Babysitting His Baby

You can do this, Melissa. Just get in the damn building and get it over with.

I am standing outside Edwards’ Enterprise, and I have been trying to get myself to just go in there and get this interview over with. I don’t understand why I am so nervous. I mean, it is just an interview, right? 

No biggie, but I am so worried that I might even have a panic attack. Just kidding. It is safe to blame my nervousness on my adorable puppy, Molly. She is so damn cute but so damn vicious at the same time. 

My very cute puppy has eaten virtually all my flat shoes. I think Molly gains pleasure in seeing me suffer. I swear, she knows just how much I love wearing my flats and has taken it upon herself to make my life miserable by eating all my shoes and leaving me to wear these heels. 

To be honest, I love heels. I mean, I really love them. Like I buy them every time I visit a store. They are so pretty that I just can’t bring myself to pass them by whenever I see them, and to think I don’t even wear them. I only wear them occasionally, like on dates, and let me tell you: I don’t go on dates. 

I just wear my heels, play music, and dance around my room. Unfortunately, I have been subjected to wearing heels today, and it is all because of that cute puppy of mine.

“Enough with the ranting, Melissa. Go get yourself that job,” I mentally chide myself.

I finally muster the courage to enter that building, but I am too damn nervous to admire the interior. Sightseeing can be done later because I have to get myself that job first. So I walk up to what I assume should be the receptionist’s desk.

“Good morning. How may I help you?” the receptionist asks politely. 

But she is way too polite, and her smile is fake and forced, like she isn’t happy to be at work. 

Did I mention she is drop-dead gorgeous? She could be a model. Blonde hair styled to perfection, blue eyes, clear skin, and so on. What the hell am I going to do if being gorgeous were required to get a job here? What…

 “How may I help you, Miss?” the receptionist snaps. 

I guess I zoned out on her.

“I am here for the 9’o’clock interview.”

She nods robotically before flipping through something that looks like the size of a dictionary. “Melissa Brooks,” she says, and I nod in confirmation. 

“The elevator is right in that corner. Use this card to gain access to the last floor.” She points to the elevator and hands me a plastic card. 

“Thank you.”

She smiles. “Welcome to Edwards’ Enterprise.” 

Forget about Barbie and go get yourself that damn job,I mutter to myself. 

The elevator ride is not of any help at all. It is so fucking silent and terribly slow, I imagine getting stuck in the elevator while a zombie shoves its hand through the door and try to… 

Finally, the ding of the elevator brings me out of my reverie.

Ignore that.I watch too many horror movies these days. I get out of the elevator and go through a revolving door, but what I see shocks me. 

I expected this place to be sparkling clean and noise-free, but it is filled with the cries of a baby and just one baby is making this much noise. Many people around her are trying to get her to quiet down, but she isn’t having any of it. Her dress is covered in stains, probably from the treats she’s been trying to shove away. 

“Why won’t she stop crying?” It is a male talking this time, his voice laced with distress and worry.

“I don’t know why she won’t stop.” 

It’s a woman this time, and guess what? She is gorgeous and blonde. Come to think of it, all the ladies here are blonde. Being a blonde can’t possibly be a requirement, right? The ad didn’t mention anything about applicants being blonde. 

“Did you check her diaper?” It’s the male’s voice again.  

“Yes, I did that already,” someone else says.

Someone else asks, “What if she’s sick or something?”

 “She doesn’t have a temperature,” another person pipes up. The baby’s cries are louder now.

“Can I check on her?” someone asks, and every eye in the room turns on me. 

That is when I realize I am the one who spoke up.

I clear my throat. “Well, can I?” 

The male voice demands, “Who are you?” 

Just as I’m about to answer, the baby opens her mouth and wails. 

“Does it really matter right now?” I walk up to the baby without waiting for permission anymore and took her from another blonde woman. I hold her in my arms for a bit and rock her until she quiets down for a few moments, but soon begins wailing again. 

She is adorable if you look past the swollen face. I practically melt when she locks eyes with me. 

But why is she crying so much? Oh, she can’t be any older than nine months.

 “Where is her teether?” I demand.

“What is that? And why would she need that?” The male voice again.

“She needs it because she is a baby, and she is obviously growing teeth,” I snap as I jostle the poor dear in my arms in an attempt to quiet her again. 

“She doesn’t have one,” he tells me.

“Yeah, I figured,” I mutter. “Can I get water, please?” 

Before I can blink, there is a water bottle in my hand already. With it, I wash my hand in the bowl beside me, and I put my pinky finger in her mouth. 

Her tiny hands grab my finger and she sticks it into her mouth to gum it. I bet she is using my finger to scratch them. Poor baby, she must be hurting so badly, and the people around her don’t know how to take care of her. 

I cradle her to my chest, nestling her head on my breast. She is so fucking cute, and I just can’t resist cute. I am a sucker for pretty girls. I smile at her, and she smiles back. At least I think she smiled back. I start gently bouncing her on my legs to get her to sleep. 

Within minutes her eyes flutter close, but she hasn’t released my finger. I continue to sit there, just rocking her to sleep. Everything else disappears at that moment. It’s just me and her and my heartaches. I know I shouldn’t be carrying her like this. I should have just ignored her cries and tears and left. But I didn’t. Like always, I couldn’t resist it.

 Now I don’t want to let go of her. At least, not yet.