“Depends on her fever. Take her temperature and tell me what it is. I’ll either meet you at an Urgent Care or your apartment.”
At that moment, Emme’s apartment door opened and she appeared in her robe, pajama pants, and bare feet. My heart ached. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept, either. I wanted to wrap my arms around her so badly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, looking at Paisley. “Is she sick?”
“I think she has a fever,” I said. “Do I have an infant thermometer?”
She nodded. “It’s in a bin on one of the changing table shelves.”
“I’ll call you right back,” I told Rachel.
“Hurry, please,” she said.
We went into my apartment and Emme located the thermometer while I took Paisley out of her car seat. She wasn’t crying anymore, but I could tell something was wrong. Her eyes were glassy, and she was listless and radiating heat. It gutted me that she felt pain I couldn’t relieve.
“Here.” Emme handed me something that looked like a toy. It was small and white with a long, skinny tip and had a digital screen on the front.
“How do I use it? Under the tongue?”
She shook her head. “It’s a rectal thermometer.”
“R-Rectal?” My voice cracked.
“Yes. You have to take it that way in babies this young. Want me to do it?”
Jesus Christ. Of course I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. “No. I’ll do it.” I undressed Paisley, who began to cry again, like she knew something bad was coming. She’s going to hate me for this. “Should I put her on the changing table?”
“Just turn her onto her belly on your lap,” Emme instructed.
I laid Paisley across my thighs on her stomach and took the thermometer from Emme, noticing that she’d covered the tip with some kind of lubricant. Ten seconds later I was still staring at it. There was no way I could do this.
“Nate.”
I looked up at Emme. “I can’t do it. She trusts me not to hurt her.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something I didn’t catch. “Give it to me.”
I handed it over. She pressed a button and carefully inserted the tip. Paisley wiggled and protested, her little arms and legs flailing. Emme frowned as she tried to keep the thermometer in place. Thank God she’s here, I kept thinking. Followed by, I don’t deserve it.
The thermometer beeped a couple times and then a number popped onto the screen.
“Ninety nine point nine,” Emme said.
“Should I take her to the ER?”
“I don’t think you need to, but let me check something.” Glancing around, she spotted my stack of baby books over on a side table. While she flipped through it, I took Paisley over to the changing table and put a new diaper on her, silently apologizing for the injustice she’d just suffered.
“No,” Emme said, reading from the book. “In babies three months or younger, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends taking a child to the doctor only if the fever is one hundred point four or higher. Call her doctor tomorrow.” She set the book down. “But you do need to give her a fever reducer.”
“Do I have one?”
“Yes. It’s in the same bin under the table. Give me a second to clean off the thermometer and I’ll find it for you.”
She went into the kitchen and I finished dressing Paisley. When she came over to the table, she pulled a bin from beneath it, dropped the thermometer in and pulled out a red box that said Infants’ Tylenol. “What does she weigh?”
Guilt slammed into me. “I don’t know.”
“You need to call Rachel.”
I nodded. “Can you watch her for a second?”
“Yes.” She picked her up and I went over to the couch, where I’d left my phone, and discovered Rachel had actually called twice in the last few minutes. I called her back.
“Nate? What took you so long? Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. Her fever is ninety-nine point nine. We’re giving her some Tylenol.”
“We?”
“Emme is here.” Our eyes met and Emme looked away fast. “How much does Paisley weigh?”
“She was eleven pounds, eight ounces at her last checkup.”
“Eleven pounds, eight ounces,” I told Emme.
“I’m coming over,” Rachel said. “I’m already on my way.”
I didn’t want her here, but I didn’t feel like I could say no, either. “Okay.”
“Don’t give her anything until I get there.”
“Why not? She’s got a fever and needs the medicine.”
“Because I’m worried about the dosage. It’s dangerous to give a baby too much.”
“I’ll read the dosage chart, Rachel. I’m not an idiot.” But I felt like one. If Emme hadn’t come over, I wouldn’t have even known where the thermometer was, let alone how to use it. A thought ran through my mind—I’m not cut out for this. And they both know it. Everyone knows it.
“Just wait for me, please,” Rachel demanded. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
We hung up and I walked over to Emme and Paisley. “Rachel is on her way over. She doesn’t want me to give her any medicine without her here.”
“Are you going to wait?”
“I don’t know.”
Emme pressed her lips together, but didn’t say anything. I picked up the Infants’ Tylenol box and looked at the front. It had a picture of a woman holding a baby on it. It was always a woman with a baby, on everything. Dads might as well not even exist as far as marketing was concerned. I checked the back of the box. “It says one point two five milliliters for six to eleven pounds, and two point five for twelve to seventeen pounds. What if a baby is in between eleven and twelve pounds? How much do you give?”
“I’d go with the lesser amount to be safe.”
The thought of making an unsafe decision for Paisley nauseated me. “I’ll wait for Rachel.”
“Fine.” She kissed Paisley’s forehead. “Feel better, peanut.” Then she handed her to me. “I’m going home.”
Please don’t leave me. “Okay.” I watched her walk to the door, my heart hammering. “Emme, wait.”
“What?” She didn’t even turn around, and I didn’t blame her.
“Do you hate me?”
“No, Nate. I don’t hate you. I hate what you did, but mostly I hate myself for falling for you. For believing your lies when I should have known better. I deserve this broken heart.”
I swallowed hard, wishing she would be harder on me. Tell me I was an asshole. Call me a liar. Hit me if she wanted to. Hearing that she blamed herself made me feel even worse.
There were so many things I wanted to say to her. Simple things like I’m sorry. Don’t go. I need you. And complicated things too, like I’m ashamed to be such an inept father. Why does love have to hurt? You said you wouldn’t let me push you away, but you did.
But in the end, I said nothing, and she walked out.
Rachel arrived shortly after Emme left, out of breath and frantic to get her hands on Paisley, who’d fallen asleep in my arms. She woke up when Rachel reached for her and began to cry.
“Did you give her the medicine?” Rachel asked, holding her close.
I stared at her. “You told me to wait for you.” She’d better not be mad at me for doing what she asked.
“I know, but you were so damn bossy earlier tonight I wasn’t sure you would.”
I went over to the changing table, angrily grabbed the box, and brought it over so she could see the dosage chart.
“Okay, let’s go with one point two five milliliters. Open it up and grab the little dropper thing.”
We managed to get Paisley to take the medicine, although she wasn’t happy about it, and it took both of us to hold her still on the changing table and get the drops in her mouth.
“Good girl,” Rachel said, scooping her up. “You’ll feel better soon, angel.” She cuddled Paisley against her chest and looked at me. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t capable of giving it to her, I was just scared.”
At that moment, Emme’s apartment door opened and she appeared in her robe, pajama pants, and bare feet. My heart ached. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and she looked as if she hadn’t slept, either. I wanted to wrap my arms around her so badly.
“What’s wrong?” she asked quietly, looking at Paisley. “Is she sick?”
“I think she has a fever,” I said. “Do I have an infant thermometer?”
She nodded. “It’s in a bin on one of the changing table shelves.”
“I’ll call you right back,” I told Rachel.
“Hurry, please,” she said.
We went into my apartment and Emme located the thermometer while I took Paisley out of her car seat. She wasn’t crying anymore, but I could tell something was wrong. Her eyes were glassy, and she was listless and radiating heat. It gutted me that she felt pain I couldn’t relieve.
“Here.” Emme handed me something that looked like a toy. It was small and white with a long, skinny tip and had a digital screen on the front.
“How do I use it? Under the tongue?”
She shook her head. “It’s a rectal thermometer.”
“R-Rectal?” My voice cracked.
“Yes. You have to take it that way in babies this young. Want me to do it?”
Jesus Christ. Of course I did. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. “No. I’ll do it.” I undressed Paisley, who began to cry again, like she knew something bad was coming. She’s going to hate me for this. “Should I put her on the changing table?”
“Just turn her onto her belly on your lap,” Emme instructed.
I laid Paisley across my thighs on her stomach and took the thermometer from Emme, noticing that she’d covered the tip with some kind of lubricant. Ten seconds later I was still staring at it. There was no way I could do this.
“Nate.”
I looked up at Emme. “I can’t do it. She trusts me not to hurt her.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something I didn’t catch. “Give it to me.”
I handed it over. She pressed a button and carefully inserted the tip. Paisley wiggled and protested, her little arms and legs flailing. Emme frowned as she tried to keep the thermometer in place. Thank God she’s here, I kept thinking. Followed by, I don’t deserve it.
The thermometer beeped a couple times and then a number popped onto the screen.
“Ninety nine point nine,” Emme said.
“Should I take her to the ER?”
“I don’t think you need to, but let me check something.” Glancing around, she spotted my stack of baby books over on a side table. While she flipped through it, I took Paisley over to the changing table and put a new diaper on her, silently apologizing for the injustice she’d just suffered.
“No,” Emme said, reading from the book. “In babies three months or younger, the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends taking a child to the doctor only if the fever is one hundred point four or higher. Call her doctor tomorrow.” She set the book down. “But you do need to give her a fever reducer.”
“Do I have one?”
“Yes. It’s in the same bin under the table. Give me a second to clean off the thermometer and I’ll find it for you.”
She went into the kitchen and I finished dressing Paisley. When she came over to the table, she pulled a bin from beneath it, dropped the thermometer in and pulled out a red box that said Infants’ Tylenol. “What does she weigh?”
Guilt slammed into me. “I don’t know.”
“You need to call Rachel.”
I nodded. “Can you watch her for a second?”
“Yes.” She picked her up and I went over to the couch, where I’d left my phone, and discovered Rachel had actually called twice in the last few minutes. I called her back.
“Nate? What took you so long? Is she okay?”
“She’s okay. Her fever is ninety-nine point nine. We’re giving her some Tylenol.”
“We?”
“Emme is here.” Our eyes met and Emme looked away fast. “How much does Paisley weigh?”
“She was eleven pounds, eight ounces at her last checkup.”
“Eleven pounds, eight ounces,” I told Emme.
“I’m coming over,” Rachel said. “I’m already on my way.”
I didn’t want her here, but I didn’t feel like I could say no, either. “Okay.”
“Don’t give her anything until I get there.”
“Why not? She’s got a fever and needs the medicine.”
“Because I’m worried about the dosage. It’s dangerous to give a baby too much.”
“I’ll read the dosage chart, Rachel. I’m not an idiot.” But I felt like one. If Emme hadn’t come over, I wouldn’t have even known where the thermometer was, let alone how to use it. A thought ran through my mind—I’m not cut out for this. And they both know it. Everyone knows it.
“Just wait for me, please,” Rachel demanded. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
We hung up and I walked over to Emme and Paisley. “Rachel is on her way over. She doesn’t want me to give her any medicine without her here.”
“Are you going to wait?”
“I don’t know.”
Emme pressed her lips together, but didn’t say anything. I picked up the Infants’ Tylenol box and looked at the front. It had a picture of a woman holding a baby on it. It was always a woman with a baby, on everything. Dads might as well not even exist as far as marketing was concerned. I checked the back of the box. “It says one point two five milliliters for six to eleven pounds, and two point five for twelve to seventeen pounds. What if a baby is in between eleven and twelve pounds? How much do you give?”
“I’d go with the lesser amount to be safe.”
The thought of making an unsafe decision for Paisley nauseated me. “I’ll wait for Rachel.”
“Fine.” She kissed Paisley’s forehead. “Feel better, peanut.” Then she handed her to me. “I’m going home.”
Please don’t leave me. “Okay.” I watched her walk to the door, my heart hammering. “Emme, wait.”
“What?” She didn’t even turn around, and I didn’t blame her.
“Do you hate me?”
“No, Nate. I don’t hate you. I hate what you did, but mostly I hate myself for falling for you. For believing your lies when I should have known better. I deserve this broken heart.”
I swallowed hard, wishing she would be harder on me. Tell me I was an asshole. Call me a liar. Hit me if she wanted to. Hearing that she blamed herself made me feel even worse.
There were so many things I wanted to say to her. Simple things like I’m sorry. Don’t go. I need you. And complicated things too, like I’m ashamed to be such an inept father. Why does love have to hurt? You said you wouldn’t let me push you away, but you did.
But in the end, I said nothing, and she walked out.
Rachel arrived shortly after Emme left, out of breath and frantic to get her hands on Paisley, who’d fallen asleep in my arms. She woke up when Rachel reached for her and began to cry.
“Did you give her the medicine?” Rachel asked, holding her close.
I stared at her. “You told me to wait for you.” She’d better not be mad at me for doing what she asked.
“I know, but you were so damn bossy earlier tonight I wasn’t sure you would.”
I went over to the changing table, angrily grabbed the box, and brought it over so she could see the dosage chart.
“Okay, let’s go with one point two five milliliters. Open it up and grab the little dropper thing.”
We managed to get Paisley to take the medicine, although she wasn’t happy about it, and it took both of us to hold her still on the changing table and get the drops in her mouth.
“Good girl,” Rachel said, scooping her up. “You’ll feel better soon, angel.” She cuddled Paisley against her chest and looked at me. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to imply you weren’t capable of giving it to her, I was just scared.”
