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Chapter 42— Babysitting
Lily didn't last long.
For a tiny human with a surprisingly strong grip, she was fighting a losing battle against sleep.
Jon sat cross-legged on the living room floor, lightly bouncing her in his arms while Sam sat nearby, making ridiculous faces at her like a hyperactive chimpanzee on a sugar rush.
"Look at this. A few minutes with us and she's ready to sign a peace treaty with the Sandman," Jon whispered.
Sam grinned. "That's because unlike her dads, we don't try to negotiate bedtime like it's the Geneva Convention."
Jon huffed a laugh.
Another few gentle rocks — and Lily's little eyelids drooped, her breathing evening out, that soft baby-weight sinking deeper into his arms.
Jon stood slowly, cradling her like something ancient and fragile. The bassinet wasn't far. He stepped over carefully, easing her down like a bomb squad defusing a particularly precious piece of cargo.
She didn't stir.
Victory.
Jon let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
Sam, still sitting cross-legged, gave a small golf-clap. "Would've been faster if you'd sung her a lullaby."
Jon shot her a look. "Sure, and traumatize her so early in her life? Yeah, no thanks."
Leaving Lily to her dreams, they both padded quietly into the kitchen.
Jon immediately went for the coffee machine like a man with priorities straight.
Sam, of course, hopped up onto the counter like it was her personal throne.
"Whatcha making, barista boy?" she teased.
Jon threw her a mock glare over his shoulder. "Pure liquid survival."
"Mm. I'll take mine with extra sarcasm and a sprinkle of unapologetic sass."
Jon scoffed. "Oh, so... your usual."
Sam gave him a look of deep offense — which lasted all of two seconds before she burst out laughing.
Coffee brewed.
The smell filled the kitchen — warm, sharp, grounding.
He handed her a mug with exaggerated care. "For the queen of backhanded compliments."
She raised the cup in salute. "Long may I reign."
They sipped in companionable silence for a beat.
Jon leaned back against the counter opposite her, taking in the ridiculous scene — them, babysitting, drinking coffee in someone else's kitchen like they'd done it a hundred times.
It felt... absurdly natural.
And maybe that was the problem with moments like these.
They snuck up on you.
Comfortable. Easy. Dangerous.
Sam caught him staring.
"What?" she asked, brow arched.
Jon shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Nothing. Just... didn't think babysitting would come with free coffee and your sparkling personality."
Sam smirked. "You're lucky I'm feeling charitable tonight."
He raised his mug in a toast.
"I am luckiest guy in the world."
Two hours passed like a dream.
Sam and I had spent most of it half-whispering jokes over coffee and pacing the living room like covert agents every time one of Lily's baby sounds hinted at waking. But now — reality was knocking.
Or rather, stirring.
Lily's soft baby whimper broke through the quiet.
I set my phone down, exchanging a look with Sam.
"She's up," I said.
Sam sat up straighter, grinning. "Showtime."
I moved to the bassinet, reaching down and lifting Lily carefully into my arms. She blinked up at me, face scrunched, fighting off the last clutches of sleep before settling her little hands against my shirt.
"Hey there, sleepyhead," I whispered.
Sam practically skipped over — excitement all over her face — except grace was not her strong suit at this particular moment.
Thunk.
Her leg slammed right into the edge of the coffee table.
"Ah, son of a —!" Sam cursed, loud and sharp.
She grabbed her shin, hopping slightly in place, wincing hard.
I winced for her. "Smooth," I said, rocking Lily.
Sam gritted her teeth. "I'm fine... I'm—"
"[B****]!"
We both froze.
Very slowly — as if we'd just witnessed a car crash in slow motion — Sam and I turned toward Lily.
She stared back at us with wide, innocent eyes.
Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "Did she just—?"
I nodded.
Sam's jaw dropped. "Wait... wait... was that her first word?"
I nodded again.
"[B****]!" Lily chirped, louder this time.
Sam looked like she'd just witnessed the apocalypse. "Jon. Jon. We can't let this happen. This cannot be her first word."
I sighed, adjusting Lily in my arms. "Yeah, that's gonna be hard to explain when she starts saying it at daycare."
Cue the most ridiculous fifteen minutes of my life.
We tried everything.
Repeating safe words like "puppy" and "happy" in singsong voices. Making exaggerated faces like cartoon characters. Offering her stuffed animals as bribes. Sam even tried clapping like a seal every time I said nice words.
Did any of it work?
Absolutely not.
Every few seconds like clockwork —
"[B****]!"
Lily said it like she'd won the verbal lottery.
I rubbed my temples. "This kid has a gift for comic timing."
Sam groaned. "She gets that from you."
Eventually — like some tiny queen growing bored of her new favorite toy — Lily stopped saying it.
Sam and I exhaled together, collapsing onto the couch like survivors of some weird linguistic war.
"That... was terrifying," Sam whispered.
"I feel like I aged ten years," I muttered.
Then came the sound we were dreading.
Keys in the door.
Voices.
Mitchell and Cam.
Sam sat bolt upright. "Jon."
"I know."
Cam's voice floated through the entryway. "Hello? How was our little angel?"
I stood up with Lily, trying to look as normal — as not guilty — as humanly possible.
Cam swept in first, beaming at Lily. "There's our sweet girl!"
I handed Lily over like I was disarming a bomb.
Please, I prayed internally. Please don't say it. Be cool, kid.
Mitchell entered, smiling at us. "Thanks again, guys. Hope she wasn't too much trouble."
Sam and I exchanged an entire conversation with our eyes.
Do not say it.
Lily looked around, her little lips moving.
Sam tensed.
I braced.
And then —
"Mommy," Lily said softly, looking right at Sam.
The room froze.
Cam gasped.
Mitchell clutched his chest.
Sam's eyes went wide — and maybe, just maybe, a little watery.
Jonathan Hale, professional martial artist, football player, etc. But none of that helped him in this moment as he was left stunned.
Jon couldn't help but wonder, if maybe it would have been better if Lily had said That word again, instead of this one.