Come Fly With Me...: English Girl in New York / Moonlight in Paris. Fiona Brand
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‘Maybe a cheery good morning would have been enough.’
She walked over and lifted the pot, tipping the boiling water into the sink.
He appeared at her back, his chin practically resting on her shoulder, as he lifted the plastic bottles and teats out onto the worktop with a clean dish towel. ‘You’re right, Carrie. You’re absolutely right. I should have said hello. I should have said good morning.’
She turned her head slightly. He wasn’t quite touching her, but she could feel the heat emanating from his body. She wanted to step away, to jerk backwards, but her body wasn’t letting her.
Her lips were curving into a smile—even though she was telling them not to—as she stared into those brown eyes again. It was nice. Being up close to someone again. His lips were only inches from hers. She wondered if he was having the same kind of thoughts she was. The kind of thoughts that made her forget there was a baby in the room...until he let out an angry wail from the floor.
They jumped back, both at the same time. She reached for one of the cartons. ‘Do you have a pair of scissors?’
He opened a drawer, pulled out the scissors, snipped the edge of the carton and upended the contents into one of the cooled bottles. Carrie picked up one of the teats by the edge of its rim and placed it on the bottle, screwing it in place with the retaining ring.
The bottle sat on the middle of the counter and they stared at each other for a few seconds.
‘Don’t we need to heat the milk up now?’
She shook her head. ‘According to the internet, room temperature is fine.’
‘Oh, okay.’
Silence. And some deep breathing, followed by a whole host of screams from the floor. It was like a Mexican stand-off.
‘So, who is going to do this?’
‘You. Definitely you.’
‘But what if I do it wrong?’
‘What if I do it wrong? Don’t you dare suggest that I can do it better because I’m a girl.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh, I’d never refer to you as a girl.’
‘Stop it. He’s mad. Just feed him.’ She opened one of the kitchen drawers and handed him a dish towel. ‘Here, put this over you.’
‘What do I need that for?’
‘In case he pukes on you.’
‘Ewww...’
Dan picked up the bottle, holding it between his hands as if it were a medical specimen. He squinted at the markings on the side of the bottle. ‘How much do I give him?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Well, look it up on the internet while I start.’
Relief. Instant relief. She wasn’t going to be left to feed the baby. She could sit on the other side of the room and do a search on the computer.
Dan picked up the baby from the floor and settled him on his lap, resting him in the crook of his arm that had his cast in place. He held the bottle with his other hand and brushed the teat against the baby’s cheek.
There were some angry noises, and some whimpering, before finally the baby managed to latch on to the teat and suck—furiously.
Carrie was holding her breath on the other side of the room, watching with a fist clenched around her heart. A baby’s first feed.
One of those little moments. The little moments that a parent should share with a child.
Daniel seemed equally transfixed. He glanced over at her. ‘Wow. Just wow. Look at him go. He’s starving.’
And he was. His little cheeks showed he was sucking furiously. But it was Dan who had her attention. The rapt look on his face, and the way the little body seemed to fit so easily, so snugly against his frame.
Her mouth was dry and the hairs were standing up on the back of her neck. Worse than that, she could feel the tears pooling around her eyes again.
What was wrong with her? This had nothing to do with her. Nothing to do with her situation. She shouldn’t be feeling like this. She shouldn’t be feeling as if she couldn’t breathe and the walls were closing in around her.
But Dan looked so natural, even though he kept shifting in the chair. He looked as if he was born to do this. Born to be a father. Born to be a parent.
The thing that she’d been denied.
She glanced at the screen and stood up quickly.
She had to leave now, while he was trapped in his chair and before the tears started to fall. She needed some breathing space.
‘You should stop after every ounce of milk, Dan. Take the bottle out and wind the baby. I’m sorry. I have to go.’
‘What? Carrie? Wait a minute, what does wind mean? How do I know how much an ounce is?’
But she couldn’t stop. She couldn’t listen.
‘Carrie? Come back.’
But her feet were already on the stairs, pounding their way back up to the sanctuary of her solitude.
DAN STARED AT the wall. What had just happened?
One minute she seemed fine, next minute a bundle of nerves, ready to jump out of her skin at the slightest noise.
She’d caught him unawares. She’d caught him while he was in no position to run after her. Probably planned it all along.
Still, it wasn’t as if she could go anywhere. The city was at a standstill and if this little guy started screaming she was right upstairs. Whether she liked it or not.
He shifted on the sofa. The little guy was feeding fast and furious. Was this normal?
He heard some rumbling, the noises of the milk hitting the baby’s stomach. How much was an ounce anyway? And how on earth could he tell if the baby had drunk that much when the bottle was tipped up sideways? At this rate he was going to need Shana on speed dial. He glanced at the clock and let out a sigh.
This was going to be a long, long night.
* * *
Carrie slammed the apartment door behind her and slid down behind it. Her mind was on a spin cycle. She couldn’t think a single rational thought right now.
What Dan must think of her.
She tried to take some slow, deep breaths. Anything to stop her heart clamouring in her chest. Anything to stop the cold prickle across her shoulder blades.
She sagged her head into her hands. Calm down. Calm down.
This was ridiculous. Avoiding babies for the past year was one thing. Body-swerving pregnant friends and brand-new mothers was almost understandable.
But this wasn’t. She had to stop with the self-pity. She had to get some perspective here.
What would she have done if Dan hadn’t been in the building?
There was no way she would have left that baby on the doorstep. No matter how hard the task of looking after him.
And if she’d phoned the police department and they couldn’t send anyone out? What would she have done then?
She lifted her head from her hands. She would have had a five-minute panic. A five-minute feeling of this can’t be happening to me.
Then what?
There was a creeping realisation in her brain. She pushed herself back up the door. Her breathing easing, her heartbeat steadying.
Then