"She knows what she's talking about," Maya says. "Hire her."
"Maya," Diane says gently from the couch.
"What? I'm being efficient." But there's a smile in her tone.
Emma turns to Tyler, who's been standing in the same spot since I came in, like he's afraid to move and disturb something. "She's right. Hire her now."
Tyler's eyes come to mine, and the desperation in them is something I wasn't ready for. Not the surface panic that's already fading as he watches Harper settle against me. Something older underneath. The look of someone who expects, on some deep, inarticulate level, to ruin things and is terrified this will be no different.
"Please," he says. "Whatever you want. Triple your rate, quadruple it, I don't care. Just please stay. Please help me not fuck this up."
Not fuck this up. I clock the word choice. The phrasing of a man who has fucked things before and knows what it feels like.
I should negotiate. Ask about the specifics, the schedule, the duties, and the days off.
"I'll take the job," I sayinstead.
The relief that moves through him is total. His shoulders drop, his whole body changes, and he brings one hand up to cover his eyes. His shoulders shake once.
"Thank you," he manages. "Jesus. Thank you."
Emma is already moving. "Right. Baby supplies. Everything. Tyler, you're coming with us. Mom and Maya are coming to stop you from having a crisis in the diaper aisle. Nora, you stay here with Harper; she's finally calm, and I'm not loading her into a car for a three-shop run."
"We'll be here," I say.
They collect their things and file out, and then it's just me and Harper and the house settling quietly around us.
I look down at her. Blue eyes, currently closed. A tiny fist anchored against my collarbone like she's decided I'm not going anywhere.
This is just a job.
She makes a small sound in her sleep, something between a sigh and a complaint; I adjust her without thinking, and she settles.
Just a job.
5
TYLER
The baby section at Target is fucking massive.
I'm standing at the entrance to what looks like an entire warehouse dedicated to tiny humans, and I have no idea where to start. Aisles upon aisles of products—all claiming to be essential—and I can't identify half of them.
"Move." Emma grabs a cart and shoves it at me. "You'repushing. I'mnavigating. Mom and Maya are grabbing things I point at. This is a military operation, Tyler. Keep up."
I follow her down the first aisle. Diapers.What the fuck is a wetness indicator?
"Diapers, size one for now, size two for when she grows. Three boxes." Emma's already grabbing them, throwing them into the cart. "Wipes, the sensitive kind. Diaper cream."
The boxes are huge. The cart's already a quarter full, and we've been heremaybefive minutes.
Diane appears with an armful of items. "Baby wash, shampoo, lotion. Fragrance-free because her skin is delicate."
"Bottles." Emma stops in front of what has to be fifty different types. "Babies are picky little shits. You won't know which ones she likes until you try them. We need several."
"How many is several?" I manage, staring at the wall.
"Eight. Different brands, different nipple shapes." She's already grabbing them rapid-fire. "Formula. Powder. Four cans."