The Bachelor and the Babies

Jon glanced to his left and Harrison realized that everyone in the room was straining to hear each and every syllable they uttered. Here were the Rothwells, themselves, involved in a schedule conflict. How they handled it would demonstrate Harrison’s methods better than any pamphlet printed with the corporate philosophy.

Trying to communicate all this, he stared into his brother’s eyes. “What about Stephanie’s parents? Can’t they watch the boys?”

“They live in California.”

“What about our parents?” Harrison didn’t like the tinge of desperation in his voice.

Jon’s face turned hard. “They live in Florida. I can take care of my own sons.”

Harrison felt Jon was being deliberately difficult. “I know that. I only thought...well, whatever happened to doting grandparents? Wouldn’t they like to visit their only grandchildren for a week?”

“I’m not asking them. Steph wants me to take care of the kids, and I’m going to. She’s been at home with them ever since Nathan was born and she needs the break.”

“A break from what?” Harrison had been surprised when Stephanie hadn’t returned to work. He was even more surprised that his brother hadn’t objected. “They’re two little kids. What does she do all day?”

Jon raised his eyebrows.

Murmurings from the female members of their audience told Harrison he’d erred.

He held up his hands, palms outward. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“You shouldn’t have thought that,” Sharon commented, slipping past them and finding her seat in the room. “But we all know you do.”

Women were neither efficient, nor reasonable when it came to children. Harrison vowed to devote as many chapters to children as necessary in the Rothwell Domestic Primer. Ah, a title. That was a good sign.

Harrison carefully chose his next words. “What I think, Sharon, is that parents are reluctant to encourage efficiency in their children, and in the people who deal with children.”

“Harrison, raising children is not like running a corporation.”

Murmurings of agreement signaled mutiny in the ranks.

He forced a smile and casual body language. “Ah, but you see, running a household, even a household that includes children, is exactly like running a corporation.”

“Uh, Hare?”

But anything his brother had been about to say was drowned out by the eruption of disagreement from the department heads—male and female.

Ah, skeptics. Harrison liked converting skeptics to his way of thinking almost as much as reading their subsequent letters of gratitude.

With a confident smile, he took his place at the conference table.

People quieted—except Sharon.

“You know how to run a corporation, but you don’t know anything about living with children.” Sharon had experienced more than her share of domestic crises lately. That must account for her inclination to challenge him today.

“You are correct,” he said. The room hushed. “You all are also aware that Jon and I have been working out a schedule conflict. What we have here, are two problems with one solution. Backup plans are a key to avoiding delays. Jon, what’s your childcare backup plan, say, for a family emergency?”

“I’m Stephanie’s backup, then either of our folks.”

“And after that?”

“Well...you, I guess.”

Harrison smiled. “Exactly. Therefore, you’ll go on to Chicago, and I’ll take care of Nathan and Matthew.”

“You?” Jon hooted.

“Yes. You’ll keep the Chicago account, and I’ll gain practical experience with children.” Harrison addressed Sharon. “Do you think a week will be enough time for me to understand living with children?”

Sharon smiled. “A week will be more than enough time.”

“Problem solved, then.” Harrison felt a sense of satisfaction. “Shall we begin the meeting?”

CHAPTER TWO

“THIS is not a good idea,” Jon said, and dumped the third load of baby paraphernalia just inside Harrison’s doorway.

“Stephanie thought so.” Harrison’s sleekly contemporary entryway was no longer sleek. Neither was the kitchen, the spare bedroom nor the living room where he was now unfolding a playpen.

“How can you tell? She was laughing so hard when we called her, I know she didn’t take us seriously.”

“She does now.” Privately Harrison attributed his sister-in-law’s laughter to wine shared with good friends and the desire to appear indispensable. And since he was about to prove her wrong, he’d allowed her a few male-bashing cracks. He’d remind her of them when she apologized later.

He looked at his nephew—the mobile one. “We’re going to have a great time this week, aren’t we, Nathan?”

“Haht?” Nathan pointed to the window.

“Yeah, a hot time.” Or Nathan could have said “What.” Harrison wasn’t yet fluent in toddler-speak.

Nathan toddled past him.

“I know Stephanie,” Jon fussed.

Harrison noticed that Jon had only started fussing after he got married. In the interest of brotherly harmony, he declined to mention it.

“The only reason she agreed to you taking care of the boys is because she doesn’t think you’ll last more than a day. He—heck, she didn’t think I’d last more than a day.”

“Women like to think they’re the only ones who can care for children.” The playpen was bigger than it looked. Harrison shoved a chair out of the way.

“There may be something to that,” Jon muttered. “Harrison, where is Nathan?”

“Right behind me.”

“Hare! Pay attention. No, Nathan! Hot!” Jon leaped over the double stroller and snatched the twenty-month-old Nathan from under the lamp table. “Nathan likes electrical outlets,” he explained.

“That’s a dangerous hobby for a kid his age.”

“You need outlet plugs.”

“So, I’ll get outlet plugs.” Wherever those might be.

Jon still looked worried. “You know, you ought to come live at our house for the week. That’s where all the boys’ stuff is.”

“And my stuff is here. I’ll have more credibility with clients if I incorporate the boys into my own environment. I’ll have a better understanding of what adjustments people who have children must make.” Harrison was prepared to continue lecturing, but Jon was wrestling a squirmy Nathan into his high chair. and obviously not listening to him.

“I never realized how much glass you have here,” Jon called from the kitchen as he poured a few Cheerios onto the high chair tray. Nathan squealed and pounded the tray, bouncing cereal onto the floor where it rolled who knew where. “I’m going to buy furniture bumpers after I finish unloading.”

Harrison didn’t ask. what furniture bumpers were, but imagined they weren’t going to enhance the appearance of his once-pristine home. At Jon’s insistence, he’d already removed the set of crystal coasters, fireplace tools, his collection of kaleidoscopes and anything sharp, breakable, or flammable. That pretty much cleared all surfaces three feet high or less.

Jon pulled open the cabinet beneath the kitchen sink and removed Harrison’s cleaning supplies. “Store these up high, or get child safety latches for the cabinets.” Looking around, he ultimately set the assortment of cleaners on top of the refrigerator.

“I’m running out of high places.” Harrison put the pad in the bottom of the playpen and transferred a sleeping Matthew from his infant seat to the playpen. The baby was a sound sleeper. Good. They were going to get along just fine.

Jon walked over and stared down at his son. “He’s a cute little guy, isn’t he?”

He looked like a typical baby to Harrison. “Yes. Sure is.”

Jon checked his watch. “This is a long morning nap for him, but it’ll be easier to let him sleep until we’ve got everything settled. He was up in the night. If he gets cranky, don’t worry. He’s teething.”

Harrison waved around the room. “Is this everything?”

His brother laughed. “Of course not. I haven’t brought up their toys, yet. And there is a case of formula, diapers, the baby bath and a potty seat.”

“Potty seat?”

“We’ve just started toilet-training, so don’t expect miracles.”

“I expect nothing in that area.” Harrison didn’t want to go anywhere near that area.

“At least Nathan will see it in your bathroom and maybe get the idea.” Jon shoved his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants. “I’ll bring up the humidifier, too, but I hope you won’t need it.”

As he wondered where he was going to store everything, Harrison vowed to devote a minimum of one chapter in the Rothwell Domestic Primer to simplifying the amount of baby equipment insecure new parents had been convinced they needed. “Who needs a humidifier in Houston?” he wondered aloud.

“Parents with sick kids.” After delivering that chilling piece of information, Jon left to bring up another load of the unending supplies needed to raise two small boys.

The instant the door closed, Nathan burst into tears. “Daaa-deee!”

“Hey, sport. Remember me?” Harrison crunched on cereal as he entered the kitchen. “It’s Uncle Harrison.” That sounded awkward, but Harrison was not going to be called Hare. Harry was not to be considered.

Apparently Nathan did not remember Uncle anybody and continued to cry.

Harrison poured him more cereal.

Still crying, but not as hard, Nathan ate a handful, then said, “Joose!”

“Juice!” Harrison repeated, his voice booming with false heartiness. “The man wants juice.” Trying to avoid stepping on cereal, he opened the refrigerator. “We’ve got orange juice, tomato juice and beer juice.” He looked over the door at his nephew. “That’s a joke.”

“Joose!” Nathan smacked the plastic tray for emphasis.

Since orange juice seemed to go with the cereal theme, that’s what Harrison poured. He reached for a glass, then realized what he was doing and chose a plastic cup he’d bought at a Rockets basketball game. Who said he didn’t have parenting instincts?

He poured a small amount of juice into the thirtyounce souvenir cup and offered it to Nathan.

“Joose?”

“Juice,” Harrison reassured him.

Nathan gleefully grabbed the cup with both hands.

“Need some help?”

“Nathan do it.” He swiveled his body away and tilted the cup.

All the liquid rushed from the bottom of the tall cup to his face, startling him. He dropped the cup, blinked in surprise, snorted juice out his nose, then howled.

Harrison stared. With breathtaking speed, his kitchen, painted a fashionable white, with white tile and cabinets, had been splattered far and wide with dribblets of orange juice and pulp.

He picked his way to the paper towel dispenser and attempted to mop up Nathan.

That was the scene which greeted Jon’s return. “Nathan,” he called from the door, propping it open with a case of formula.

“Da-da!”

“Everything’s under control,” Harrison told him as Jon tossed in plastic bundles and boxes of diapers, which bounced and rolled over the couch. “We only spilled juice.”

Jon walked over and stared at the mess. Bending down, he picked up the cup. “Is this what you gave him?”

Nodding, Harrison threw more paper towels on the floor. Nathan had stopped crying, his interest caught by Cheerios floating in the orange juice on his tray.

Unfortunately Nathan’s crying had awakened the baby, Matthew.

How could such a tiny person make such a loud sound?

“Nathan has a cup with a lid on it in the diaper bag. Use that,” Jon suggested as he went to tend to Matthew.

“Now he tells me,” Harrison muttered.

“Oh, and you’ll have to strain the orange juice. The pulp clogs the spout.”

The only strainer Harrison possessed was a cocktail strainer. It was barely adequate.

“You want a diapering lesson?” Jon asked.

“I can figure it out.” Harrison spoke from the kitchen floor just as something dropped in his hair. His fingers encountered a squishy lump. Cereal. Or what used to be cereal before it absorbed orange juice. He looked up and caught Nathan shoving more over the side of his tray.

“I’ve learned a couple of diapering tricks that might make your life easier,” Jon said.

“And other than keeping your children in a cage and hosing them down twice a day, that would be...?”

Jon laughed. “Don’t think I haven’t considered it. But seriously, don’t leave Matthew alone on a table or he’ll roll off, and keep him covered at all times.”

“Why? He’s not going to get cold.”

“He squirts. And this kid has got an impressive range.”

Harrison stood and peered over the kitchen bar. His brother had unfolded a plastic pad and was changing Matthew’s diaper on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Harrison had fond memories of other activities that had taken place on the floor in front of the fireplace.

He would never feel the same about that area of his home.

A knock sounded at the door. “Excuse me?” A grouchy Carrie Brent stood framed in the open doorway. “How’s a person to get any sleep around here?”

Carrie, in her typically casual way, looked as if she’d rolled out of bed and climbed the stairs to Harrison’s floor. She wore a giant gray sweatshirt with arms so long her hands disappeared into the sleeves. The bottom edge stopped a few inches above her knees and her feet were bare.

The contrast between the rumpled Carrie who stood in his doorway and the Carrie who’d come to his office yesterday was...interesting. Very interesting. So interesting that orange juice dripped from the paper towels Harrison held onto his running shoe before he realized he was staring.

“Most people aren’t trying to sleep at noon on Saturday.” He tossed the soggy paper towels into the sink and ripped more off the roll.

Carrie yawned, stretched her arms, and the hem of her sweatshirt rose. “They are if they work nights.”

“So what do you do?” Jon asked over his shoulder after glancing at the silent Harrison.

“I review music groups at local clubs. And if a place is new, I’ll mention the decor, tone and the sort of customers they’re trying to attract. Anyway—” she yawned again “—after I get home, I’ve got to write the reviews. I usually go to bed about ten or eleven o’clock in the morning.” Raking her hair back from her face, she padded into the room. “So what’s all this?”

For some reason, the sound of a female voice had quieted the babies.

For some reason, the way Carrie casually manhandled her curls had quieted Harrison.

It was left to Jon to introduce himself. “I’m Jon, Harrison’s brother. This is—”

“A baby!” Carrie had passed the couch and could see the front of the fireplace. Cooing, she knelt on the floor. “May I hold her?”

“Him,” Harrison said, unwillingly reminded of the long-ago evening when he and Carrie had sat in that very spot and had eaten her vegetarian lasagna in front of the fireplace. “My nephews are visiting me for a while.”

Jon handed a freshly diapered Matthew to Carrie.

“Aren’t you just adorable? What’s your name?”

“Matthew,” Jon answered.

“Matthew, you’re just a doll. A great big doll.” Carrie’s voice had gone all high and gooey as she repeated more nonsense.

But to Harrison’s surprise, Matthew had stopped fussing and was smiling.

Something about seeing Carrie with the baby made Harrison want to smile, too. Matthew grabbed a handful of her dark hair. Carrie promptly retaliated by raising his shirt and tickling his tummy. The baby squealed.

Harrison grinned at Jon, only to find his brother regarding him thoughtfully.

Harrison guessed those thoughts concerned Carrie and whether or not there was something going on between them. “No,” he mouthed.

“Why not?” Jon mouthed back over Carrie’s bent head.

Because. Harrison knew there was a good reason—probably several good reasons. He simply couldn’t think of them right now, not with Carrie looking all casually soft and approachable.

“Down!” Nathan had finished destroying his food.

Harrison, grateful for the interruption, removed the tray. Before he could set it on the counter, Nathan arched his back, slid down the seat and landed on the floor on his well padded rump. “Joose,” he said and patted the floor. Then he picked up a stray Cheerio and stuck it into his mouth.

Harrison grimaced.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot to warn you about the high chair trick.” Jon had arrived in the kitchen. “I also forgot the diaper pail. I’ll snag one when I buy the plugs and the door latches.”

Nathan got to his feet and ran toward his father. Jon picked him up. “You’re wet.” He pointed to the dark area on the front of Nathan’s overalls.

“Joose,” Nathan said.

“You can get going,” Harrison offered. “I’ll clean Nathan up.”

Jon raised his eyebrows and grinned, setting Nathan on the floor. “Good luck.”

Harrison had a feeling he wasn’t referring to the kids.

Within moments, Harrison was alone with a half-dressed Carrie.

“Da-dee!” Nathan shrieked.

Okay, not alone.

Matthew had tired of pulling Carrie’s hair and was puckering his face.

“Hey, Harry, I think he’s hungry. Can I feed him his bottle?”

Bottle. Right. “Uh...”

Nathan escaped the kitchen and flung his orange-juice soaked body out the door.

Harrison ran after him and scooped him up before he reached the stairs. Then he kicked the case of formula inside his foyer and let the door slam shut.

“Da-dee!” Nathan made a full-body imprint of orange juice on the front door.

“And what have we here, Matt?” Carrie was bent over a diaper bag.

Harrison was so thrown off balance by the knowledge that he’d lost control of his house and the people currently within it, that he didn’t even stop to enjoy the view.

Carrie stood and held up a bottle in a thermal container. “Should I heat it up first?” she asked.

“Uh, whatever,” Harrison said as he wrestled a crying Nathan into the spare bedroom, tried to open his suitcase with one hand and keep Nathan from spreading orange juice with the other.

Eventually he succeeded in undressing Nathan, only to realize that all the diapers were in the living room.

He returned to the living room to find that all was quiet. Carrie stood in front of the windows, swaying slightly and feeding Matthew a bottle. She smiled at Harrison, all traces of her earlier grumpiness gone.

“You’ve done that before,” Harrison commented.

“Actually, no.” She looked down at Matthew. “But there doesn’t seem to be much to it.”

Harrison hoped there wasn’t.

“Da-dee!” Nathan, wearing only socks, and damp socks at that, streaked by.

“Daddy’s going to be back in a little while, sport,” Harrison tried to reassure him. “Hang in there.”

“But what are you going to tell him when Daddy doesn’t come back? From the looks of this place, I’m guessing that they’re here for more than the afternoon.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted.

“Whatever you do, don’t lie to him.”

Nodding, Harrison picked up a box of diapers.

“Hey, Harry, those are baby-size. The toddler ones are in the purple bag.”

Harrison squeezed the diapers in annoyance before exchanging them. “Please do not refer to me as Harry,” he said, adding, “Harry and Carrie sounds like a vaudeville team.”

She flashed him a grin. “I like it.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, what do you want to be called?”

“Harrison.”

“No kidding? I thought that was a name your mother saddled you with.”

Tamping down his annoyance, Harrison corralled his nephew and the correctly sized diapers. “It was her maiden name.”

Carrie raised her eyebrows. “Gotcha.”

There was nothing to “get.” Harrison liked his name just as it was.

Conscious that Carrie was a witness to his first attempts at undressing and dressing a tiny, uncooperative human—all prior humans had been more than cooperative—it took longer than he would have liked to get Nathan taped into his diaper and snapped into clean overalls. After two futile attempts to put his shoes back on—when had Nathan’s feet turned to jelly?—Harrison decided to let the little boy run around barefoot.

And run was the operative word. Until Jon returned with the outlet plugs, Nathan couldn’t be trusted to keep from electrocuting himself, so Harrison wasn’t making much progress in unpacking the suitcase.

To Nathan, it was all very amusing to run squealing down the hall and watch Uncle Harrison lumber after him. Only Uncle Harrison was not amused.

Carrie was. He could hear her laughing. Okay, fine. Let her deal with the electricity addict. Harrison was going to unpack.

“Nathan, want to play a game?” he heard from the living room.

“Game,” repeated Nathan.

“It’s only for big boys.”

“Game!”

“Can you take this bundle to your uncle Harry?”

Not Harry. Sure enough, Harrison heard Nathan’s voice, “Hawee?”

“Yeah, you know, the tall grumpy dude in the bedroom?”

Harrison heard plastic crackling and Nathan arrived, carrying diapers. “Hawee?”

Knowing he was forever condemning himself to being called “Harry,” or a version of it, Harrison mustered a big, “Thank you, Nathan! You’re a big help. Let’s build a diaper house under the window.”

Though Harrison sounded as if he were the host of a children’s television show, the little boy carefully set the diapers in the spot where Harrison pointed, then turned and grinned at his uncle.

That grin made up for a lot of the hassle, Harrison admitted to himself. He knelt down. “You little rascal, you’ve got the Rothwell smile, don’t you?”

Nathan giggled.

“I know all about the Rothwell smile, so don’t you try using it on me.”

Nathan grinned wider.

“Rothwell smile?”

Harrison and Nathan looked up.

Carrie leaned in the doorway. “Oh, I see,” she said slowly. “Yes, you’ve got the same smile. In fact, you look a lot alike. Both of you with those big brown eyes and your hair is almost the same color of brown, with the same little flecks...” She stepped forward and squinted. “Oh, that’s cereal.”

In spite of himself, Harrison laughed.

Carrie had a wistful expression on her face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you smile, Harry.”

Harrison stood and Nathan ran down the hall. “I suppose it’s pointless to ask you to call me Harrison?”

She stared at him for several long moments, then straightened. “I’ll call you Harrison.”

“Thank you.”

“Hawee!” Continuing the game, Nathan was bringing another box of diapers to the room.

Harrison and Carrie exchanged looks. “Good job, Nathan,” he said.

- Carrie waggled her fingers. “Gotta go. Matt’s in the playpen, but he’s not going to be happy by himself for long.”

Harrison walked her to the door. “Thanks,” he said, knowing the word was inadequate.

“No problem. See you around.”

They both nodded solemnly, knowing that when they next saw each other, it was likely to be on opposite sides of a hearing at the next White Oak Bayou Condominium board meeting.

Harrison thought the afternoon and evening went well, especially after he discovered which channels broadcast “Sesame Street.” “Sesame Street” allowed him to install the safety latches without Nathan underfoot. Jon had wisely insisted in putting in the outlet plugs before he left.

Harrison bathed both boys, diapered them, gave Matthew his nighttime bottle, read the book Good-night Moon and they were now asleep. Harrison wanted to join them, but decided to use the time to reclaim his living room and mop the kitchen floor.

He was surprisingly tired after his efforts, but all in all had no doubt that he could cope with two young children. Cope? He was doing better than coping. He was a natural. If he wasn’t doing things in exactly the way his sister-in-law insisted, well tough. The boys were fine. In fact, he had several ideas to include in his domestic primer.

One of the sidelines of Harrison’s business was designing products to go with his time management technique. Before he went to sleep, Harrison sat at his desk and sketched a piece of furniture, a sort of wall cabinet, with a place for all this baby equipment.