

Carrie, in her typically casual way, looked as if she’d rolled out of bed and climbed the stairs to Harrison’s floor. She wore a giant gray sweatshirt with arms so long her hands disappeared into the sleeves. The bottom edge stopped a few inches above her knees and her feet were bare.

The contrast between the rumpled Carrie who stood in his doorway and the Carrie who’d come to his office yesterday was...interesting. Very interesting. So interesting that orange juice dripped from the paper towels Harrison held onto his running shoe before he realized he was staring.

“Most people aren’t trying to sleep at noon on Saturday.” He tossed the soggy paper towels into the sink and ripped more off the roll.

Carrie yawned, stretched her arms, and the hem of her sweatshirt rose. “They are if they work nights.”

“So what do you do?” Jon asked over his shoulder after glancing at the silent Harrison.

“I review music groups at local clubs. And if a place is new, I’ll mention the decor, tone and the sort of customers they’re trying to attract. Anyway—” she yawned again “—after I get home, I’ve got to write the reviews. I usually go to bed about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning.” Raking her hair back from her face, she padded into the room. “So what’s all this?”

For some reason, the sound of a female voice had quieted the babies.

For some reason, the way Carrie casually manhandled her curls had quieted Harrison.

It was left to Jon to introduce himself. “I’m Jon, Harrison’s brother. This is—”

“A baby!” Carrie had passed the couch and could see the front of the fireplace. Cooing, she knelt on the floor. “May I hold her?”

“Him,” Harrison said, unwillingly reminded of the long-ago evening when he and Carrie had sat in that very spot and had eaten her vegetarian lasagna in front of the fireplace. “My nephews are visiting me for a while.”

Jon handed a freshly diapered Matthew to Carrie.

“Aren’t you just adorable? What’s your name?”

“Matthew,” Jon answered.

“Matthew, you’re just a doll. A great big doll.” Carrie’s voice had gone all high and gooey as she repeated more nonsense.

But to Harrison’s surprise, Matthew had stopped fussing and was smiling.

Something about seeing Carrie with the baby made Harrison want to smile, too. Matthew grabbed a handful of her dark hair. Carrie promptly retaliated by raising his shirt and tickling his tummy. The baby squealed.

Harrison grinned at Jon, only to find his brother regarding him thoughtfully.