Fiona Love (13 page)

“Hungry?” she asked, and the baby babbled an answer as Fiona changed her diaper then stuffed her gen
tly into the kitchen highchair.

She washed her hands and face, then the baby’s, and set water to boil for grits. She took out a pan to s
cramble eggs, reasoning that soft breakfast foods would be okay for the baby to eat. The baby food looked like shit. She microwaved herself some bacon, but Flora ended up eating some of that too, making great use of her pearly teeth as she gummed down the sweet, buttery grits and fluffy yellow eggs.

Her cell was sitting
in its charging cradle, and Fiona checked it after she’d cleaned up and wiped Flora down. Daney had called to say he’d be through that afternoon around lunchtime to meet the baby. Cleo was sleeping in at Barney’s and would be taking the next plane out to join them. Of Netty there was no word, but Fiona remembered her saying something about an early sale. Sugar had probably tagged along.

“You wanna meet momma’s sweetie? He gon’ be here at noon. What we gon’ cook, huh?”

Flora smiled and banged her hands on the highchair table and held her arms up when Fiona approached.

“I think we should make something easy but filling. Spaghetti with meat sauce and a salad.” She opened the freezer. “We’ve got some cheesecake bites we can have for desert, since Cleo’s not here to say we can’t, and I think, yep. Here it is – leftover strawberry sauce! We’ll leave this out to thaw. We should probably take a bath, huh?”

So Fiona ran a bathtub full of water and got in with the baby. She had a moment’s apprehension when she realized how far over the baby’s head the water was, but she kissed her energetically splashing child with a promise not to let go of her for a second.

“I shoulda got you some-a those baby swim lessons where you stick your tongue out and wear teeny little goggles,” Fiona said and laughed when Fl
ora splashed water in her face.

She cleaned her daughter gently, enjoying the not-often-had pleasure of washing the tiny limbs, fingers and toes. She even dipped the baby’s head under the faucet to rinse her hair beneath a medium-sized trickle of water. Once her hair was wet, Fiona immediately got out
and wrapped Flora like a mummy.

“Big momma would have something to say if you caught a cold while you here, I’m sure,” she told the child, making Flora laugh as she
used the hand dryer to playfully blow her dry along with her silky black curls.

She went in search of the baby’s scoot chair after Flora was dried, lotioned, diapered and dressed in a t-shirt, white lace socks and a cute little pink and white cotton dress with long puffy sleeves that Netty had made for her.

“Momma gotta have a smoke before I tackle that hair.”

She set the various doo dads on the scoot chair spinning and added a big spoon because it was shiny and pretty, and she couldn’t see how Flora could hurt herself with it short of accidentally poking herself in the eye.

“We better forget about the spoon,” Fiona said, removing the implement and its newly realized danger from her daughter’s dimpled fist and replacing it with a little piece of wheat bread. At least this way when Flora put it in her mouth she’d get some fiber.

Fiona hopped up on the sink to smoke out the open kitchen window and watched as her baby examined the t
oys and daintily ate the bread.

“Don’t like it too much,” she told the child. “When you get ready to get on stage, bread is
gonna be a thing of your past.”

As though she understood, Flora dropped the bread on the floor and turned
her full attention to the toys.

The phone rang.

“Peace.”

“How’s it going?”

“Cool. We just had a bath and got dressed. Well, she’s dressed.”

“You smokin’
?”

“Out the window.”

Netty laughed. “I wasn’t criticizing you! I gotta go, my sales lady just came back with this bad-ass dress I want for your – Sugar! Grab her. I’m over here!”

“Your Tete is crazy,” Fiona
told Flora.

Her next call came from Daney.

“Peace.”

“Hey, babe.”

“Hey yourself.”

“I’m runnin’ behind. It’s gonna be closer to one before I can g
et there. Shall I bring lunch?”

“No. I’m cooking spaghetti. It’s cool; we’re moving slow. Right momma’s
angel?”

“Lemme talk to Flora.”

Fiona grinned as she put the receiver to the baby’s ear.

“Talk,” she said, and heard Daney’s deep voice saying something. Flora smiled slightly, the
n tried to bite the phone cord.

“She’s lost interest.” She reported. “You
a’ight?”

“Great. I got two fat checks in the mail today, one large enough to let me pay off the mortgage on my place in Miami, and my agent tells me I’m booked solid for LA fashion week, then it’s back to Miami.”

“Cool. But you’re always booked solid during fashion week, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Daney laughed. “But that doesn’t mean one year I won’t be. I prefer not to take anything for granted.”

“That’s my boy.”

“A f
ew hours,” he promised.

“Peace.”

Fiona sprayed leave-in conditioning detangler in her daughters’ thick hair, massaged it in with a little olive oil hair oil then gently combed out two curly ponytails.

“You look beautiful,” she told the c
hild. “Daney’s gonna love you.”

She
checked Flora’s diaper, found it dry and realized she hadn’t given the baby anything to drink since breakfast.

“Shit!” she screamed and ran for the kitchen. “You know momma ain’t wrapped too tight. Why you didn’t tell me you were thirsty?” she teased the baby who smiled and
soaked up the sippy cup of juice and water like a sponge in a puddle. “Momma ain’t got it down pat yet.”

Fiona laughed when Flora drained the cup and burped. She refilled it with water just in case Flora was still thirsty, then scooped the baby from the chair and squeezed her joyfully.

They spent the next two hours making spaghetti. Fiona let the first pot burn when she got caught up with Flora’s crawl and roll over act. They were practicing walking when Fiona smelled the pasta.

“Shit!” She clutched Flora in one hand and yanked the burned noodles off th
e stove with the other.

Flora pointed to the burned food as if to say, nice job, and Fiona laughed. Only the bottom noodles were burned but she didn’t like the burnt smell the other noodles had picked up so she started from scratch.

“When this pot cools we gon’ put it in a bag and put it in the trash so nobody know. Don’t tell, okay? I’ma have to sneak out and buy Boomer a new pot,” she muttered, opening the kitchen window to air the room.

The second attempt turned out perfect, and Fiona quickly cooked the ground beef, seasoned it and dumped in two kinds of jarred sauce, cho
pped onions and yellow peppers.

“Time got away from me,” she
whispered. She still wasn’t dressed.

She couldn’t find the oven timer so she set the alarm on her cell phone to go off so she wouldn’t forget the simmering sauce. She
stood in front of her closet and realized she hadn’t dressed herself in months. She still had to make the garlic bread, so she grabbed the first comfortable dress she touched, a short black cotton number she’d had for years and refused to get rid of. Netty only let her wear it around the house because it was plain and post-baby, a hair too tight. Fiona doubted this particular flaw would bother Daney excessively. She added thin, plain gold hoops, a slick of gloss and was done.

She was just starting on the salad when Daney rang the bell. She buzzed him in and quickly wiped Flora’s face and ha
nds and straightened her dress.

“Hey, baby,” Daney kissed her a lingering hello and reached for Flora, who immediately held out her arms. He laughed and lifted her slowly into the air to make her laugh. “Look at my new baby. What a beautiful little cherub,” he crooned, kissing her cheek.

“That’s momma’s lil’ chocolate drop.” Fiona said proudly, watching as Flora explored Daney’s face with her tiny hands. She seemed particularly interested in his stubbled jaw.

“Nice to meet you, lil’ girl. I didn’t shave yet,” he said apologetically. “I’ll get rid of it before lunch.” He eyed her. “I like this house
Frau Look.”

“Hou
se frau!”

Daney laughed. “Fire down. I just meant you’re simply dressed and cooking in bare feet. Very French
country housewife.”

Fiona
wasn’t about to admit she didn’t know where exactly in Boomer’s house Netty kept her flat shoes so she asked, “You wanna housewife, D?”

He kissed her hard. “I want you. Now, lemme get these whiskers off while you get the food on the table. Then I can get me a real kiss from my newest girl,” he wiggled his eyebrows wolfishly at Flora who giggled her sweet baby laugh.

Fiona finished the salad and decided to set the table with Boomer’s best dishes. She pushed the baby’s high chair over.

“Whatchu’ want to drink
?” she yelled into the bedroom.

“Whatever you’re having.”

Fiona changed her mind and used the old-school dishes her mother had given Boomer ages ago when he went off to college. Daney was talking about being housey. The old-fashioned plates and bowls were definitely that. Plus, the cream color was a nice foil for the sauce and the meat. What was missing? Parmesan. She got a bottle of lemon Perrier from the fridge and was pouring it into glasses when Daney came out with clean-shaven cheeks. She couldn’t resist testing that softness by stealing a kiss.

“Sit down,” she urged him, pushing the platter of garlic bread toward him before dishing up the pasta.

Daney grinned as she served him.

“What?” Fiona laughed. “You laughin’ at my novice mommy skills?” She’d told him a few weeks back that Flora didn’t live with her, and he admitted he’d already guessed as much. The lack of baby clutter around the house
not to mention the “almost fall” incident had given her away. “Now that I look at lunch, good as it is, I’m gonna have to make something else for Flora. The meat’s out ‘cause she only has three teeth, and the noodles are gonna be a problem.” She handed her child the soft inside of a piece of garlic bread to eat and rose. She looked around as though expecting an idea to pop up and present itself. She snapped her fingers triumphantly. “I can put the food in the blender!”

Daney burst out laughing and held a small string of pasta for th
e baby who accepted it.

“It’ll work,” Fiona insisted, scooping up pasta, meat and a little sauce into a bowl and dumping it into the
blender. She hit the puree button and grinned at him.

“You’re smart,” Daney pr
aised, tongue firmly in cheek.

“Yeah! Just don’t tell Netty
I fed the baby spaghetti soup.”

After lunch
– Flora didn’t care for the spaghetti soup and ended up eating breakfast again – the three climbed into Fiona’s bed to watch television. Mostly the television watched them while they played with Flora and with each other. Toward 7 o’clock, the baby dropped off to sleep. Fiona would find out later she’d forgotten to put Flora down for her daily nap.

“I’m on my way,” Cleo said that night aft
er Fiona and Daney were in bed.

“Don’t bother. We’re coming home. Daney’s off to
LA, and I’m sick of this town.”

“You gotta go back soon to start shooting your
final episode of Transplants.”

“So? I wanna come home. Besides, Momma’s callin’ about Flora
.”

“You book the flight?”

“Netty got us on the first one out tomorrow night. Sugar’s leaving tonight. Says she needs to fill some orders. Don’t trip. We’ll take a cab from the airport.”

Tino met them at O’Hare.

“Peace,” he grinned, kissing her cheek and chucking Flora under her chin.

“How you know I was here?
”

“Cleo. I’m out front. T
he skycap’s watching the ride. What up, Netty? I brought the baby seat.”

Netty grunted. “Can y
ou take us to take Flora home?”

Tino obliged, though Fiona had to remind him not to smoke since Flora was in the car. Once they droppe
d her off, however, he produced a blunt that knocked all three of them sideways. Back at the house, Fiona fell into bed, half dozing before her head hit the pillow.

“You need to go home,” she told Tino when he invited himself to lay down next to her. “Daney’s coming over and I don’t want y
ou to be here when he arrives.”

Tino nodded and yawned sleepily. “A catnap, no more.” He promised. Fiona was already
sleeping.

******

“Fiona.”

Fiona snuffled into her pillow, moving away
from the arm around her waist.