33
Neva
Before I was released from the hospital, Mark visited again, this time with Imogen. I was surprised—and at first, resistant—when he asked if he could bring her to the hospital. The idea of someone else touching my daughter, holding her—it felt too soon. But it wasn’t about me. Mark had every right to introduce his daughter to his fiancée. More importantly, Mietta had the right to know them.
“She looks like Mom, don’t you think?” Mark asked Imogen.
Imogen frowned, shaking her long hair back off her face. “Yeah. I guess so.”
They’d been in my room for half an hour, and Imogen still hadn’t looked me in the face. I got the feeling she thought that if she ignored me heartily enough, I might actually disappear. I couldn’t blame her. Until today, I hadn’t given too much thought to how this whole situation would affect Imogen. Now I did. Her whole world as she knew it had been turned upside down. But she was here. And she was doing her best.
“Would you like to hold her?” Mark asked Imogen.
Imogen shook her head. “No. I shouldn’t.”
“It’s fine with me,” I said, a little reluctantly.
Mark brought the baby closer. “Go on. Hold her.”
Her gaze hovered on Mietta for a moment. Then she said, “Fine. Why not?”
Imogen got herself settled in the hospital armchair, then looked at Mark, palms upturned. “Okay,” she said. “I’m ready.”
I fought my instinct to give instructions. Be gentle. Support her head. They were competent adults. For someone who didn’t have any children (that I knew of) Imogen was actually remarkably comfortable. Maternal, even. It was bittersweet. I hated having another mother figure holding my daughter. But at the same time, I was grateful Imogen’s feelings for me didn’t seem to extend to Mietta. I actually got the feeling from the way she smiled at her that, if I were out of the picture, Mietta might even be welcomed.
“I’m sorry, Imogen,” I heard myself say. “I know how difficult this must be for you. And it’s not fair. None of this is your fault.”
“I realize that.” She still didn’t look at me. “It’s your fault.”
It was a figurative slap in the face, and I accepted it. “Yes.”
That must have appeased her a little, because after a short silence, she sighed. “But she’s Mark’s daughter, so I have to make the best of it.” She looked at Mark, standing beside her chair. “That’s what you do when you love someone. You stick by them, even when life throws you … other people’s babies.”
Imogen and Mark smiled at each other. I got the feeling that her little speech was for his benefit rather than mine. But I was glad I’d heard it too. It made me think about Patrick and the way that, despite what life had thrown at us, he had stuck by me.
*
I was getting released. For the first time in days, I was dressed and wearing shoes. I sat in the hospital nursing chair with Mietta in my arms, sucking in her sweet scent. My parka was draped over my arm.
“Knock, knock.” A wheelchair nosed around the door, pushed by Susan. She parked it beside the bed and sidled up, her twinkling eyes defying her no-nonsense expression. “Ah. Look at the wee thing.” She broke into a full smile. “She’s a beauty.”
“Thanks, Suse.”
“Mom and Dad on their way?”
“Nope,” I said. “It’s just us. I’m going back to my apartment.”
Mom had asked me to come back home for a while, but I don’t think she expected me to agree. I had to do this on my own. At least, that was what I’d told her. But I was talking a lot braver than I felt. It was probably just the hormones, but I’d been on the verge of tears all morning.
A frown etched into Susan’s forehead. “By yourself? How are you going to get home?”
“Cab.” I waved my hand to stop her worrying. “We’ll be fine.”
“No such thing. You can’t take your baby home to your apartment alone in a cab. Let me get my coa—”
“It’s okay, Susan. I’m here.”
In the doorway, in her turtleneck sweater and jeans, was Mom. It wasn’t the dramatic entrance I was used to—it was much more like the way I would arrive, without fanfare. She carried no balloons or flowers or banners. Her clothes were plain and her hair pulled back off her face. I barely recognized her.
“Mom.”
“I know you wanted to do this yourself, but—”
The tears I’d held at bay for hours finally pushed over my lids. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Well, hallelujah!” Susan smiled as she snapped down the sides of the wheelchair. She muttered something about being glad she didn’t have to go out in this weather, and then reached for Mietta. “May I?” I nodded and she took the baby and handed her to Mom. “Hold your granddaughter for me, would you? There’s a love.”
While Susan helped me into the wheelchair—a requirement of discharge that I really didn’t need—I couldn’t stop staring at Mom and Mietta. Mom held her close to her face and stared, right in her eyes. I’d seen Mom with babies before—she loved them. But this was different. They were connected by so much more than a gaze. I would have said it was a biological pull, but now, thinking of Gran, I wasn’t so sure.
Susan gathered up my things and I signed a hundred documents before we started to roll. In the hallway, Mom started to talk.
“Now, I hope you don’t mind, darling, but your father is at your apartment.”
“Oh?”