I wake up with the sun streaming into my windows and cabinets slamming in the kitchen. I pull myself to my feet, my head lulling from side to side. Whatever is happening, I'm too exhausted for it. Sleeping last night did nothing for me. Actually, everything has only got more confusing.
I pull the door handle, walking out into the kitchen. Johnny and Alison stop moving when they see me. Alison softly closes the fridge, moving her eyes from mine to Johnny. She stares at the baby boy in his arms, balling her hands into fists at her side.
"Look, someone is home to take him," Alison glares at me, but she is addressing Johnny. "Someone who should take him, anyway."
I lean against the wall, turning my attention to Johnny. It isn't often that Alison shows up at our house, though it always is to yell at Johnny. This is the first time I've see it though. His face twitches at her words, but I am surprised that is all he does.
"I thought motherhood would make you less of a petty bitch," Johnny shakes his head, swaddling the boy in his arms. His voice is soft and sweet, almost like he is asking her a question rather than making an accusation.
Alison tightens up her face. She scrunches her nose, squinting at Johnny.
"Keep up with that and you might shit your pants," I gesture up to Alison's face, staying on the edge of the room. Johnny rolls his eyes at me, and I can't tell if he is frustrated with me, with her, or with both of us.
Alison doesn't say anything to me. She glares at Johnny one last time, before she walks out of the room. At the door, she doesn't take the time to throw her boots on, instead carrying them outside. She slams the front door behind her.
The baby gurgles in Johnny's arms. He rubs its back soothingly, shushing softly. Bouncing with every step, Johnny moves back through the kitchen.
"What did she want?" I ask, trying to see around the baby to look at Johnny.
Johnny continues his little dance. He moves over to his phone on the counter, pressing play. A soft song plays through. There is an electric piano in the background, and the vague hum of a bass drum.
"She's just being Alison," Johnny shrugs. He pulls the baby away from his body, holding it up in front of him. Johnny rubs his nose against the baby's, who laughs in return. He looks over at me, still holding the baby in the air. "Do you know this song?"
"I don't know any oldies," I shrug.
Johnny nods, bringing the baby back to his chest. He knows my Mom would've never played them for me, being from another dimension and all. My Mom sung old hymns and folk music from the days when everyone lived in huts.
"My Mom played this when I was a kid," he tells me, omitting the reason she stopped because he was taken into foster care. "She really liked this song."
He is avoiding the question. "What's the usual Alison stuff?" I lean on the island, looking Johnny up and down.
He pauses his dancing, looking me up and down. A smirk reaches his cheeks. "Do you mind holding Max for a second?"
I cross my arms. He hasn't tried to get me to hold the thing in weeks. Normally I say no, and he doesn't push. Johnny raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for my response.
"I smell like the bush," I tell him. "I don't think you want the baby to die from rabies."
"If I was really worried about rabies, I wouldn't let Max in the house," he shrugs, looking me over. He doesn't emphasis Max like I expect of him. Johnny doesn't like when I address his son as the baby.
