She also knew that he wanted a lot of other things, including her.
Hands outstretched, she saw in his face the expression of a man meant to have children one day, a man capable of the deep love Laura, Mike, and Dylan had for the baby in Josie’s arms.
The tiny, helpless baby whose entire existence rested in Josie’s arms. Arms that could drop her. Or– not that she ever would—harm her. There was an element of unreality to it. How newborns were so utterly dependent on the kindness of larger human beings for their simple survival. Paralysis set in as the idea infused her, making her muscles freeze, her mind lock up, her body seize, and something in her eyes made Alex come to a complete dead halt.
“Josie?” he said. His arms were outstretched in a different way now, a bit more alarmed, the muscles taut, his knees bent slightly as if bracing himself to act swiftly. “Your face is pale the way it was yesterday at the birth. Hand the baby back to Laura,” he said quietly, a soothing tone that cut through her ever-increasing panic.
Instinct kicked in and Laura responded immediately to Alex’s words, lowering her voice as Mike and Dylan slowly stepped closer to the bed. Nodding, Josie kept her eyes on Alex and, without breaking the gaze, turned her body to rotate the baby toward Laura, who took her. The relief of not having those not-quite-eight pounds in her arms, of not being the only person in the world who could control Jillian’s destiny, made Josie sag with a sigh.
“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”
Patting Laura’s knee, she made her way out of the room without another word, deeply humiliated and embarrassed for reasons she didn’t understand.
Out in the hallway, the shakes came, violent tremors in her fingers, her wrists, and her arms. She tried to walk it off, her eyes surveying the layout, looking for the water fountain that she knew should be wedged between two bathrooms. There it was. Homing in on it, she walked robotically toward it, her body stiff with purpose and sorrow and embarrassment.
The cool splash of water against her lips was a balm, an antidote to whatever had filled her veins just moments ago, coursing through and taking her away from the moment, scaring her. Chilling her.
As she drank greedily from the fountain, her mind turned into a splintered fog. What was it about this baby that was making her lose her mind? It wasn’t just jealousy. That played a small part, certainly—not jealousy of the baby itself, but of the shift in her friendship with Laura. Something more must be at play, though, to trigger this kind of response in her.
A deep, thin thread of resentment and resignation shot through her. The answer was there; it was buried, though, so deeply that she had no desire to dig that shit up again. It’ll come when it comes, a voice said in her mind, that damn voice that came out when she least expected it and definitely least wanted it.
Her own childhood smacked up against what was supposed to be a joyful day for her best friend. Her best friends, three best friends. She needed to start including Mike and Dylan in that circle. They welcomed her—albeit with limits—and it was time that she welcomed them, too.
“Josie?” The voice behind her felt like an embrace, though he stood far enough away from her to be an acquaintance, giving her some privacy and space. She wanted to turn around, throw her arms around him, and have his hand press against her back, the other buried in her hair as he soothed the confusion out of her. Arousal should have come next, from that image, but it didn’t. A deeper, more intense desire to talk to him, to confide in someone what was going on inside her, came bursting forth instead. Social acceptability trumped all as she swallowed her emotions, everything that pressed at the base of her throat in a giant lump. She pretended she didn’t hear him, taking an extra gulp of water to help her swallow ever so much.
“Josie?” he said a little louder, not backing off. Firmness in his words nearly made her jump. Alex wasn’t going to let this go.
Good. Don’t back off, she thought. Keep trying. You’re going to need the persistence.
She opened her eyes, swallowed hard, and turned around, not even bothering to pretend.
“Alex,” she said haltingly. “I just…I don’t even know what that was.” Tears pooled along the lower rims of her eyes and she breathed slowly through her nose, cursing her outfit, her eye makeup, her not-so-comfortable shoes, all the preening of womanhood she normally shunned. Here she was, crying in front of a guy who shouldn’t matter, at a moment in her life that should. Celebrating Jillian’s birth should be joyous! She was letting everyone down, including Dr. Perfect.
“I do.” The look in his eyes was one of evaluation and empathy and something else—a camaraderie that wasn’t supposed to be there. He felt it, too—she could tell—and in the space between what they were saying, what they were gesturing, how they were looking at each other, there was a whole other language that somehow they were both fluent in, yet couldn’t speak.
“You do?” she asked. “Then tell me, because I have no idea.”
“You look like every new mom that realizes the responsibility they’ve just taken on.”
“I’m not the new mom,” she scoffed. Her face fell, though, and she could feel a cold heat rising from the small of her back, climbing up her ribcage like a newborn rooting for a breast. He was right. How could he be right? How could he know what she had been feeling just moments ago, what had made her flee the room to compose herself?
“You may not be the mother here, but you have a deep connection to Laura and…” He shrugged, one hand on his hip, the gesture casual. There was none of the stiltedness of new attraction to him. He seemed unable to be formal, affected, to try too hard to be funny or sarcastic or sophisticated. He was only genuine, telling her how she felt—and damn if he wasn’t dead on. “Every new mom goes through it, and that sickly feeling when you realize that you are God to that infant is your humanity coming out.”
“Then I have an awful lot of humanity,” she whispered.
Saying that was an accident. The words had been in her mind, but poured out of her mouth only as a reflection of the exhaustion of the past couple of days.
“You do,” he said, stepping forward, bridging the gap between them. One more step and her breath halted. Finally, four feet from her, he paused, waiting three beats. He took another step and then reached out, touching a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her face, brushing it aside.
“I can see that,” he said. “Your deep humanity. I think that’s why this seems so…” He pressed his lips together in a smile and shook his head slowly.