Chapter 3 - How Did You Do That
Nico didn't wake when I shifted him. That was the first thing I made sure of.
The private room felt smaller with the door half-closed, the wood panels catching the warm light and throwing it back soft. I could hear the dining room beyond it, silverware moving, somebody laughing too loud and then stopping. Mr. Rendell, our manager, had one hand on the edge of the door like he wasn't sure if he was keeping people out or keeping us in.
The man — the father — stood on the other side of the small serving table. He hadn't sat down even though I'd asked. His suit jacket was pulled open, his black shirt damp at the collar. He kept his eyes on my hands.
"He's out," he said. His voice was lower now. "He was screaming a second ago."
I nodded once, careful not to jostle my shoulder. Nico's cheek was pressed to the gray of my apron, his little mouth open, his breathing finally thin and even. The light blue sleeve of his onesie was bunched up near my collarbone where I'd tucked his arm in.
"I didn't do anything special," I said.
"Don't say that." He took a half-step forward, then stopped himself when Rendell cleared his throat. "He wouldn't stop for me. For forty minutes he wouldn't stop."
I adjusted my left hand under Nico's bottom, my right hand cupping the back of his head without covering his neck. I let him feel the support through the fabric.
"It's the hold," I said quietly. "Upright. High on the shoulder. His belly against your chest bone. Like this."
He watched the way my palm cradled the head, the way my fingers stayed wide.
"And you were bouncing him," he said.
"Not bouncing. Swaying." I moved maybe an inch side to side, slow, so he could see it. "Small. And shushing right by his ear. At the same level as his crying was. Then softer when he drops off."
I did it, just barely, a breath of sound against Nico's fine hair. Shhh. Shhh. His fingers curled tighter into my apron strap and then went loose again.
The man's stare didn't leave us. "How did you do that? Where'd you get it?"
The words hit harder the second time. The first time he'd said them he'd been alarmed, looking at the mark. Now he was looking at me, at my hands like they knew something he didn't.
I glanced down at Nico instead of answering right away. I could feel sweat cooling under my maroon top, the white lace trim at my sleeve damp where his cheek had been crying against it a minute before.
"I've done infant care before," I said.
"When?" He said it fast. "Where?"
I didn't answer that part. I kept my voice even. "You keep them snug but you don't pin their arms. You let the white noise do the work. Most new dads hold them out where they feel like they're falling. He needed to feel held in."
"Don't tell me what most dads do," he said. His jaw worked. "Have you held him before?"
"No." I met his eyes. "I never saw him before tonight."
He didn't believe me. I could see it in the way his breathing changed, short through his nose. He looked at the small reddened place on Nico's upper back, just visible above the collar of the onesie when Nico turned his head in sleep.
"That mark," he said. "That wasn't there this morning. I dress him. I would've seen it."
"It could be irritation," I said. "From the seam. Or heat."
"You knew exactly where to put your hand to cover it."
My right hand stilled. I hadn't realized I'd slid my thumb up to shield the spot. I moved it back down to the center of his head, deliberately open so he could see.
"I'm keeping his neck supported," I said. "That's all."
Rendell shifted his weight in the doorway. "Folks, let's keep it calm in here. Ma'am's just trying to help."
The man ignored him. He pulled his phone from his pants pocket with his left hand, thumb already swiping.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Documenting." He lifted it, the camera aimed at Nico's neck. "Turn him a little so I can see it."
"He's asleep," I said. "The flash will wake him."
"I'll turn it off."
"Don't—" I started, but the phone flashed anyway, a hard white pop against the warm lamps. Nico flinched, his whole body jerking once against my chest, his face scrunching. I turned my shoulder away from the light and cupped my hand around the back of his head, shushing low until his breathing settled again.
My heart was hammering under the apron.
"You said no flash," I whispered.
"I said I'd try." He stared at the screen, pinching to zoom. The reddened mark showed larger now, angry-looking in the phone light. He looked from the photo to my face. "You do this like you've done it a hundred times. The sway. The shush. You knew he'd stop."
I held Nico tighter without thinking, then forced my shoulders to drop.
"I've helped with babies," I said. "That's true. That's all I'm saying right now."
"Helped who?" His voice rose again, then caught. He lowered the phone but didn't put it away. "Whose baby? Because nobody holds somebody else's kid like that unless—"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
Rendell let the door ease almost shut, muting the dining room to a hum. The wood-paneled walls seemed to lean in. I could smell coffee from my apron and the faint powder smell off Nico's onesie.
"I understand you're scared," I said. "But I'm not going anywhere with him. I'm right here. Mr. Rendell's right here."
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The man slipped the phone back into his jacket pocket, patting it once to make sure it was there. The photo stayed in the room, but the weight of it had already changed things.
"Keep him where I can see your hands," he said.
