My Husband's Girlfriend by Cydney Rax

His vibrating shoulders make him look cold, maybe hungry. I reach for my wallet.
    The man wobbles up to me and says in a raspy voice, “Jesus cares about you.” I stuff my wallet back in my purse, laugh, and quicken my steps.
    “Loser,” Vette says under her breath. We don’t stop walking fast, our heels slapping hard across the pavement, until we reach my car.
             
    One Saturday afternoon, Neil and I agree that he will pick up Braxton from Dani and allow me to meet him for the first time. Since Houston’s mid-November temperatures are still in the seventies, Neil suggests we expose the baby to the nice weather at a nearby park. While he’s gone, I slam kitchen cabinets, wash my hands twice, then stand by the living-room window and wait for him to pull up in front of our house.
    When Neil arrives, I open the front door.
    “Mommy, I wanna go, go, go!” Reesy yells behind me, tugging on my shirt.
    “Go where? You don’t even know where I’m going.”
    “I still wanna.”
    “Stay here with Vette. I’ll be right back.”
    My tiny, stiff steps guide me to the Explorer. The tinted window is rolled up. Ten-week-old Braxton is strapped in the back in a car seat. I am not able to get a real good look at him just yet. I am fine with waiting until I am able to freely observe him. The park we’re going to is at the intersection of Airport Boulevard and Beltway Eight, several minutes away.
    Neil concentrates on driving. I haven’t initiated conversation, but he keeps mumbling, “You say something?”
    “Umm, no, I didn’t. You’re hearing things, Mr. Meadows.”
    Soon we pull into an empty parking lot, the sound of gravel popping underneath the tires. Neil parks the car and I wait for him to remove Braxton from the car seat.
    “Here is my son.” Neil cradles Braxton against his chest and I fix my eyes on the baby’s plump cheeks, which are the color of a cardboard box. His lips are pinkish red and pressed tightly together like you couldn’t shove anything in his mouth even if you wanted to. He boldly locks eyes with me and doesn’t look away, like he’s the one checking me out instead of vice versa. I am startled by his confidence, humbled that this two-month-old boy seems to know he belongs on this earth even if I don’t.
    His beautiful, long eyelashes and the noble way he looks lying in his dad’s arms steal away the envy I attempt to reserve for this child.
    “Ahhh, he’s a cutie,” I say, and lean into Neil’s free arm. I want to say more, but my throat tightens. I simply receive Braxton into my arms. He’s not heavy at all. This feels way better than holding Reesy when she’s acting spoiled and slips in my arms, or when she falls asleep in the den and I’m forced to haul her upstairs to her room.
    I nuzzle Braxton’s cheek with my cheek and moan. He stares at my eyes, nose, face. I feel silly and embarrassed but stare back. His tight lips curl into a smile. He has on a cute blue-and-white knit outfit, with huge blue buttons on the bottoms of the pants. As silly as it sounds, I’m ready to head out to the children’s department at the nearest store and add to his wardrobe.
    “Well,” Neil says, “let’s strap him in this buggy.” He secures the belt around Braxton and we begin walking on an asphalt path that weaves through the ungated park. There are dozens of towering trees, picnic tables, a red-and-blue sliding board, and a sandbox at the far end of the grounds.
    “Hey, this pathway is so lopsided and crooked,” I say, “you sure it’s okay, comfortable enough?” I can’t stand to feel hardened stone underneath my feet. Even though I have on gym shoes, the granite is so rigid I feel shoeless.
    “It’ll be all right. We won’t be here long. I just want him to get some fresh air.”
    Grabbing Neil’s arm, I feel my cheeks flush with shame. Prior to this I could contemplate my situation behind the walls of my home, where no one could see or know, but now that we are