Page 29 of Trusting You
I quickly recall my conversation with my sister and how Carter could easily think it’s a conversation with a lady friend. I’m about to open my mouth and correct her when I think, Fuck it. Let her believe I’m making a date with another chick. Carter isn’t making any attempt to know me. Nor does she have to, I remind myself. She made it clear why she’s here and wants to stay, and it has nothing to do with my ass, regardless of how perfect it is.
Weirdly disappointing. Definitely uncomfortable. I’m unused to a woman wanting to live with me but have nothing to do with me at the same time.
“She can have this, but then it’s her nap time,” Carter says and gestures to the bottle Lily’s glommed to her face. “The pancakes were probably enough to tide her over.”
I regard Carter like an elementary school teacher who just told me I got detention. “Didn’t she nap a few hours ago in the car?”
“She takes two naps during the day. Maybe three today, since the plane ride messed her up.”
Yup. Definitely a schoolmarm. “Fine, I guess.”
She surprises me by apologizing again. “I’m used to being in charge of her schedule. It’s a hard habit to shake.”
“Why are you sorry?”
Carter straightens from her hunch over Lily. “Because I feel bad. Like I’m ordering you around when all you want to do is spend more time with Lily.”
“I’m no fool. You know Lily best, and it’s going to take me a while to figure it out. It’s why I asked you to stay. To help out. So, don’t feel bad for giving me the know-how.”
Carter’s brows rise like she’s shocked I’m so reasonable. Man, when will this girl figure out I’m not out to get her?
I figure the bananas and peas can be saved for later because Carter’s standing with Lily and making her way to the couch.
“Jeez, that kid chugs harder than a frat boy during hazing week,” I say.
Carter turns, and I brace an inner eye roll for a scolding, but she says instead, “You weren’t part of a fraternity.”
I lift my chin in surprise. “You’re right. I wasn’t. I’m surprised you know that.”
Some kind of emotion flits over her face, but I can’t discern it. Embarrassment? Bashfulness? Could chicks even be bashful anymore?
“Don’t pretend like you don’t remember how famous you were in college,” she says.
I shrug and go and sit beside them. Lily’s got one hand on her bottle, the other in the air, turning it this way and that as if fascinated she has fingers that can move on command. Her head is nestled near Carter’s breast, and I’ve completely forgotten what Carter’s saying.
This baby, this little girl, she’s mine. And she’s regarding the world for the first time, including her own limbs.
Carter clears her throat, and I immediately know why she’s frowning. “I’m not looking at your tits.”
Her eyebrows jump.
“I mean”—I glance at Lily—“boobs. Breasts. Not looking at them.”
I’m mentally kicking myself in the dick right now. The old Locke would, of course,, check out the rack Carter possesses because it’s a good one, but this Locke, Dad Locke, is one hundred percent in awe of his daughter at a woman’s breast and the miracle of human life.
How am I supposed to express this to Carter? Her mind is made up. I’m an immature, asshole player, and she’s the perfect modern version of Mother Teresa.
Carter squints at me. “I think I’ll put her to bed now.”
I give up. “Sure. Go ahead.”
I watch Carter take the bottle away from a drowsy Lily and leave, giving a big sigh to her retreating back. But as if pulled by magnetic power, I follow behind.
I’m at the doorway as Carter gently sways toward Lily’s crib, and when she turns to the side, I see her dip her head near Lily’s, murmuring.
It’s a song. I can hear it when I step closer. Carter’s singing to Lily, notes I don’t recognize, but the longer Carter goes, the heavier Lily’s eyelids get. Together, they sway, Lily’s ringlets moving in the small wind they alone have created, and eventually, quietly, Carter lays her down.
A strange emotion fills me, similar to what I felt when scoring a touchdown, but this was lighter, airier, yet it lingers and feels full. Being witness to this moment feels so personal to Carter, so private, that I’m strangely ashamed and start studying Lily’s crib instead.