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If Grant had to describe Skye’s sleeping pattern, he’d probably go with... erratic. Not that anyone’s asked him to describe it lately, in an online survey or on one of those web shows where someone runs at him with a microphone.
God, he’s terrified of that happening. Mainly because he’d punch the person on instinct, and Billy Eichner does seem very nice and not deserving of a punch in the face, in Grant’s opinion.
But that’s beside the point. The point is, despite the fact that Skye usually goes to sleep at three in the morning, she’s usually up around eight to feed Phillip and have some toast.
It’s 10:30 and he’s heard her get up to go to the bathroom a couple times, but otherwise it’s been eerily quiet on her side of the apartment. Grant keeps staring at her door as he plays in Philip’s room. He’ll just poke his head out of the doorway every once in a while. Just to check if anything’s changed.
It hasn’t.
By 10:45, he’s only slightly panicking. Because it’s obviously not a big deal. People sleep in all the time. And sure, this doesn’t line up with Skye’s usual day-to-day activities, but that’s fine. It is totally, completely fine.
He knocks on her door at 10:47, after putting Philip safely in his crib.
“Skye?” Grant asks, quietly. “Are you awake?”
He gets a groan and the creaking of her bedframe in response. “Grant?” Skye croaks. “You shouldn’t come in. I’m sick.”
“You’re sick?” Grant asks, his voice filled with concern. Holds the doorknob in one hand and presses his other hand against her door. “With what? Do you need me to call the doctor?”
“Ugh,” Skye says back. “Don’t call the doctor. It’s just a cold.”
“It sounds worse than a cold,” Grant says. Pauses. “Sorry.”
“I’m fine,” Skye says. She doesn’t sound fine. She sounds like she’s pinching her nose and talking from beneath her hand at the same time. Her voice, usually so bright and melodic, is dry and croaky.
“Can I come in?” Grant asks.
A pause.
“Okay,” Skye says. “I’m a mess, though.”
Grant shakes his head. Turns the doorknob. “I’m sure you’re fine.”
“I’m going to die,” Skye says, falling back onto her pillows. She’s surrounded by a veritable mountain of used tissues. Her hair’s sticking up from tossing and turning on her pillow. Her pretty eyes are all puffy, too.
He frowns. She doesn’t look well at all. She’s still beautiful, of course. But sick.
“Just leave me with my tissues,” Skye says. “This is my fate.”
“You said you were fine,” Grant says, staying firmly in the doorway. He’d rush to her side, if he could. Take her hand in his and feel her forehead with his li-
With the back of his hand. He would feel her forehead with the back of his hand.
But there’s a tiny, precious baby on the line, who could catch a cold if Grant has even the slightest bit of snot on his tee shirt. It’s too risky, right now.
He’ll think of a plan.
“Skye,” he says. “Have you taken your temperature?”
She pouts at him. “No,” she says. “Should I?”
“Well,” Grant says. “Do you have the chills?”
“No,” Skye says.
He offers a smile. “That’s good!”
“It’s awful. Everything’s awful,” Skye corrects, sinking deeper into her pillows. She pulls the covers up to her chin. “Somebody do something.”
“That is not good,” Grant says, much more seriously. “Why don’t you-” He pulls on his shirt. So many germs. “Can you give me five minutes? I need to put Philip in his swing.”
“Go,” Skye says. “Don’t worry about me.”
He’s not entirely sure if she’s being melodramatic or if she actually means it, and either way, he’s going to worry about her, so it’s a moot point.
“I’ll be right back,” Grant says. “Just let me set Philip up.”
Her hand rises from the pile of tissues on the bed and waves him off.
He gets this feeling like he’s doing something wrong, not staying by her side. (Well. In her doorway.) But Philip needs him, too, and Grant can’t leave him in his crib. He needs entertainment and love. On the other hand, Skye also needs more tissues, probably.
He’ll work this out.
Grant cradles Philip extra-close when he comes back into the nursery. He has a split-second worry about germs. But unless germs can leap over Skye’s carpet and find his shirt, Philip should be okay. Grant rocks Philip in silent apology for his three minute and twenty second absence. Philip coos happily, and Grant’s just glad Philip can forgive so easily.
Grant should have a change of clothes. That could help. One pair of clean, germ-free clothes for when he’s taking care of Philip, and another pair of clothes to wear for when he’s near Skye.
And after he goes to Skye, he’ll just strip out of the germy clothes, Purell himself clean, and put on the clean clothes again.
No contamination, and everyone gets taken care of. Grant grins down at his baby. “I’m gonna take such good care of your mommy,” he says, lifting Philip to his eye level. “And you, Mr. Cutie-Pie.”
Philip responds with a three-toothed grin. Grant’s so proud to have been there for all three of those teeth. And Philip obviously likes being called cute, and he should. Because it’s the truth.
He gently straps Philip into his swing, and turns the mobile on. Leans in to kiss Philip on the forehead. He remembers to push the mobile out of the way so that doest get caught in his hair. Again.
“Your mommy’s sick,” Grant explains, holding Philip’s little foot in his hand. “And she needs my help. So you can be brave while I’m helping mommy, right?” Grant asks. He puts Buddy the stuffed dog on Philip’s left and Patches on Philip’s right, so that he doesn’t feel too lonely. “They’ll help you,” Grant says. “I’ll just be down the hall if you need me, okay?”
Philip kicks at Grant with his free foot, to show Grant how strong his little legs have gotten.
Grant makes sure Philip’s baby monitor is on. And then Grant makes sure that the one he wears at all times is also turned on. It is.
“Such a little tough guy already,” Grant says. He gives Philip’s foot a light squeeze before letting it go. “I’ll be right back.”
Grant’s quick to pull a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt from his dresser. Throws his ‘Philip’ clothes on the bed and changes into his sick clothes. Grabs the monitor off the bed. Makes his way to Skye’s room, and knocks quietly on the door. “I’m back,” he says. “Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says. “Knock yourself out.”
He tentatively opens the door. “Feeling any better?”
“It’s been five minutes,” Skye says. She’s moved onto her side, clutching a box of tissues to her chest.
Grant pads across her carpeted floor, sidestepping stray tissues that ended up on the floor. She stares up at him from her bed with tired, hooded eyes. “Can I sit?” he asks.
She nods, moving her knees under the cover to make room for him.
He sits down on the bed as slowly as he can manage, to make sure he won’t disturb the mattress.
He tries not to tense as her knees press against his leg. As she curls around him, like a cat. “I’m sick,” she says, sounding ten years younger than he’s ever heard her sound. “It sucks.”
He smiles down at her. “Can I take your temperature?” he asks. He raises his hand, lingers above her forehead until she softly nods. He presses the inside of her wrist to her skin. Swallows. She’s not clammy, but she’s a little sweatier than usual. And she’s certainly not boiling but she’s... warm.
“Do you have a thermometer?” Grant asks.
“Just an in-ear one,” Skye says. “The kind you use for babies.”
“That’ll um,” he says. “That should do. Where is it?”
“My bathroom,” Skye says. “But ugh-” She sinks under her covers. “It’s a mess in there.”
“I can handle it,” Grant says. “I really should see if you have a fever or not.”
“I know,” Skye says, staring up at him with wide eyes. “Just- Don’t judge me, okay?”
He’s still touching her forehead. He hadn’t noticed until now, when he smooths the stray hairs out of her face. “I never have,” Grant says, quietly.
Her lips curl into a soft grin. Takes his hand from her hair. Pulls it down to her pillow. “No, you haven’t,” she says. “You’re too good to me.”
He’s momentarily forgotten why he’s in here. Skye is holding his hand and she’s practically curled onto his lap and she’s smiling at him so sweetly, so kindly, and-
She suddenly erupts in a nasty-sounding cough, and Grant remembers that it’s his utmost responsibility to take care of her.
He practically jumps off the bed. “I’ll get the thermometer,” Grant says. “Okay?”
She covers her mouth, coughing all the while. She manages a nod. “Water?” she asks.
“Of course,” he says, rushing for her bathroom. I’ll just-”
Her bathroom is larger than the bedroom he’d had in his apartment. She’s got a shower with glass doors on one end, and a beautiful claw-foot tub on the other. The mirror is huge and lined with bulbs, leading down to marble countertops with a sink firmly placed in the middle.
The bathmats look painfully expensive.
And he’s not sure where the messy part is. Sure, she’s got her clothes piled up next to the tub, and she’s got 2 towels hanging over the shower door. And yes, one of the bathmats has some stains in it, but he’s sure that’s perfectly explainable. And fine, maybe she doesn’t need all of her makeup spread across the counters, but if she wants it to be, then that’s how it is.
It’s very Skye, he thinks. It’s not so bad at all. “Where’s the thermometer?” Grant asks.
“Under the sink,” Skye says. “With the plastic cups.”
He finds that the area under the sink is just as disorganized as the rest of the bathroom, but with a little doing, he finds the thermometer and a cup. He fills the cup with lukewarm water and heads back to the bedroom.
“Here,” he tells her, resting the water on her nightstand. “Let me help you sit up.”
Instead of being her usual, stubborn self, she just nods. Lets him fluff her pillows and put his hands on her shoulders. Doesn’t protest as he lifts her into a sitting position and leans her against her pillow throne. With a smile, he hands her the water.
She takes it with both hands, eying him as she drinks.
He sits back down by her side, like it’s the most natural place for him to be. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says. “I’ll take your temperature.”
Skye nods. Hands the empty cup to Grant. “How’s Philip?”
“He’s good,” Grant says. He doesn’t remember when he started to gently rub Skye’s arm, but he’s doing it. “I put him in his swing. I think he’s fallen asleep, since he hasn’t cried through the monitor.”
“Good,” Skye says, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s good.”
Grant smiles back. “He’s a good boy,” he says. “I told him you’re sick. He just wants to be good for you.”
Skye tilts her head. “I don’t think babies have that level of thought,” she says.
Grant makes a small noise in the back of his throat. Breaks her gaze so that he can pull the thermometer out of the box. “Well,” Grant says. “Philip exceptionally smart and well-behaved.”
“Is that an official report?” Skye teases.
He lets out a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, turning the thermometer on. “I guess it is.”
She turns her head away from him, and for a moment, he’s worried he’s done something wrong. But then she tucks her hair behind her ear, which shows him the long, soft shape of her neck.
He’s got the impulse to feel for her temperature, again. With his lips, for the most accuracy.
“Grant?” Skye asks. “Are you okay?”
He clears his throat. “Yep!” Grant says. “I am spectacular. Why wouldn’t I be?” He leans forward. Places one hand on her shoulder and slides the thermometer into her ear.
She’s biting her lip, for some reason. Maybe she’s got another cough coming? Does she need more water?
The thermometer beeps with her temperature, startling them both.
“You’re at 100.1,” Grant says, frowning. “Not good.”
“But not terrible, either,” Skye says. “Not bad enough to take me to the ER.”
“No, it isn’t,” Grant admits. “But do you want some asprin? Something to bring the fever down?”
“I don’t think so,” Skye says. “It’s not a high fever. And we’re still breastfeeding Philip, so I think I’ll try to ride it out.”
“Okay,” Grant says. There’s a small part of him that registers her use of the word “we,” like both she and Grant are Philip’s parents, not just her.
He’s sure it was just a slip of the tongue.
“Anything else?” Grant asks.
She nibbles at the inside of her cheek. “Could you go get me some orange juice?” Skye says. “Oh, and some green tea? They sell it at the store downstairs and-”
“Anything you want,” Grant says. “I’d go to Chinatown to get you that soup you like, if you need.”
She beams. “I wouldn’t make you do that, Grant. Promise.”
“I’ll head out now,” Grant says. “You’ll have your juice in no time.”
“Okay,” she says, softly. “Thank you.”
He’s about halfway to kissing her forehead before he catches himself. “Of course,” he says, far too close to his boss for this to be appropriate. She’s probably creeped out, by this point. And that look on her face certainly says ‘disappointed,’ but he really can’t be sure.
He rises from the bed. “I’ll, uh-” He steps back. “I’ll be back soon.”
Grant quickly changes out of his sick clothes and leaves them in a pile by his door. Rubs hand sanitizer over every inch of his hands and forearms. Debates rising his mouth out with salt water, before realizing he probably doesn’t have the time.
He grabs the Baby Björn from the closet.
Philip is napping soundly in his swing, hugging Buddy in one arm and Patches in the other. Grant hates to wake him, but he certainly can’t leave a baby and a sick Skye in the same apartment. If Philip wakes up and starts to cry, Skye might hear him and get worried and try to get out of bed.
And then she’ll either hurt herself in her sick, weakened state, or she’ll unintentionally give her germs to the baby.
And it will be all Grant’s fault for being so damn irresponsible. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.
“Hey little guy,” Grant says, gently rubbing his thumb against the back of Philip’s hand. Philip squirms. Attempts to pull Buddy closer to his chest. “Baby, we need to go on a little adventure.”
Philip lets out a string of babble. Grant takes it to mean he’s unhappy with being woken.
“You can nap against my chest,” Grant says. “You do it all the time, pup.”
(Skye doesn’t know about that nickname. Grant’s not sure she’d like it.)
“You just gotta wake up for a second,” Grant says. “Just so I can move you.”
Philip wiggles as Grant unbuckles him from the swing. “C’mon,” Grant says, gently lifting Philip from his seat. He frowns as Philip begins to whine. He starts to cry out as Grant puts him in the baby sling, which makes Grant panic. Just a little. Is he alright? Is it just because Grant woke him? Is there something more that’s bothering him?
“Hey,” Grant whispers, petting Philip’s head. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he continues. A small part of Grant figures he must look rather stupid, right this second. He’s got his arms wrapped around Philip as he sways side to side. The motion is enough to reduce full cries to tiny whimpers, though. So really, so Grant really doesn’t care how it looks. Or how he looks. He just needs Philip to be settled and happy and okay.
Grant keeps holding Philip. Not too tightly, of course. But tight enough that Philip feels safe. “It’s alright,” Grant says, as Philip settles down. “We’ve got to do this for your mom. Okay? Just for her. Because she needs our help.”
Philip murmurs something that Grant takes as understanding.
“That’s right,” Grant says. “Such a good little boy. You love your Mommy so much, don’t you?”
Philip coos softly in agreement.
“I do, too,” Grant says, sweetly. Before he realizes his horrible mistake.
But it’s okay. It’s okay. He’s got both baby monitors on him, and Skye’s probably resting while she waits for Grant to come back. And he’d said it so quietly that it would be impossible for Skye to hear.
Besides. It’s not like it means anything. Who wouldn’t love Skye? She’s the most lovable person in the whole world.
Grant’s distracted by Philip pulling on his finger. He smiles. Skye and Philip are tied for most lovable. That’s for certain.
“Okay,” Grant says. “Let’s go get your mommy some orange juice.”
--
By the time Grant and Philip make it to the checkout line, their basket is maybe a little too full. Grant had gotten the orange juice, of course, but then he’d also thought the smart thing to do would be to get two. So he did. And a bottle of vitamin C supplements, both for Skye and himself. He needs to protect his immune system, too. He’s got a very important little baby to take care of.
He’d moved on to tea, and he’d gotten the brand Skye likes. But then he’d remembered that they were low on honey, so he got honey, too. And then, since honey was also good for a sore throat, he’d thought it would be a good idea to get Skye cough drops.
He hadn’t been sure if she liked cherry or lemon better, he’d gone with both.
And then Philip had wanted to go down the baby aisle, as strongly indicated by a series of small baby noises and pointed glances. And Grant never could say no to the most important baby in the world, so it had been into the baby aisle for the both of them.
Philip had picked out a very colorful chew ring. And while he’d wanted to chew on it immediately, Grant had put it in the basket. Who knew how many other people had touched it? It had to be boiled in order to be safe.
Also, he had grabbed a package of diapers. They could always use more diapers.
And, not to seem like he had overdone it, but he did get several boxes of tissues. Just in case Skye needed them.
And now, he has to wait in line for what feels like at the very least, two years. Why is the line so long? What if Skye needs him right now? He’s not there! He can’t help her! This is a tragedy. This is a travesty.
This line needs to move, damn it.
Not that he doesn’t understand that they’re clearly understaffed at the store today, because he does. It’s not their fault. It’s the fault of all the customers ahead of Grant in line, who somehow think their purchases are more important than Skye’s health and well-being.
How wrong they are.
Philip makes an impatient sort of noise, waving his tiny fists in the air like that will convince people to let them cut in line. Grant appreciates the effort.
“Oh,” says the woman in front of them, turning to look at Philip over her shoulder. “What a cute little baby!”
Philip continues to protest the various injustices of the pharmacy line, oblivious to the attention he’s receiving. The woman turns all the way around, smiling down at Philip’s chubby little face.
“He’s just the sweetest little thing,” she says, reaching out to touch one of Philip’s hands.
“Oh, no,” Grant says, gently turning Philip away from the prying touch of strangers. “I’m sorry. It’s cold and flu season.”
The woman’s cheeks flush pink as she looks up at Grant’s face, making him at once feel both guilty and terrible. He’s right in protecting Philip, of course, but he doesn’t want to embarrass anyone.
“Right,” the woman says, shifting her hand to tuck stray hair behind her ear. “Of course.”
“I’m sorry,” Grant says, giving her a soft smile. “I don’t want him catching anything.”
“No, no,” she said. “You’re right to be concerned.” She grins back at Grant. “I, um-” she reaches into her purse, and procures a small white card. “This uh, has my number on it,” she says. “If you ever wanted to um, see me sometime that wasn’t cold and flu season.”
She places the card in Grant’s hand as he stares at her, dumbstruck. Then she gently lifts her shopping basket and goes to pay for her items.
Somehow he’s made it to the front of the line. His cheeks are flushed, and now Philip is going to think he’s being disloyal to Skye.
“It’s okay,” Grant whispers, petting Philip’s hair. “You and your mommy first and always.”
Philip coos at Grant’s touch. He’s still so sleepy, the poor little guy.
Grant tucks the card into his back pocket, still feeling like he’s done something terribly wrong. “Let’s get you home.”
--
Grant manages to get back to the apartment, tuck Philip back into his swing, and get Skye a glass of orange juice in less than 10 minutes. Which is a personal best time in getting everything together. Not that he times himself regularly. Or anything.
He gently knocks on Skye’s door. “I’m back,” Grant says. “I brought juice.”
No answer.
“Skye?” he asks.
“Hey, Grant,” she responds, finally. Like it strains her. “You um, do you want to come in?”
“Of course,” Grant says. “I want to check on you.”
“Right,” Skye says. “Right, of course. Come in. Sorry.”
He carefully opens the door. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” he says. He gives her a sheepish smile. “Unless you did something while I was out?”
“No,” Skye says, too seriously for Grant to keep smiling. She’s looking up at him with the strangest look on her face. And he’d credit it to her being sick, but it doesn’t look like a sick face. It just looks like a... concerned one. Or a troubled one.
“Did I do something wrong?” Grant asks. He rushes to her bedside. Maybe a little too quickly, since he spills the orange juice when he sets it on the nightstand. “Oh shoot,” Grant says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”
“It’s fine,” she says. “I’ll get it in a minute.”
“No, no,” Grant says, wiping his hands on his jeans. “It’s my fault, I’ll fix it. Just let me-”
“Grant,” she says. Quietly. “You didn’t- You’re fine, okay? Everything’s fine.”
“You don’t look like everything’s fine,” Grant says. Which is too forward of him, but he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he needs to fix whatever he did, like now, like right now.
She pats the other side of the bed. “Do you want to sit down?” she asks.
He swallows. “Sure,” he says. Walks to the other side of the bed and pretends like it doesn’t make his stomach knot. The other side of the bed feels too intimate. Too close. Like he shouldn’t be allowed to sit there.
But Skye asked. And he’ll never tell her no. So he sits.
Skye reaches over and fluffs the pillow behind him. Offers him a nervous sort of grin. “Comfy?” she asks.
“Yeah,” he lies. It’s a comfortable bed, sure, but he feels acutely like it’s about to open up and swallow him. So, not so comfy, actually.
“Grant,” Skye says, slowly. “You like working for me, right?”
He nods.
“And you like Philip, right?” she says.
“Is this about the woman downstairs?” Grant says. “Because I didn’t want her number, she just gave it to me, and-”
Skye takes his hand without warning. Which silences all his thoughts, all at once. “Grant,” she says. “How would I know if someone gave you their number?”
He doesn’t know the answer. So he doesn’t respond.
“Did it bother you?” Skye asks. He’s all-too aware of the fact that their arms are touching. “Getting a phone number from a stranger?”
He stares at his knees. “Yes.”
Shoulder contact. “Why?”
“Because,” Grant says. He turns to glance at her, only to notice that her face is inches from his.
He should be worried about germs. But he isn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Because why?” Skye asks.
“Because it felt like-” He takes in the shape of her lips and the way her tongue darts out to wet them and the way her hair is just slightly in her eyes. “It felt like I was cheating on you.”
She smiles. “Grant,” she says. “I was in the hall earlier and I-” Her lips are almost on his, they’re just a warm breath away.
“You what?” Grant asks. He should close his eyes but he can’t stop staring.
“I wanted to tell you that I-”
Philip’s shrieking wail echoes through the apartment. Grant practically falls off the bed in surprise.
“He needs me,” Grant says. “I’m sorry, I’ll put tea on for you afterwards.”
Skye’s shrunken back into her pillows, her hand curled against her chest. She looks unspeakably sad, all of a sudden. “Right,” she says. “Tea. I-” She breaks his gaze. “I actually think I’m going to nap for a little, okay?”
“Do you want me to come back and tuck you in?” Grant asks. “Or clean up the juice?”
“It’s fine,” Skye says. “I’ll just let you know when I’m up.”
“Okay,” Grant says. “I’ll make you dinner when you’re ready.”
She rubs at her eye. Lays herself down and slides under the covers. “Thank you, Grant,” she says. And then she rolls over, facing away from him.
He supposes that means the conversation’s over. Which is fine. He doesn’t know what to say, anyway.
“Goodnight, Skye,” he offers. She doesn’t respond.
He’d stay longer. Clean up her tissues and the spilled juice and fix her blankets.
But Philip needs him. And Grant cares about Philip more than anything else.
So he takes one last look at Skye, and goes to help his baby.