He is already up in the room, waiting, feeling the mix of excitement and sickness in his belly. Hanging, trying to relax. These are constants. Each meeting yields another strange bedspread. Who picks these out? Thinking the same thoughts so as not to think the same other thoughts he'd rather not think through. Just hang and relax. He arranges himself on the bed in subtle contrivance of casual holding open a three month old Scientific American he found in his bag. He reads each word without comprehending sentences.

  There she is now at the door. She knocks. Of course, he has the key card. So he must break his pose, his nearly perfect recline. He leans over and gives the handle just enough a pull so it unlatches and starts to yawn open. Then he makes a half hearted attempt to reposition himself on the bed. But there

is a small commotion in the hallway which turns out to be her maneuvering a stroller into the doorway.

She has the kid with her. The kid's name is ... think, think.

"Ahh, let me help" he stutters and jumps up to hold the door open. She wheels in and does a quick k turn as he make a little job of closing the door. He fingers the chain lock but leaves it dangling. He's killing time hoping the name will come.

  The strollers is now facing him and she's putting down the canopy or whatever it's called. He peers in but the child is heavily swaddled and he all he can discern is a mound of clothes. Not that he's ever seen it ... him, no, her. Right? Anna, no Hannah. That's it, right? Go for it. 

"So, you're with Hannah today?"

That was good. Better then "You brought the kid" which he wouldn't have been able to say with the right air of casualness. As it is he's managed to make his surprise sound light and pleasant and not at all odd. But it is odd, isn't it, that she shows up with the kid.

She's looking at him and for a moment he thinks he must have gotten the name wrong. Evidence; he doesn't pay attention when she tells him things. She's gauging him. Her slightly bowed head suggests submission but she gazes up at him unwavering through dark eyebrows which indicates how little resistance she'd brook. He gives a micro-shrug. Sure, whatever. He's zen. Anyway this is all borrowed (or stolen) time. No expectations. That was the agreement.

"Last minute" she say "Sitter ..." and she is in motion, turning and lifting the child. In what seem like one single gesture she put the child on the bed and removes layers, snow suit, hooded flannel sweater. Hannah, arms liberated, puts the better part of one hand in to her mouth and waves the other in the air overhead. He waves back though there was nothing to indicated that Hannah was waving at anything, much less him.

Toys emerge from a large canvas bags following by a red flannel blanket which she spreads on the floor a few feet from the bed. She scoops up the toys and tosses them into an arc on the blanket then turn and deftly hoists Hannah onto her shoulder before turning back toward him.

Almost at her full height, her back arced to balance Hannah's weight she again stops and looks at him. This time her head is back slightly. She is slightly flushed. A response is called for. He should say something. He takes a hand and moves it carefully up and across her face sweeping up the stray hair, collecting it and hooking it around her ear. He then lets his finger trace the curve of her ear and with a small smile gives her ear lobe a gentle tug.

At this her gaze softens then  evaporates as she turns her head and lower her eyes aiming them, unfocused, down at the blanket. He looks to see her expression but Hannah turns to look at him eclipsing her face.

"Hey, how about a beer. I picked up a couple of those cans of stout. The one's with the funny things in 'em. Nitrogen. We had the time before. Murphy's." He hears himself babbling. He's come around her heading toward the brown paper bag on the tiny desk. She is still staring blankly at the blanket but he pretty sure that's something of a smile.

He wants a beer. "You?" he says pulling cans from the bag.

"Sure" she says, her spell broken. She sits Hannah on the blanket in the arc of toys.

He pulls the cans out, places them on the desk and stuffs the paper bag in the small waste basket

under the desk. There are three cans.

"Did you already have one?"

"Huh? Oh, no. Just bought three. You know, like a holy trinity of beer or something." He blesses the beer and intones. "Omni padre beero mundi, in spiritus smegma."

"Right" she says. "For a minute I thought one was for Hannah. You want a beer Hannah? Sure you do. Oh but that beer is too big for Hannah … listen to me. Christ, what am I babbling about?"

"Not babbling, riffing. In heaven there is no beer. No beer for Hannah in heaven so here we deem a haven of beer. Beer is manna for heathens . Is Hannah a heathen."

"Yes. And I don’t know where she gets it from." She crosses over to him taking the offered can. She touches his cheek. "You’re so young. I forget sometimes."

"Hold me mummy". He slips he free hand under her arm and pulls her to him. He licks her neck

upwards towards her ear.

"Christ!"

"Christ isn’t here" and then he’s kissing her.

"Hey sonny, where’d you learn that" she says pulling away. "What will daddy say?".

"Daddy? What’s a daddy?"

Maybe that’s not very funny. Anyway she’s turning back towards Hannah who is sitting on the blanket vigorously shaking something red. She stops at the edge of the blanket and takes a long pull on the

can.

"Praise god" she says holding the can up in mock offerings to a sky bound deity. She puts the can

on the night table and sits down next to Hannah. He starts towards them then turns, takes a few good hits from his can and leaves on the desk. He goes to the end of the bed and sits then rolls over and lays in the

middle, perpendicular to the headboard. He props up his head in his hands and looks down at Hannah.

"What a babe".

"Babe?"

"Can’t you call a baby a babe? Isn’t there some statue of limits I can invoke here?"

"Statue? I should call you babe."

"I’m your babe in the woods … or the fucking flower garden". He eyes the bedspread. She arches and eyebrow. Should he be watching his French?

"Does she speak?"

"Not to humans yet. I think she said ‘mommy’ the other day but it could have been ‘money’, or it could have been Monet."

"Go with Monet."

"I’d go with Monet any day" she says waving a virtual cigar in the air.

"But all you got is me."

"Right, that’s all I got. I wish." She looks at Hannah. "Present company excluded, or included. Whatever."

In the awkward silence that follows they keep their eyes on Hannah who is intently coating a plastic sphere with salvia. When he looks up from Hannah she is still looking at Hannah, or through Hannah. She’s worried or she’s tired. He wants to assure her that bringing Hannah was fine. It is fine. Infants simultaneously fascinate and horrify him but already this is not an infant, it’s Hannah.

"She’s truly beautiful. Does she really drink beer?"

"If I ever tell you to grow up be a good boy and don’t."

He rolls over on to his back and places his right hand over his chest.

"It will never be … beneath my dignity … to climb a tree". He looks briefly at the ceiling, has a brief memory of when he worked for a plasterer and then rolls back over. She’s is up and drinking from her beer again.

"You ever say the word ‘beer’ over and over again, like a hundred and fifty thousand times or something, tell it doesn’t mean anything."

"No, but my sister and I did the same sort of thing with ‘doody’".

"Doody, doody … doody. You have a sister."

"Yes, and I told you about her. She wouldn’t move out, remember?" Damn. Can he weasel out of this one?

"No, right. You have a sister. I was just remembering. She was gay."

"Bi. And I think you forgot."

"Bi, huh. She gorgeous like you.?"

"Shut you hole. She’s trouble, believe you me. You don’t want any of that."

He liked it when she talked tough. She was hard, in body and mind. A fucking trooper. Tank girl,

except not at all goofy. Self-possessed, no bullshit, not a speck of cereal. He found it hard to imagine her having a sister. He thought of her as solitary and complete, undiluted. The only but never the lonely child.

But what did he know. He looked back at Hannah

"Listen, I know this is a little weird, bringing Hannah. Almost called you but I didn’t want to cancel again. The logistics are such a nightmare." That was a bit harder then she meant it. Seeing him was

complicated, troublesome, suicidal even, but never a nightmare.

"But you’re such a dream" she adds. "And it’s been too long."

"Yes, long. Long and hard." As he says this he realizes the double ontondre and considers disclaiming it. But she laughs so he lets it go. Of course she thinking he’s a child again, which sort of annoys him. But you don’t get to pick your roles in life. What’s my line now?

"So … we’re going to just hang here?"

"No, we’ll hang later. Here we lounge and drink beer and relax. Hannah should be getting sleepy soon. We can play a game." She’s smirking at him.

"Game?"

"Yea. How quiet can you come?"

"Yum, yum."

She gets on her hand and knees and crawls towards the bed stopping to kiss the top of Hannah’s head as she passes. Hannah is preoccupied making sure the rest of her stuff is sufficiently moist.

He lets his arms dangle over the bed, his head on it’s side as she arrives. She kneels by the bed then leans over and puts her head on the bed next to his but upside down relative to his. He tilts his head slightly to align their mouths. In this position the tops of their tongues met. It is intense and slightly strange. He brings his arms under his chest and pushes himself up draping his head over her face and nuzzles her cheek and ear. Her smell engulfs him and he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply (but slowly and quietly) and is pleasantly befogged. She feigns sleep though it would be hard to actually sleep in such a position. In fact her thighs are just starting to ache slightly. She wishes she could detach her upper torso and head so she could leave it here on the bed while the rest if her went off to do whatever it was she thought she had to do.

"Guineveree, Gwendolynn, Gwendelicous, our lady of the bedspread, rose of my heart, siren of my loins" he intones. She smiles with her lips closed. "I kiss each star in this most excellent of firmaments."

He starts to kiss each freckle on her cheek. She lifts her arm and puts her hand around the back if his neck. It is slightly awkward. She raises her head and bring the other hand up and hooks the fingers of both hands

behind his head then leans backward let her head fall back as far as it will go. This presents him with a splendid view of her neck arching towards him. He suppresses the urge to bite into it.

Hannah makes a gurgling noise and they both turn towards her. Hannah is looking up with both hands raised straight up over her head fingers extend.

"Muh, muh, moo!" says Hannah definitively as if the whole time she had been formulating this in her head and was eager to share this revelation with them.

"I agree, wholeheartedly" he says.

"Yes honey. Me too, but aren’t we getting just a wee bit tired?" She’s turn to the canvas bag. He notices there is a sailboat embroidered on it. She extracts a plastic bottle. The bottle is actually just a plastic tub which holds a plastic bag of formula. The nipple seems surprisingly large and squared off. Not much like a real nipple. He wonders if they make nipples more like the real thing, with little bumps around the base and everything. Then he starts to think about realistic dildoes and decides not to go there.

"I thought you breast feed her?"

"So you do pay some attention … I do, normally. But formula seems to make her more sleepy. She won’t always take it though." She picks up Hannah and sits on the bed with Hannah in her lap. Hannah is not interested in the bottle pushing it away like some annoying insect.

"You go girl. You want the real thing baby."

"Oh, fuck it. I could use the relief anyway." She drops the bottle in the rough vicinity of the bag

and she swing Hannah out on one arms just enough to be able to yank her shirt out of her jeans and pull it’s hem up over her breast with her free hand. It happens so quickly that he hasn’t any time to consider being embarrassed. He soaks in the scene. Hannah turns and making a few odd noises finds the nipple as if by sonar.

She feel the prickly feeling followed by the tightening.