Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92136 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
You two okay?
Nothing.
The processional music started and I had no choice but to slip my phone into my pocket and concentrate on pulling off a smooth event, pleasing as many people as possible with as few delays or hitches as possible, answering everybody’s questions, and ensuring that everything from the flowers to the music to the timing—the fucking timing—to the food to the drinks to the photography to the toast to the first dance to the cutting of the cake went off exactly as the bride had envisioned it. This was a fairly big, high-profile wedding, and pictures of the event were sure to make it into the glossy pages of local press. Since Coco wasn’t here, I was working by myself, and felt the weight of our business’s reputation on my shoulders. For that reason, I didn’t get a chance to even look at my phone again until much later in the evening.
When I did, I gasped. I had 42 messages. All from Nate.
Many of them were questions.
Why won’t she eat?
She’s supposed to sleep on her back, right?
When do I give her a bath? Should I wait until she’s messy?
How often am I supposed to change her?
Is it safe to leave her in that swing while I go to the bathroom?
Why won’t she stop crying?
Why is her poop that color?
Fuck am I supposed to trim her nails?
Why doesn’t she like naps as much as I do?
Sometimes they were just frustrations.
She won’t go to sleep.
She won’t finish her bottle.
She won’t burp.
She hates me.
She threw up on my sock.
I can’t do this. Help me.
HELLLLPMEEEE.
Then he must have gotten her to go to sleep and started reading his new books because his messages were full of things he was learning.
Did you know babies get acne?
Did you know you can predict how tall a baby will be?
Did you know she is supposed to be gaining half a pound a week?
Did you know most babies are born on a Tuesday? Did you know you could tell if your baby is the Dalai Lama or not by checking for large ears, long eyes, eyebrows curving up at the ends, streaks on the legs, and a mark in the shape of a conch shell on the palm of one hand? (Note: I do not believe Paisley is the Dalai Lama.)
Then there were actually some positive messages.
I take back what I said about the sling.
I think she just smiled at me.
She definitely likes my singing voice (she might be the only one).
She finished her bottle!
She is trying to roll over already, I think she might be a genius.
She’s sleeping!
I was about to text him back when I heard the mother of the bride calling my name. Sighing, I dropped my phone into my jacket pocket and went back to work. Overall, it sounded like Nate and Paisley were doing okay. I’d check on them when I got home.
It ended up being close to midnight by the time I left the reception, and by then my phone was dead. I hadn’t charged it last night at Nate’s and I’d been so tired this morning that I’d neglected to plug it in. As I approached Nate’s door, I could hear the sound of Paisley crying. Wincing, I knocked.
Nate opened the door, his hair a mess, his feet bare, his expression desperate, his daughter in the sling against his chest. His button-down from earlier was gone, and he wore only a navy T-shirt and jeans. “Oh thank God,” he said. “I thought you were dead, and I need you.”
“You didn’t care that I was dead?” My heart was beating a little bit faster at the sight of him wearing that sling, but I ignored it as I went into his apartment and shrugged out of my suit jacket.
“I did, I swear. And I was going to mourn you properly as soon as possible.”
I dropped my jacket onto a chrome and leather chair and reached for Paisley, pulling her from the sling. “Hey, you. What’s the matter?”
Nate rubbed his face with both hands. “I have no idea why she won’t stop crying. It’s exactly like last night. She was relatively fine all evening, even took a pretty decent nap in the swing, but then it was like someone flipped a switch at ten o’clock and she turned into the devil. Her head has spun all the way around like five times.”
Laughing, I stepped out of my heels and left them by the chair with my jacket. “When did she last eat?”
“I don’t know. I kept trying to feed her, but I think that was a mistake because she ended up only taking like half an ounce to an ounce every so often. She never got hungry enough to drink a whole bottle.” Nate ditched the sling, flopped onto the couch, and flung an arm over his eyes. “I keep reading about schedules, like you’re supposed to get your baby on a schedule, but how the fuck is that even possible?”