his condo shows the swing and other larger items have been assembled and are set out. There is an open box of diapers in one corner along with a rolled up mat. Several blankets drape over his furniture. A large plastic container of baby wipes on his coffee table. I smile when I see the bumpers on the corners of the table and television stand.
“You look like you have everything you need. The rest will take time and practice.” I flip my hands in his direction and shoo him away. “Now go, shower. Sleep if you need it. I have this and we can talk more when you’re done, or we don’t have to talk at all.”
“Talking to you helps me feel better.”
A rush of warmth like a tidal wave slams against me, covers me down to the tips of my toes. “Th… thank you. That’s very sweet.”
He smiles. It’s timid but it changes and turns more serious, almost contemplative as his gaze slides down the length of my body. “Be back.”
As soon as he’s gone, I take a few minutes tidying up the living room. The blankets are folded and draped over one armrest. I gather a few diapers that have been rolled and taped close but didn’t quite make it into the garbage can that’s overflowing, so I dig in the cupboards in the kitchen and under the sink until I find where he keeps the extra and I change out the trash, taking the full bag to the hallway and set it outside his door. I can throw it in the dumpster receptacle at the end of the hall when I leave later.
He has a fully stocked pantry with a huge variety of healthy food. I don’t understand what half of them are or what they would be used for in recipes. I do manage to find enough basic items I can use to whip together a meal for him.
My attempts at baking create cookies Mikah could probably use as hockey pucks and more than one small oven fire. I’m only slightly better at cooking, but there are a few things I can make that won’t risk his physical health. Fortunately, amidst the dried seaweed, veggie chips, and quinoa, he has all the ingredients to make a homemade sauce.
I pull out the cans I need and smile when I catch the shelf to my right. It’s stocked as if Angelo is going to begin eating baby food tomorrow, and I let loose a giggle. Hannah and Byron must have been balls to the walls buying Mikah everything from the store the other night. Angelo is nowhere near old enough for jarred baby food or the puff stars.
But Mikah is definitely prepared considering the half-dozen cans of formula and more bottles that are still in their packaging. There are even additional packages of just the bottle nipples in larger sizes as he grows.
I leave the walk-in pantry and check on Angelo. He’s still sleeping in the swing and the buzz click click of it is the only sound in the room which for some reason, is rather peaceful.
Who would have thought I’d be cooking a homemade meal for a man I barely know while watching his son? Not me, that’s for sure, and yet as I move around his kitchen, grabbing items and pots and pans and digging ground beef out of his freezer, I like it.
My mom worked long hours three days a week when I was really little, she sometimes wasn’t home until I was already in bed. My father worked just as long hours and was often on call to help with emergency plumbing issues. It made it difficult to spend a lot of family time together, simple things like eating dinner as a family. Talking about our days. Them asking me about school. Instead, questions were usually asked in the car while they worked and hurried to get me to all the places I needed to go like dance and soccer practices, middle school dances, high school football games. Despite the rush and the usually running late, I always knew I was deeply loved.
Something that’s been bothering me about what Hannah said the other night. We’re the only family he has here. Does that mean he has family elsewhere? Or that he doesn’t have any. My heart pinches every time those words come to my mind.
I didn’t have a lot. But I have a home. A good family. A landing place when things in