“Wouldn’t happen to have a beer, would you?” Malik asks as he tosses his hoodie on the counter.
“I most certainly would,” I say with a smile, moving to the fridge to retrieve one. I twist the cap off, toss it in the garbage, and hand it over. He takes a long swig before setting the bottle near his sweatshirt.
He opens the door of the dishwasher, then commences to work on it.
I watch for a while, asking a few questions, but he has no answers for me. After he removes the entire lower basket and starts dismantling the drain, I decide to go ahead and drink the chocolate milk I’d been craving earlier. While I’d love a beer, too, I don’t drink if there’s a chance I’ll have to feed Avery within a few hours. Given she’s hungry often, it’s not worth the risk.
As I’m draining the last of my milk—having taken a decent amount of teasing from Malik over my choice of drink—Avery’s cry rings out from her bedroom.
“A mother’s job is never done,” I quip, then tell Malik, “There’s more beer in the fridge. Also some leftover pizza if you’re hungry. Feel free to help yourself.”
“Got it,” he grunts as he works to unscrew something in the bottom of the machine.
Leaving Malik to his repair job, I go into the little nursery I’d set up and decorated myself. I turn on a small lamp on the dresser before leaning over the crib. “Who’s a hungry little princess?” I coo.
Avery answers me with a lusty cry, her little fists balled up and waving.
“Patience,” I remind her in a lilting voice, reaching under my t-shirt to unsnap my bra. My nipples actually tingle when she cries, a response that took some getting used to as a new mom.
I pick Avery up and carry her to the rocking chair in the corner, slowly lowering down into it. I’ve become adept at breastfeeding, and so has Avery. Her cries cease as she recognizes the movement—the way I shift, lift up my t-shirt on one side, and put her into position. She easily finds my nipple, tiny palms pressed to my skin, and starts to suckle.
Leaning my head against the padded top of the chair, I start to gently rock her as I hum a lullaby. Avery’s such a good baby. This will be her last feeding tonight. She’s actually starting to sleep for more than a few hours at a time, something my body greatly appreciates.
A shadow passes across the doorway, and I lift up to see Malik there.
“Oh, shit,” he says abruptly, spinning to give me his back. “Sorry… I didn’t know you’d be… um…”
I chuckle, glancing down at Avery. There’s very little of me exposed, but I’m sure he didn’t realize that in the brief glimpse he got when he walked in.
“It’s okay, Malik,” I say on a laugh. “I’m covered, and I’m doing nothing more than feeding my daughter. Not a big deal.”
Hesitantly, he turns. While I’m mostly in the shadows, the glow from the lamp reveals his embarrassed expression slowly disappearing as he takes Avery and me in, realizing there’s truly not much to see.
“Is my dishwasher toast?” I ask.
“Actually, no… I fixed it, but you’re going to need a new seal on the drain. I’ll pick one up for you tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I don’t mind,” he replies, leaning against the doorjamb.
I consider this because I don’t want to feel indebted, but I’m also extremely appreciative of the help. “How about I cook you dinner tomorrow in exchange?”
“Deal,” he replies. I’m surprised when he moves into the nursery, then lowers to sit on the floor. He leans against the dresser, crossing his long legs at the ankle. Nodding at Avery, who’s starting to get a full belly, he asks, “Does that hurt?”
“Not so much,” I say.
“Is this weird? Me sitting in here while you breastfeed your daughter?”
Chuckling, I shake my head. “Oddly, it’s not.”
“Yeah,” he murmurs with a pensive look. “Weirdly, it’s not for me either.”
It hits me a bit like a sucker punch, coming out of left field, and I wonder how I hadn’t realized it before. Malik and I have actually bonded on some plane that transcends basic friendship. I’ve always had the feeling he was important to my life somehow. It’s why his capture had been so consuming for me. Truly, it was one of the reasons I wanted to come work at Jameson.
The need to have Malik be okay would always reflect on my own ability to be okay in turn.
And, unknowingly, I think it ended up forming a unique bond between us. To my surprise, it appears to go two ways.
I decide it’s the perfect opportunity to try to push some boundaries. “How are things going with Corinne?”
Malik shrugs. “It’s going. We’ve only had a few sessions, but she’s easy to talk to.”