The weekend ended way too soon for Indigo. Friday was a blur. Saturday was a distant memory and Sunday was a dream she wished could be extended. Monday beckoned her early in its arrival, she pulled herself out of the easy comfort of her warm comforter and soft pillows. Being cognizant once more, she remembered the discussions and actions of life that nagged at her mental and tainted the present.

Indigo had a gift that her husband didn't possess. She could hear Zane's cries in the deep clutches of REM sleep. His cry wasn't like the girls. Greer's was rhythmic and dull while Thyme had a wail that could raise a dead man from the grave. Zane's cry was low and hushed like a car engine left running to warm during a wintry morning. She didn't know why she possessed such power to hear him when no one else could; maybe they had a connection since he was delivered while she was unconscious.

She trudged through the dark hallway, tying the ribbon of her silk robe—the first floor was cooler than the second. She jogged up the stairs, picking up on Gambit's sloppy lapping of water from the kitchen.

She walked through the threshold of the room closest to the stairs. The battery-operated owl nightlight cast a dim glow off the muted blue and dark gray room. She was called to the wrought iron crib by a lulling cry like a siren's song to a boat of sailors.

Sleepiness couldn't hide her smile as she lifted Zane in her arms, "Good morning Z-Bear." She whispered, cradling him in her arms as she made her way to the changing table. His cry leveled out to a moan as his big brown eyes stared up at her.

"Let's get this stinky thing off you." She said gently laying him down on the vintage, minimalistic changing table. It was an old chipped piece of furniture they found while helping Tate pick through some things in the rental storage unit his dad kept.

Out of his stripped, fox illustrated onesie Zane's crying started back, his legs kicked wildly, "I know. I know. It's a little airy up here." She knew where the cold air was coming from. Thyme was a hot child, overheating at night and winter was the season that disturbed her rest the most. The churning heater all hours of the day made her restless at night and sometimes she rose from the bed and opened her window.

Indigo's skills at diaper changing would put the best Nascar pit crew to shame. The soiled diaper was off, every trace of poo was gone and the fresh baby was in a new diaper and back in his jammies in less than two minutes.

"That's my baby." She cooed, lifting the one-year-old to her chest. Zane's head fell on her shoulder—he exhaled from his little nose and warmed the crook of her neck. "Is that better?" She patted his cushioned bottom as she crossed the nursery to the little stereo on the night side. She pushed down the hard button to the black boom box that was a Christmas present of hers when she was eleven years old. A robust, soulful voice sliced through the quiet of the room.

Indigo swayed her youngest child as she sang along with the singer wafting her eyes over the mural painting on the wall opposite Zane's crib remembering the time of its creation. A black drawing of an acacia tree one would swear was peel and paste wallpaper spread in the middle of the deep orange wall. Lounging under the umbrella tree with a mane that would be coveted by all in the Serengeti was a lion cub climbing on his back.

"It took me a month to finish." Tate's clear words pulled her eyes from the wall and to him.

"You told me." She turned towards him. The faint brushes of soft eyelashes against her neck, letting her know that Zane was awoken, "A light sleeper just like daddy, uh." She gently moved him from her shoulder back to her cradling arms. Zane's searching eyes glared up at her, "Are you going to stare at me or come in?" Her inquiry wasn't to her son.

Tate leaned against the doorframe flooding his arms over the white t-shirted chest, "I love this view." He exhaled deeply, dropping his sight to the floor briefly. "Are you ready to talk about what's been on your mind since the crawfish boil?"

"What do you mean?" She asked, hoping the sadness that she tried to bottle down didn't erupt and quake her voice. But she failed. The classic song pumping from the speaker, a song her father always played whenever he drove her to school serenaded her ears as she peered at Tate with a mist in her eyes. She pursed her lips, letting out a slow breath holding back the tears. Her shield to hide her true feelings always malfunctioned around him. 

"Baby, don't cry." He urged fully entering the room, joining her on the blue polka-dotted rug."

"I can't help it." She muttered. She blinked, giving birth to more tears. "I want to tell you...I told her I wouldn't but...." She let out a shaky breath then bit down on her bottom lip fighting hard to hold back her confession.

"Who asked you not to tell?" His hands held her face, his rough skin absorbing her salty tears. "We don't keep secrets. And whatever it is, is hurting you. A burden you're trying to bear on your own." He kissed her forehead then settled his forehead against hers. "I don't like it when you're in pain. Let me in. Let me help."

She snaked her hand up to his back, securely holding Zane with the other, "You can't solve this."

"What's the problem I can't solve, Indie?" He questioned, stroking Zane's curled mane, making it hard for the little one to keep his eyes open. "Is it something you need to talk to Dr. Balwin about? She helped you the last time you had something you couldn't talk to me about."

'Last time' hung in the atmosphere reminding her of the crying spells, angry outburst and moments she would sit in the back corner of her closet and try to turn off her racing thoughts. Her pregnancy with Zane was free of the stressors that she encountered with Thyme. There wasn't a vanishing twin in the first trimester or the difficult struggle to manage rising blood pressure. Nor did she experience a hemorrhage after his delivery like with her little girl. But once he was home, her life was upended. She felt like a shell of herself and didn't know how to get back to being the person she was until her sister sat her down and told her about what she went through after River's birth.

"You should make an appointment."

"Maybe." She lowered a snoozing Zane back into his crib slowly and tenderly. She took a moment to watch him lie there limply sound asleep. Sustaining her dosage of cuteness then turned back to Tate.

"You pride yourself in being the strong one. The independent one." He planted his hands on her waist and pulled her against him. "And I love that about you but I'm the one person you don't always have to be strong around. Give me your worries and your weaknesses and we'll get through it together."

"I know that, Tattie Tate." She uttered with a shadow of a smile. "It's just a sister thing. Give me a couple of days and I'll tell you everything."

"Okay." He kissed the top of her head then stepped back. "And I think the girls going to school in the neighborhood will be good for them but I'll just have to talk to Greer again...encourage her to stand up for herself.

"And to tell whoever has a problem with her to go straight to hell." Indigo added.

"Are you going to advise her to say those exact words," He asked with a smile rising on his angular face. "Just like that."

She matched his humor, "That are...fuck you and ya' mama."

"Oh!" He let out a laugh, dipping his head back, tightening his arms around her waist. "Those words bring back memories. Sixth grade. Bridgette Morrison."

"Really?" She cringed with a shiver remembering the girl, "Don't bring that girl up or I'll bring up Corey."

"That would be devious." Tate said as if he were remembering the images of Indigo and her high school boyfriend that matured into a situationship in her adulthood. His head tilted to the side, "Maybe I should teach Greer the art of boxing."

She clenched her teeth, leering at him warily. "We already have one roughrider. I don't know what we'd do with two."

"Fine." He smiled. "How about this? I'll teach her how to jab and massacre with her words."

"Deal." She nodded. "Cause all she really needs to do is knock out the biggest, loudest kid at recess and all the minions will fall in line." Her mouth widened letting out a yawn.

"Come on." He unhooked her hands from behind his neck while the moon's glow still lit the sky. "Let's go get thirty more minutes before Bugs and Daffy wake up." He led her to the door.

She snatched her hand away from him, "Don't call my babies."

"Pssh, I don't know about you but Bugs and Daffy are the shit." He slung his arm around her shoulder as she watched him from her peripheral, "They're the originals. The best. Gangstas. Classic."

"Nah." She pushed his arm off her shoulder and stepped out of the room, "Can't nothing beat Sylvester and Tweety."

Do you think they are backing the right decision to keep the girls in the neighborhood? Will a pep-talk to Greer about standing up for herself work?

Should Indigo make an appointment with Dr. Baldwin?

Whose right Indigo or Tate; which cartoon duo is the best?

What was your first vivid school-age childhood fight about?