"Hey, Reece, if this a bad time?" I bounce the screaming baby on my hip.
"Maybe just a little bit Kiku." I make a dash for the nearest chair and switch the baby's position; stroking its tummy and face as I squish the phone between my ear and shoulder.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I'll call back later." The baby screams again; even louder than before. He panics. "Are you ok? It sounds like someone's dying." I grimace.
"It's worse from this end."
"Are you alright? Are you at the maternity wing of the hospital or something?" I can hear his blush from the other end of the phone. Kiku doesn't like awkwardness and bold subjects, so talking about pregnancy for him is scandalous.
"I'm alright, I'm babysitting my sister's daughter. She won't stop crying." I feel on the verge of tears myself. Never has she cried for me before, but the first time I try to babysit her, she won't stop.
"Do you want some help?"
"Yes please." I can feel relief rush over my flushed face.
When he gets there, the baby is still crying. We take turns holding her, change her diaper, attempt to feed her, anything and everything we try Zoey rejects.
"Computers are so much easier to understand." Wryly I grin at my geeky Asian friend.
"That doesn't make any sense considering you have a hundred siblings and a big extended family on top of it." He shakes his head at my sarcasm. He's an only child.
Finally we give up and put on Sesame Street. Five minutes in, she stops crying and watches the show with wide eyes. Occasionally when her attention drifts, we make comments on the show.
"Look Zoey, there's Elmo! He's shaking hands with Bert and Ernie." The whole time I have this little sing-song voice, but Kiku keeps his voice the same. I would have thought he would have been awkward with her, but he really isn't that bad. Somehow what he does is natural, despite the fact that it didn't work.
"It shouldn't be surprising that TV got her quiet, considering she is part American." My brother-in-law is Jamaican.
"Hey, let's appreciate our 'AMERICAN PRIDE!'" We burst into laughter at my quote of Alfred, a Navy brat at our school. Let's just say he's very patriotic. My outburst surprised Zoey, but instead of crying like I thought she would, she started to laugh a little.
By midnight we completed out Seasame Street Marathon with Zoey fast asleep. It' pretty nice actually; Kiku and I haven't hung out outside of school for a while. I stretched out on the longer couch with my head on the armrest, the baby in my arms. Glancing over at him, I notice that he finally relaxed and stretched out the couch footrest. His white t-shirt clings to his torso, something I've been noticing a lot lately, and his black sweatpants have the tiniest stain of baby milk on it. I want to laugh so bad, but Zoey makes it hard.
"You know, you look like a dad." My voice is just over a whisper. He glares slightly at me, then smiles.
"You look like a mom."
"We're practically parents!" Instead of blushing or laughing, he looks at me so seriously. "You know I was just joking right?"
"What?" He looks slightly out of it. "Oh, yeah, sure." Then he grins wickedly, something I never thought he was capable of. "Is mom going to kiss dad goodnight?" I almost drop the baby. Did I hear him right? My heart starts to pound in my chest. Carefully I sit up. The wickedness is gone from his eyes, but there is a hopefulness mixed with vulnerability in his eyes. I never thought my stoic friend would ask this from me. Placing the baby on the couch, I make my way over and sit on the armrest of the chair. I lean in and suddenly it's like the sun exploded before my eyes; his kiss is like nothing I've ever experienced in my life. When we break apart, we're panting.
"Whoa."
"Now that was a goodnight kiss." I smack him lightly. Well, as lightly as any 18 year old can.
Seven years later we still have another fantastic goodnight kiss with a baby sleeping on the couch.