Pride
Page 4
For the first time in his life, the family Casanova had been dating the same girl for four straight months. Our mother was thrilled, and for once she was fantasizing about a wedding that wouldn’t involve me in a veil.
“It’s like eating white rice for every meal,” Ethan said, right on cue.
Marc grinned. “Hey, if you’re eating every day, I’d say you’re a lucky man.” His words were for Ethan, but his eyes were on me. Apparently he missed my…rice.
Ethan shrugged, unmoved. “I guess. How’s the construction business treating you?”
Marc scruffed one hand through his newly shorn curls. “It’s like swinging a hammer eight hours a day for minimum wage.” And just like that, they were all caught up.
Still in the SUV, the baby hiccuped, and I glanced over my brother’s shoulder to see Manx buttoning her blouse. Then she climbed out of the car and lifted Des from his seat, wrapping him gently in a blue knit blanket.
“How are you, Manx?” Marc stuffed his hands into his pockets to show the tabby he had no intention of touching her. We’d discovered that approach—especially coming from the toms—kept her fairly relaxed.
“Good, thank you.” Her exotic accent—she was Venezuelan by birth—made her statement sound striking, rather than common. She beamed a brilliant smile at him and held the baby slightly away from her body, wordlessly inviting him to peek.
“Wow.” Marc’s eyes went softer than I’d ever seen them as he stared at Des, and I wasn’t sure whether I should be amused or worried. “Do I get an introduction?” he finally asked.
Manx’s smile widened. “This is Desiderio. He is my heart’s desire.”
“We call him Des,” I added, ever helpful.
“He’s beautiful. May I?” Marc pulled one hand from his pocket and mimed stroking the baby’s cheek.
Manx hesitated, and her smile froze for an instant. Then she took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Of course.”
Marc ran the back of one rough finger down the child’s face. When he reached the corner of Des’s mouth, the baby turned toward his touch, lips pursed and ready to suckle. Marc laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“I see you’ve met our latest addition,” Vic said, and I looked up to see him walking toward us from the convenience store, a white plastic sack in one hand.
“He’s amazing,” Marc said, and on the edge of my vision, Manx’s posture relaxed a little more.
“Yeah, he is.” Vic set his bag on the front passenger seat and glanced at the baby with that gaga look most toms assumed when confronted with members of the next generation. Yet more proof that propagation of the species was indeed their biggest goal in life.
Vic shut the car door and embraced his former field partner in a masculine, back-thumping greeting. Then he stepped away and glanced from me to Marc as Ethan settled a long coat over Manx’s shoulders, careful not to touch her. “You’re not going to believe who I ran into inside.” He tossed his head toward the building.
“Dan Painter.” I grinned.
Vic huffed. “You smelled him?”
I nodded. “He and Marc have…bonded.”
Vic’s brow rose in amusement, but a dark look from Marc kept him from pressing for details. “This cold can’t be good for the baby,” he said instead, still grinning at Marc. “Let’s get done here and get on the road.”
Marc and I flanked Manx on the way into the building, where he waited outside the ladies’ room while she and I went inside. She changed the baby’s diaper on a fold-down table while I made use of one of the stalls. Then she asked if I could hold him while she relieved herself.
“Oh, I don’t know.” My heart thudded in panic. I’d literally never held a baby, and whatever idiot had said all women possessed some kind of maternal instinct was wrong. “Can’t you just…put him down for a couple of minutes?”
“On the ground?” Manx glared at me, and I shrugged helplessly. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I will ask one of the men.”
I sighed heavily. “Give him here.” I could not let Marc know I was…hesitant to hold a baby. He’d never let me live it down. “What do I do with him?” I held my arms out football-style, as I’d seen my mother do often enough over the past two weeks.
Manx placed the baby gently in my arms, settling his little head securely into the crook of my elbow. “Nothing. He is sleeping. Hold him for just two minutes.”
I nodded, afraid to move anything but my head for risk of waking Des.
Manx hesitated, her hand on the swinging metal door. Then she shot me a smile that couldn’t quite relieve the nervous lines spanning her forehead and stepped into the stall.
I stared at the baby, taking in each detail up close for the first time. He was unbelievably small. Like a doll, but more fragile. His cheeks were round and red, his nose sprinkled with tiny, colorless bumps. His hands and feet were wrapped in the blanket, but a wisp of straight black hair showed above his forehead.
I saw no trace of Luiz in him, thank goodness.
But then, I saw no trace of Manx, either. I saw only a baby, cute in a red, squirmy kind of way, and perfectly tolerable when he was sleeping.
“Thank you.” The stall door swung open and Manx stepped out. She washed her hands, then took her baby back, and only then did the worry lines fade from around her mouth.
On our way through the store, we passed Dan Painter in line at the counter, holding a big bag of chips, a handful of Slim Jims, and a two-liter of Coke. I tapped him on the shoulder as I passed, and when his eyes met mine, he nearly choked on the chunk he’d already torn from one of the meat sticks.
“It’s like eating white rice for every meal,” Ethan said, right on cue.
Marc grinned. “Hey, if you’re eating every day, I’d say you’re a lucky man.” His words were for Ethan, but his eyes were on me. Apparently he missed my…rice.
Ethan shrugged, unmoved. “I guess. How’s the construction business treating you?”
Marc scruffed one hand through his newly shorn curls. “It’s like swinging a hammer eight hours a day for minimum wage.” And just like that, they were all caught up.
Still in the SUV, the baby hiccuped, and I glanced over my brother’s shoulder to see Manx buttoning her blouse. Then she climbed out of the car and lifted Des from his seat, wrapping him gently in a blue knit blanket.
“How are you, Manx?” Marc stuffed his hands into his pockets to show the tabby he had no intention of touching her. We’d discovered that approach—especially coming from the toms—kept her fairly relaxed.
“Good, thank you.” Her exotic accent—she was Venezuelan by birth—made her statement sound striking, rather than common. She beamed a brilliant smile at him and held the baby slightly away from her body, wordlessly inviting him to peek.
“Wow.” Marc’s eyes went softer than I’d ever seen them as he stared at Des, and I wasn’t sure whether I should be amused or worried. “Do I get an introduction?” he finally asked.
Manx’s smile widened. “This is Desiderio. He is my heart’s desire.”
“We call him Des,” I added, ever helpful.
“He’s beautiful. May I?” Marc pulled one hand from his pocket and mimed stroking the baby’s cheek.
Manx hesitated, and her smile froze for an instant. Then she took a deep breath and released it slowly. “Of course.”
Marc ran the back of one rough finger down the child’s face. When he reached the corner of Des’s mouth, the baby turned toward his touch, lips pursed and ready to suckle. Marc laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“I see you’ve met our latest addition,” Vic said, and I looked up to see him walking toward us from the convenience store, a white plastic sack in one hand.
“He’s amazing,” Marc said, and on the edge of my vision, Manx’s posture relaxed a little more.
“Yeah, he is.” Vic set his bag on the front passenger seat and glanced at the baby with that gaga look most toms assumed when confronted with members of the next generation. Yet more proof that propagation of the species was indeed their biggest goal in life.
Vic shut the car door and embraced his former field partner in a masculine, back-thumping greeting. Then he stepped away and glanced from me to Marc as Ethan settled a long coat over Manx’s shoulders, careful not to touch her. “You’re not going to believe who I ran into inside.” He tossed his head toward the building.
“Dan Painter.” I grinned.
Vic huffed. “You smelled him?”
I nodded. “He and Marc have…bonded.”
Vic’s brow rose in amusement, but a dark look from Marc kept him from pressing for details. “This cold can’t be good for the baby,” he said instead, still grinning at Marc. “Let’s get done here and get on the road.”
Marc and I flanked Manx on the way into the building, where he waited outside the ladies’ room while she and I went inside. She changed the baby’s diaper on a fold-down table while I made use of one of the stalls. Then she asked if I could hold him while she relieved herself.
“Oh, I don’t know.” My heart thudded in panic. I’d literally never held a baby, and whatever idiot had said all women possessed some kind of maternal instinct was wrong. “Can’t you just…put him down for a couple of minutes?”
“On the ground?” Manx glared at me, and I shrugged helplessly. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. I will ask one of the men.”
I sighed heavily. “Give him here.” I could not let Marc know I was…hesitant to hold a baby. He’d never let me live it down. “What do I do with him?” I held my arms out football-style, as I’d seen my mother do often enough over the past two weeks.
Manx placed the baby gently in my arms, settling his little head securely into the crook of my elbow. “Nothing. He is sleeping. Hold him for just two minutes.”
I nodded, afraid to move anything but my head for risk of waking Des.
Manx hesitated, her hand on the swinging metal door. Then she shot me a smile that couldn’t quite relieve the nervous lines spanning her forehead and stepped into the stall.
I stared at the baby, taking in each detail up close for the first time. He was unbelievably small. Like a doll, but more fragile. His cheeks were round and red, his nose sprinkled with tiny, colorless bumps. His hands and feet were wrapped in the blanket, but a wisp of straight black hair showed above his forehead.
I saw no trace of Luiz in him, thank goodness.
But then, I saw no trace of Manx, either. I saw only a baby, cute in a red, squirmy kind of way, and perfectly tolerable when he was sleeping.
“Thank you.” The stall door swung open and Manx stepped out. She washed her hands, then took her baby back, and only then did the worry lines fade from around her mouth.
On our way through the store, we passed Dan Painter in line at the counter, holding a big bag of chips, a handful of Slim Jims, and a two-liter of Coke. I tapped him on the shoulder as I passed, and when his eyes met mine, he nearly choked on the chunk he’d already torn from one of the meat sticks.
