Chapter 9: Three Weeks Later
The baby came on a Thursday.
Six pounds, eleven ounces.
A girl.
Marcus called me from the hospital at four in the morning.
I could hear it in his voice before he said a word — that specific kind of overwhelmed that only happens once in a life.
"She's here, Mom."
I cried.
I didn't try not to.
"Is Elaine okay?"
"She's tired.
She's—" His voice broke slightly.
"She's holding her.
Mom, she's so small."
"I know," I said.
"I know she is."
"Can you come?
Not now.
Tomorrow morning.
Elaine—" A pause.
I heard him say something away from the phone, quietly.
Then: "Elaine says tomorrow morning is fine."
I was there at nine.
Elaine was sitting up in the hospital bed when I came in.
She looked exhausted in the way that goes all the way down.
The baby was in the bassinet beside her, wrapped in a white hospital blanket.
I stopped just inside the door.
"Come in," Elaine said.
I walked to the bassinet.
I looked down.
She was perfect.
Dark hair, tiny curled fists, the faint flutter of breath.
"She looks like Marcus did," I said.
"When he was born.
That exact same expression."
Elaine watched me.
"What expression?"
"Like she's already slightly annoyed at the world and hasn't decided yet whether to say so."
A sound came from Elaine.
Unexpected.
A short, genuine laugh.
I looked up.
She looked back at me.
And for a moment, with the baby between us and the exhaustion stripped away, she looked very young.
Younger than I had ever seen her.
"I owe you an apology," she said.
"You don't have to—"
"I do." She shifted against the pillow.
"The mediator said I should say it when I was ready.
I'm ready." She looked at her daughter.
"I grew up watching my mother lose everything.
After my grandmother died, the money was the only security she had left.
I wanted to protect it for her.
I told myself it was for the baby." She paused.
"It wasn't only for the baby."
"I understand wanting to protect your mother," I said.
"I lied to Marcus.
I used him.
And I tried to use you." She met my eyes.
"That wasn't right."
The room was quiet.
The baby made a small sound and settled back into sleep.
"What's her name?" I asked.
Marcus, from the chair in the corner where I hadn't noticed him sitting, said: "We'd like you to help us choose."
I looked at him.
"We have two we like," Elaine said.
"But we thought—" She stopped.
Started again.
"We thought her grandmother should be part of it."
The word landed gently.
*Grandmother.*
Not *Marcus's mother.* Not a title on a document.
Just grandmother.
I sat down in the chair beside the bassinet.
I looked at the baby.
I thought about a tiny yellow blanket and a stuffed elephant still sitting in a bag in my spare room.
May you like
"Tell me the two names," I said.
And Elaine did.
