Tied Read Free

say a word
    Daddy’s gonna buy you a . . .
    I stop—because why the fuck would any baby want a mockingbird? None of those nursery rhymes make any goddamn sense. I don’t know any other lullabies, so I go for the next best thing, “Enter Sandman” by Metallica:
    Take my hand,
    We’re off to never-never land . . .
    “Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.”
    When that doesn’t help, I sit down on the couch. I lay James on my thighs and support his head with my hand. I look into his little face—and even though he’s still bawling, I can’t help but smile. Then, in a low, calm voice, I talk to him.
    “I get it, you know. Why you’re so unhappy. One minute you’re floating in amniotic fluid—it’s dark and warm and quiet. Then a minute later, you’re freezing and there’s bright lights and some asshole is pricking your heel with a needle. Your whole world is turned upside down.”
    The tide of tears starts to recede. Though there’s a sporadic whimper, for the most part his big, brown eyes keep contact with mine. Interested in what I’m saying. I know the accepted theory is that babies have no understanding of language at this stage, but—likemen attempting to get out of household chores—I think they know more than they let on.
    “I felt the same way when I met your mother. There I was, cruising along, making the most of a fan-fucking-tastic life—and your mom came along and shot it all to hell. I didn’t know which way was up—with work, with my Saturday nights. This is a talk for another time, but it’s true what they say: you spend nine months trying to get out, and the rest of your life trying to work your way back in.”
    I chuckle at my own joke. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but your mom is gorgeous—the finest ass I’ve ever laid eyes on. Still, I really liked my old life and I couldn’t imagine anything better. But I was wrong, James—falling in love with her, earning her trust, having you, are the best things I’ve ever done.”
    He’s not crying at all anymore but simply regarding me with quiet attention. “The adjustment might be hard . . . but it’s worth it. So could you cut us some slack, please? We love you so much—I can’t wait to show you how fucking great life is on the outside. And you don’t have to be scared, because we’ll keep you warm and fed. And I promise I’ll never, ever let anything bad happen to you.”
    His little mouth opens in a stretching yawn. And his eyes slow-blink. I stand up and pace the room again—slowly.
    Kate’s hushed voice comes from the across the room. “You certainly have a way with words, Mr. Evans.” Her hair is wild, messy; my college T-shirt is baggy on her and almost reaches her knees.
    “What are you doing up?” I ask.
    She shrugs. “I couldn’t fall back asleep. And I heard you whispering out here.” She walks up to us and rests her head against my arm—gazing down at the baby. “He’s asleep.”
    And so he is.
    “Do I risk putting him down, or should I learn to sleep standing up like a frigging horse?”
    Kate loops her arm through mine and guides me to the couch. She sits and pats the spot next to her. Like a member of the bomb squad handling a device with a hair trigger, I shift James so he’s on my chest, his head resting on the steady beat of my heart. Then I sit down and put my feet on the table and my head against the back cushion and my arm around Kate’s shoulders.
    I sigh. “God, that feels good.”
    Still not better than sex—I don’t give a shit what the new-mom magazines say. Sleep is good, but screwing will always be better.
    Kate curls her feet under her and rests her head against my arm. “It sure does.”
    A few moments later, all three of us are sound asleep.
    It’s possible James understood my offer of bribery, because that night he slept there on my chest for three whole hours. Before he woke up—and it started all over again.
    But I have a theory. I think it’s all deliberate. I think God