They arrive home. It’s late. Brian pays the babysitter, walks her to her car, watches her drive away. Sixteen. He remembers sixteen. When life was that simple. Prom dates and junior research papers. That’s all he thought about at sixteen.
He goes back inside, to his rented, oddly furnished home. Not what he wants. All he can afford. Maybe all that he will ever be able to afford. It seems that way, at least. Hannah is already in bed, the baby curled up next to her. She always wants to cuddle with the baby now. Never with him. She turns away when he crawls under the sheets. When he reaches out to touch her, she flinches, holds the baby tight. He pulls back, wraps his arms around himself, tries to sleep.
He is awoken, later, to the sound of the baby’s cries. Hannah is up, bouncing the baby, yelling at Brian to fix his bottle, yelling at him that he isn’t doing it right, shoving the baby at him so she can do it herself. The baby pulls away from him, reaches towards Hannah. He doesn’t want him. Never seems to want him. Brian thinks of the babysitter, probably asleep, no worries, no screams in the night, no bills to pay, no responsibilities. He remembers being that. He recalls it more clearly than he knows himself now. It doesn’t seem that long ago, can’t be that long ago. But everything in his life is completely different. How did he get here, he wonders.
