Oopsie

While I made sure my armpits didn’t stink too much, and that the reek of baby puke was off my skin, Curry put the towel on the kitchen table and placed Zory on it, gently drying her off and maintaining her good cheer with a steady stream of upbeat nonsense that seemed to come to him with total ease. I fumed with angry embarrassment over what a **** shrew my husband was turning me into by making me scream for him to come down and take the baby like he’d promised he would over half a fucking hour ago.

“Ohh, little bug,” Curry said to Zory, transferring her to his shoulder in only her nappy and the towel, and bouncing her there while he waited for me to give him the all-clear that my tits were no longer out. “Oh, my, does this little baby have a kiss for me?” he asked when she blew a raspberry and slapped her tiny hands against his chest. “Well, here’s a kiss for baby-bug, too!” He smacked a loud kiss on top of her head and she trilled happily. “Shall we dance, little one?” He began the baby dance she loved, humming some nursery song that any halfway decent mother would already know, dipping her and bouncing her in his big arms.

I heard Roland on the stairs, and then he appeared, finally, in the doorway, smiling apologetically. “Gods, I’m so sorry, hon, I thought I sat down for just a second but I must’ve lost track of time.”

I stared at him a long moment. He was never anything but friendly, perfect, and agreeable. Reasonable. Yes, my husband was so fucking reasonable.

I kind of wished he would act like more of a prick. Maybe then my anger wouldn’t feel so absurdly, outrageously misplaced.

Roland took in the scene, me still naked from the waist up and wiping myself off with a kitchen rag, and Curry baby-dancing with his back to me. “Oh, no, was there an oopsie?” he asked us, looking genuinely sorry for it. “Sorry—I got caught up reading.”

I tamped down a vicious flare of resentment for Roland, that he felt entitled to spend time on things he liked.

“Just a little baby puke,” Curry sang, in the same voice he’d been using on Zory a moment before.

I was turning into an extremely irrational person. I had always appreciated that Roland wasn’t a bit jealous of Curry, and accepted us as we were, but a husband was not supposed to walk into a room, see his wife standing there practically naked with her close heterosexual male friend present, and ignore that to inquire after a potential oopsie. What kind of person said things like oopsie to other adults, anyway? I thought indignantly. Oopsie was the kind of word people used once they’d lost the intention of ever having sex again in all their lives.

The little halfling shade dragged her gaze to Roland, then away again, catching my eye with a look so aggrieved it made me shudder. I decided that meant she thought oopsie was a stupid fucking word, too.

“I’m almost done,” I muttered, fastening the bra and twisting it around so it was at least sort of supporting my ungainly breasts. I pulled the clean shirt on over my head. “Curry, you can turn around.” The shirt was a little too tight around the bosom now, I realized, and turned my back again so I could plunge one hand into my bra and adjust things a bit. When I finished it was still straining to contain me, but less indecently so than it had been.

Curry baby-danced Zory over to Roland. “This little bug’s nappy wants changed,” he chimed in the same sing-songy tone, “but Mama and Uncle can’t be late to court or the Bottle! Stabber! Might! Get! Away! With! Double! Homicide!” Zory thought it was jolly good fun, that Uncle Mag bounced her on every syllable as he finished that sentence, right into Roland’s arms.

When did I ever become such a spiteful bitch, that I couldn’t enjoy fun things anymore, like humorously singing **** guard bullshit to a baby who didn’t understand it? I wondered crazily.

“Daddy’s got! Nappy! Duty!” Roland sang, continuing Curry’s tuneless refrain and twirling with her in his arms while Zory made the happy-baby noises that she only produced for them and not for me.

I finished hurriedly braiding my hair back away from my face so it would hopefully look less oily, then grabbed my own bag and slung it over my shoulder. “I’m ready,” I told Curry, and we made for the door. I desperately needed to get away from Roland and Zory.

“Uh-oh, doesn’t Mama have any kisses for Daddy and Zoria?” Roland called in a silly voice as soon I reached the door where Curry was waiting outside, holding it open for me.

Instead of snarling at him that he and Zory could both get fucked, I plastered a smile on and dutifully turned back around so Roland could present Zory to me for kissing. Despite Curry cleaning her up, she still smelled like a whole host of things that made me want to gag. I kissed her anyway, because I knew that wasn’t her fault, and stroked her downy baby curls even though recently I was starting to genuinely worry that I might be losing my mind because of her. “Bye, baby,” I told her, since at least with someone else holding her she wasn’t screaming at me right now, and then let Roland kiss me on the cheek. He smiled warmly at me, and I smiled guiltily back as I hurried out the door with Curry.