You Should Have Told Me by Leah Konen EPUB & PDF – eBook Details
- Author: Leah Konen
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 1 MB
A COLD-BLOODED SCREAM, PIERCING THROUGH THE CLOYING MUSIC.
I looked down to see Freya writhing, unlatched from my breast, my nipple
shriveled up from the shock of exposure, the air chilly despite the beating
Heads instantly turned my way, the families of Kingston gawking at the
new parents who never should have brought such a young baby to a concert
aimed at older kids. Freya followed her scream with a monkey cry, an eeeeeeee-eeee I’d never heard before becoming a mother, one that was so
Max reached into the backpack and pulled out the llama pacifier—Freya’s
favorite—but I shook my head and pressed her, maybe a little too firmly,
back onto my boob. She stopped, thank god, just as the two guys in front
went into their next verse.
“Now what do we do two times a day, every day?” the one with the
extremely bushy beard asked, tapping at the face of his guitar.
“Sometimes even three times!” the other guy answered, resting his pick
briefly between his teeth and stretching a pair of heavily tattooed arms.
Then, in tandem, as if the answer were the most exciting thing in the
world: “We brush our teeth!”
The crowd, a smattering of families scattered across the grass of Forsyth
Park, cheered along, and the song continued. When we wake up in the
morning and get ready for the day, we brush our teeth, wa-hoo-a-doodleydoo, we brush our teeth, one time and definitely two . . .
One woman was still looking our way, even though Freya was quiet now
—a beautiful woman, one you might even call striking, with piercing eyes,
creamy skin framed by chunky bangs, and long glossy hair. I looked down,
avoiding her gaze. Stared for a moment at the heavy wool blanket Max laid
out a half hour ago. Shifted against the grass, the earth still hard and thawing
beneath us, an Ides of March cold emanating from beneath. I hated to be
watched as a mother. I always felt as if I weren’t measuring up.
By the time I looked up, the woman had turned around, back to the music,
back to her family. Max squeezed my hand, grounding me. “You okay?”
I nodded, forcing a smile. Max’s dark-brown eyes shone, and his wavy
hair, due for a cut, flopped in front of his eyes, his beard covered lightly in
this wax product I’d got him one Christmas, his crow’s-feet crinkling as a
smile stretched across his face.
He looked terribly handsome still, despite the
lack of sleep, despite the circles beneath his eyes. What’s more, he looked
hopeful, brimming with new-parent bliss, a burp cloth tossed over his
shoulder for the moment Freya needed it. He was so good, his presence the
balm that softened the rough edges of my emotions, the highs and lows and
super-lows of our post-Freya world. When he was beside me—helping,
supporting, looking at her with such awe and love—I almost felt it would all
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