I Don 't Know Why I 'm Helping You Essay
I make a disapproving sound under my breath. “No wonder she left.”
“It’s obvious that up until tonight, you never helped with him.”
“You finish,” he said,
“You know what I mean. You failed to do your share of the work, and I’m sorry, but it shows. I don’t know why I’m helping you.”
Deciding that’s enough lecturing, I change the subject. “I swear, babies are so cute, this one in particular.” The baby reaches up and touches my mouth. I laugh; sucking and nibbling on his wet dimpled fingers. “You are too damn cute.”
I catch the guy watching me, and I ask, “What?”
“Nothing.” He continues to bathe the baby, murmuring, “It’s just….”
The guy scratches his cheek, accidently getting suds on it. He shrugs, using his shoulder to wipe the subs off. I wonder how someone so hard and strong and complicated can be in charge of something so beautiful and gentle. The guy stands out in the midst of his family-guy surroundings; because everything about him screams: I am not that guy!
His eyes turn a shade sadder. “I wish I could be like that with him,” he tells me, gesturing at his baby.
My body responds instantly, softening. Maybe there is…