Jonah laughed again, the tone low and full of… something. Joy. Love. Like he didn’t expect it and it shocked the fuck out of him.
I was not going to fucking cry, damn it. But I did swallow hard and sniff once and glance at the woman who was grabbing a napkin off the table and dabbing at her eyes with it. Beside her, Natia was scrambling for her phone, trying to take pictures with shaky hands and saying, “She’s so cute, Hema. I want to hold her too. Please.”
“You can hold her later. I think she wants me now,” Jonah murmured, letting the arm he had around Mo fall away.
But she kept on leaning into him, those little hands not loosening their grip at all.
I wanted some of that baby too—that warm, soft weight against me—but I couldn’t imagine going eight months without my little monster. And for being an only child… I knew how to share. I was pretty good at it.
“I’ll go get a high chair for her,” I told the new dad and the new grandma and aunt.
“I’ll get it,” he offered, but I gave him a look before ignoring him.
By the time I came back, Jonah was sitting at the end, and his mom was on the bench across from him. I set the chair on their end and watched as Jonah stood and settled Mo into it with only a little bit of trouble, as she kicked her legs around, being difficult.
Heh.
“Ma!” Mo shriek-shouted once she was sitting.
“Good job, booger.” I bent over and gave her kisses on the neck, getting a couple more squeals out of her that made me smile and another stream of babble.
I took a seat beside Jonah, figuring I’d let him handle her if he wanted. I pulled out a couple of baby wipes and handed them over. He took them, thought about it for a second, and wiped off the little tray once with each one. Next I handed him a container from the backpack with cubed cheese in it that Grandpa had left with Mr. Cooper. He unscrewed the lid and peeked inside of it, eyebrows going up. And my child, in a move that was all me, grabbed a chunk of cheese and instantly tried to munch on it with her razorblade gums.
That was my girl.
Beside me, Jonah chuckled that low laugh. “Reminds me of you,” he whispered, like his mom couldn’t hear. Of course she could.
I still snorted. “I was just thinking the same thing.” Wait. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
The big shithead just chuckled some more, thinking he was hilarious as he looked at me playfully from under his eyelashes.
Playfully. Ugh. I kind of wished he was back to being an asshole.
That was a lie. I didn’t wish that at all. What I did wish for….
Well, it didn’t matter what I wished for. So I wouldn’t wish for shit.
Across the table, the woman sighed, and it didn’t take a genius to know why she was doing it, but I still glanced at her anyway. Mrs. Collins had her gaze set on Mo, who was still too busy staring at Jonah while smacking all over her softened cheese to acknowledge that there was someone brand-new around. Two new someones.
“I think she’s in love with him already,” I told Mrs. Collins when her expression turned as dreamy as her resting bitch face allowed. “She doesn’t stop staring at him, but she’ll let you hold her. She’s only met one person she didn’t like.”
“Who?” Jonah was the one who asked.
I scooted my chair toward the table a little closer. “My best friend’s sister, but I’m not a fan of her either. She cried every time that sister held her.”
“How many times did you try?” Sarah, Jonah’s mom, asked, interrupting us, her gaze still on the dark-haired golden-eyed baby.
I had to think about it as I pulled a reusable stainless-steel straw from Mo’s backpack and dropped it into my fresh lemonade. “Twice.”
She hmphed, and I narrowed my eyes at her, not even bothering to try to hide it.
“We thought the first time was a fluke, so we tried again another day, and didn’t try after that,” I explained, trying not to get bent out of shape by her thinking I was causing my kid emotional distress or anything.
One of her eyebrows went up a little, and I could tell that still wasn’t good enough for her. Or maybe I was being a bitch and looking too much into it. I doubted it though.
Our source of entertainment grabbed another block and shoved it into her mouth, sucking on it, loudly, pulling it out of her mouth, staring at it, and then putting it back inside.
“Jonah said she’s eight months,” the woman said after a moment.
I gave my lemonade a stir. “Yeah. Her birthday is May 2nd.”
“Is she your only child?”
I stopped stirring and stared across the table.
Shut the fuck up, Lenny. It’s not worth it. Just shut the hell up.
And… I couldn’t. When the hell did I ever give shit up? Never?
I gave my lemonade another stir, slower that time, and asked her in a sugar-sweet voice that would have made Grandpa Gus cackle at how fake it was. “How many do you think I have?”
“Okay,” Jonah interjected in that too-calm voice. “Mum, that wasn’t nice. Lenny….” He just turned his head to me and blinked.
I smiled at him.
His dimple popped out at me.
Fine. I guessed. God knows Grandpa had muttered worse in front of him before. “Yes, she’s my one and only,” I answered his mom grudgingly. I flicked my eyes back toward my little monster and did smile then. “She was my seven-pound, eight-ounce surprise.”
She was too busy slobbering on her food to know I was talking about her.
Good lord this lunch was going to be something, and the only person I felt bad for was Jonah. And his sister. God knew I wasn’t going to lose any sleep over it.
“So it wasn’t intentional?” Sarah asked before clearing her throat. “Jonah, don’t make that face at me. It’s a simple question.”
Natia, who had been busy making faces while still taking pictures of Mo from where she was sitting, coughed. “I can’t believe you even talked to a girl long enough to get her to spend time with you, Hema. Much less have s-e-x with you.”
I stopped breathing and had to fight for every second I didn’t laugh. And that fight lasted two seconds—two seconds in which Jonah choked and his mom gasped—and then I asked, “What?”
“Yeh, you didn’t know he’s shy?” Natia asked, grinning wide.
“Natia,” Jonah groaned, his face already turning pink.
Wait a second, wait a second… I looked at the man sitting across from me and tried to process what the hell his sister had just said and scoffed, “You’re shy? Since when?”
“Always,” his sister responded with a cackle. “You haven’t noticed? If it’s footy he’s talking about, he’s fine. Any other topic with a stranger?” She pinched her index and thumb finger together and drew a line across her mouth, then cackled again. “Really? You didn’t notice?”
Shit.
Now that she mentioned it, I had noticed how he started talking with his Stuart Little voice every time he talked to women, and I know I’d wondered why the hell he was always whispering, but now…
Now it made sense.
And I couldn’t help but grin at him. “I wondered why you were being weird—”