She nods, but I know it’s going to be gone in a nanosecond. I grab her hand again, but she moves at the same time. The plastic baggie pops and applesauce squirts into the air, splashing Cass in the face and me on my blue T-shirt. Cass immediately starts wailing. I drop to my knees and scramble to get a wash cloth out of my purse, only in my haste I knock the damn thing over. Diapers, formula, teething rings and clothes scatter onto the dusty parking lot.
Cassidy spies her favorite stuffed animal and lunges for him. I try to stop her, but my foot slips on some pebbles. I fall. She falls. More wails fill the air.
I feel myself losing the thin thread of self-control. What was I thinking, coming to Dallas by myself? Did I really believe I could raise Cass on my own? But what choice do I have? Momma couldn’t have been happier to see me leave. She was practically pushing me out the door this morning. But here I am in this huge city with no job, a short-term rental, and the only person I know would prefer to step on my neck than help me to my feet.. I can’t do this. Defeat swamps me. Two feet away, Cassidy cries even harder.
The sound of her unhappiness ratchets up my own distress. My stomach twists into five kinds of knots and there’s a lump in my throat the size of a boulder. If I open my mouth, I worry I’m going to start crying and never stop.
Buck up, sister. You asked for this, I remind myself. Chip would’ve paid for the abortion, but you refused. Pick yourself up off the ground, comfort your beautiful child and keep moving forward.
I take three deep breaths, swipe a hand across my eyes, and begin gathering my scattered things. As I’m picking up the wipes and the formula, a few pebbles skitter next to my knee. Shade appears out of nowhere and when I look up to see whether a sudden storm’s coming, I see a large figure bend down to my level.
“Here,” a deep voice says. In his hand, Cass’s diapers are dwarfed. Long fingers curl around the white cotton. The skin around the knuckles are slightly abraded, as if he struck them against something. These are a man’s hands—big, strong and capable. For a moment, because I’m tired and feeling weak, I imagine those hands around my waist. I imagine those hands sliding up under my T-shirt and finding my breasts. My nipples tighten and my boobs grow heavy. Somewhere down south of my waistband, muscles twitch to life that I thought had died from disuse and disinterest.
After Chip, I swore off men. I haven’t had so much as a glass of water with a man since I learned I was pregnant, so maybe that’s the reason that I nearly fall over at the sight of the male crouched down beside me. He’s so beautiful—dark hair, blue eyes, and shoulders broad enough that they look like they could carry the whole world and not ever get tired. Maybe it’s his looks or maybe it’s his silent act of kindness in picking up all the shit I spilled that is responsible for my sudden lack of breath.
“Can I?” He points to Cass with one of the faded washrags I’ve tucked in my purse.
I nod like a dumb kid meeting her idol for the first time, not even caring that the washrags are literal rags—threadbare and dotted with holes. He doesn’t seem to notice or care about the condition of the cloths either. He plucks one from my purse and pats it across Cass’s wet cheeks. She, like me, has been stunned into silence.
“There you go.” He taps her awkwardly on the head, as if he’s never been around a baby before.
A gummy smile breaks across my baby’s face. “Dada.” She waves her hands in the air.
The single word breaks my spell, and I surge to my feet, sweeping her up in my arms. My whole body turns red with embarrassment, but I force myself to turn toward my good Samaritan. “Thanks for your help.”
“No problem,” he grins, seemingly unbothered by my child calling him Daddy. “She’s a doll. Is your mom inside?” He tips his head toward the front door of the bar.
At first, I don’t know what he’s saying but then I realize he thinks Cass is my sister. After enduring nearly three years of judgmental stares, you’d think I’d be all out of cares to give, but, nope. My cheeksI burn with more embarrassment. “No, she’s mine.”
“Oh, ah, okay,” he stammers in surprise. “You…work here? I mean, I haven’t seen you before.” He shakes his head. “That sounds like I live at this bar, which I don’t.” He clears his throat and then sticks out his hand. “Nick Jackson.”