I'm drooling.
That was the first coherent thought I had as I crawled back up from the depths of sleep. I was drooling, and it was pooling in puddle on Jameson's shoulder.
My second coherent thought was to sit back up again and dab at his shirt with the hem of my skirt before he woke up and noticed the mess I made. But I was pinned underneath Malcolm who was completely asleep and seemed to have gained fifty pounds overnight. How on earth could one twenty-month-old be so heavy?
Carefully, I attempted to slide my arm out from under my son. His cheeks were no longer flushed pink, and his breathing was deep and regular. I wiggled a little more, freeing my left arm from underneath his knee, and pressed my hand to his forehead. Then I sighed with relief. He was cool, the burning scald of his cheeks has gone away. The fever must have broken sometime during the night.
Then I looked down and saw that my dress was hiked up, leaving my thighs completely exposed. I glanced hurriedly at Jameson, who was still asleep, his head thrown back at an awkward angle at the back of the couch. I tried to reach down and shimmy my skirt back down under me, but Malcolm started in my arms and I froze. Jameson snorted a little and then coughed. All at once, he sat upright, stretching and then turning to look at me. He blinked once, and then recognition flooded his eyes and the corners crinkled. "Hi," he whispered, looking down at Malcolm. "How's the little guy?"
"Cool," I whispered back. "Guess it just was one of those things. One of those random illnesses kids like to get to scare their moms to death I think," I said with a small laugh.
"How else would they keep you on your toes?" he asked with a chuckle.
I rolled my eyes. "Believe me. He finds plenty of ways to keep me on my toes."
I was laughing, so I didn't hear the footsteps, but I heard the squeak of the floorboard, and suddenly froze.
"Mom," I said, looking up into the doorway from the stairwell. "You're up."
My mother stepped into the living room, clutching her robe around her and staring. I had no idea what this must look like, me sitting on the couch with my son in my lap and a strange man's arms around us both. I had a moment of profound déjà vu, a flashback to those days of sneaking guys into my bedroom when I was a teenager. But this was different, this was innocent.
Or at least it ended up that way.
So I lifted my chin and looked her in the eye. "How are you feeling?" I asked carefully. When her depressions lifted, she liked to pretend they'd never happened at all. Like the days she'd spent in bed didn't count somehow and she'd just picked up where she left off before they took her. "You look good," I said with a diplomatic smile.
"I'll get by," my mother said tersely. Then her gaze dropped to Malcolm, and her face softened. "What's going on with Mac?"
"Sitter called," I told her. "He had a fever, but I think it's broken now."
"You should take him to the doctor," my mother jumped in immediately.
Inwardly, I rolled my eyes. "Mom, I just said his fever broke."
"But you should get him checked out anyway, you never know what it might be."
"Mom..." I said warningly, gritting my teeth.
My mother threw up her hands. "I know, I know, you're his mother, you don't have to tell me again. You're always bossing me around. I think you forget that I'm still your mother." And with that, she stalked into the kitchen.
I turned towards Jameson who seemed like he was trying and failing to suppress laughter. "So that's my mother," I said brightly. "She's real good with introductions."
He clapped his hand over his mouth. "Sorry," he said, wheezing a little. "At least now I know where you get your backbone."
"You're lucky I'm pinned under this child or I would smack you," I replied smartly.
He held up his hands. "You're right, I am lucky." He shifted a little. "Oh God, I can't feel my leg at all."
"The whole right side of my body is numb," I complained. I looked down. "Hey, Mac attack," I said, gently patting his cheek. "How come this is the first time in your life you're sleeping past dawn?"
"Ma," Malcolm groaned and then rolled onto his stomach. With a giant stretch, he scrunched up his face just like a little old man, and his long-lashed eyelids fluttered open. "Mama," he said with the sweetest little sigh.
My heart melted. "Good morning sweetheart," I told him, brushing my hand on his cheek. "You scared Mama last night."
He nodded, "Mama," he repeated. Then his face grew serious. "Juice."
Jameson chuckled. "The little man has his priorities in order." He shifted and then stood up. "Where is the juice?"
"Oh you don't have to get it," I told him. "I've got it."
"I'm right here," he said, backing towards the kitchen. "Just tell me where it is."
I pressed my lips together. When I'd decided I was going to have myself a nice one-night stand last night, this was not how I'd pictured it ending. "On the door of the refrigerator. One of the little boxes."
As I watched him walk into the kitchen, and heard him greet my mother, that strange emotion that I was feeling last night welled up in my throat again. Except, this time I could give it a name. It was strange wistfulness, a nostalgia for something that I've never actually had.
Like suddenly I had a partner,
But he was leaving today, and I would never see him again.
For a second my head was too heavy to hold up anymore. It fell back and I stared at the ceiling, blinking back this strange stinging in my eyes. Exhaustion, that's all it was. I was fine with Jameson leaving. I had my mom, had my son.
I didn't need anyone else.