Free Heads or Tails by Leslie A. Gordon Page A

another. My teeth grinding together was the soundtrack to my movements. I was unaccustomed to feeling so incompetent. The compounding of errors brought me back to tenth-grade chemistry.
    “What’s all the commotion?” Jesse said from the doorway of the living room. The slit in his boxers was cockeyed and I could see his penis. The joke I’d normally make didn’t seem like it would be welcome in the middle of the night.
    “She just needed a diaper change.” I measured my tone to downplay my own exasperation.
    “It’s Sunday night — or Monday morning, whatever. We have to work in the morning.”
    Work. I had so much to do back at Curtis Construction, including figuring out how to deal with newly discovered rust in steel columns at the Alamo Square project as well as calculating wall insulation for an upcoming bid. Fortunately, when I’d called Frank from New York to explain what was going on, he agreed to cover for another day or two.
    “I know,” I said, clearing my throat with a short cough. “Can you hand me a damp paper towel?”
    He brought one from the kitchen and widened his eyes when he saw that I was blotting urine from the couch, my hands moving in short jerks.
    “You know I’m not a diaper-changing, baby kind of guy, Stevens. That’s one of the reasons you married me, remember?” His light brown hair stuck up in odd directions. He rubbed his cheeks and eyes with his palm.
    I longed to touch him, to commiserate with him, just like we did whenever we had to suffer through a tedious, obligatory social event. Using one hand to clean the sofa and the other to steady the wriggling baby, I was also tempted to snap, even though I knew caring for a baby was as out of his element as it was mine. Instead I took a breath.
    Over the years, I’d observed couples like us, those who’d vowed not to have children. In several cases, while one party continued to relish their childless status, the other — and it wasn’t always the woman — started to have doubts. In those cases, the marriage inevitably crumbled. While I was always sad for both parties, it was the staunch advocate for remaining childless for whom I had a particular sympathy. That spouse had stayed true to their original commitment, one that was not socially acceptable, one in which he or she used to have a devoted partner. To be then left by that other person struck me as particularly sad and isolating.
    “I realize that, Jess. This wasn’t something I wanted to do. It wasn’t voluntary. This is an emergency ,” I said, drawing out the last word. “You won’t have to do anything for the baby. I’m just trying to help someone out. Someone who’s sick.”
    He nodded sleepily and turned towards the bedroom. His build was slight — he was only two inches taller than me — but our race training had carved his muscles, creating an emerging broadness that I loved. He paused and revolved slowly back toward me. “It’s just —. You didn’t ask me,” he muttered.
    I kept my eyes glue downward as I changed the baby into a dry onesie. She used a tiny, walnut-sized fist to rub her eyes, striking me then as so pathetic, so very human. I gathered her up and followed Jesse into the bedroom. I tried to put her back in the car seat but she kicked her legs in objection and I worried she’d start to howl again. I held her to my chest as I searched for another place to lay her down, but within moments she was already asleep against my shoulder. Dizzy with exhaustion, I lowered myself backwards onto the bed and let her sleep on me the rest of the night.
    ***
    “WTF,” I texted Sarah the next morning. “Do babies get jet-lag?”
    Bleary-eyed and stiff from sleeping the whole night on my back, I’d been awakened by the sound of Jesse leaving the house. The baby continued to doze as I tip-toed into the living room and laid her on the couch near the pee spot she’d made a few hours before.
    “Yes,” Sarah texted back. “They’re jet-lagged from