“Yes, well … there were a few things in the baby’s room that needed doing. I know you’re independent, but I couldn’t let you go home to a house without a crib or a—”
“It’s okay, Mom. Thank you.”
“Thank your father. The stroller was a little tricky, but I think he figured it out.”
Without warning, my eyes filled again. I looked at my lap. “Good. That’s … great.”
Susan started a low cough, and the chair rolled to a halt.
“Hello, Dr. Johnson.”
I lifted my head. Patrick stood in front of me in green scrubs and a white jacket. He’d been by to visit me every day during my stay. He’d even held Mietta a few times. We hadn’t discussed “us” during the visits, though. I wasn’t ready for my last ray of hope to be extinguished, so I didn’t bring it up. Patrick probably didn’t bring it up, because there was nothing to say. Still, I enjoyed the visits. And I would miss them.
“Going-home day?”
I nodded. “I can’t believe it.”
“And how’s this little one doing?” He bent, pushing back Mietta’s blanket to look her over in a way that I knew was instinct for him, a pediatrician. “You look pretty good to me.”
He smiled as he closed the blanket up again. I fought the urge to cry.
“Dad got that stroller set up,” I said. Why, I had no idea. Perhaps just to fill the silence.
“He did?” Patrick frowned. He didn’t like being beaten.
Beside me, Mom and Susan hovered awkwardly. The silence drifted on. I could feel their eyes, waiting for me to wind up the conversation. I didn’t. But Patrick didn’t either.
“Well, then,” Susan said eventually. Her tone indicated that she thought we were both a little loopy. “I guess we’d better—” I felt my chair start to roll.
“I have a present for Mietta,” Patrick said, as if he’d just remembered, or perhaps, just decided to tell me. Susan stopped pushing. “Maybe I could come by sometime and give it to her? Once you’ve had a chance to get settled.”
“Yes,” I said. “We would love that.”
“Good. I would too.” He bent forward, filling my airspace with his scent, and planted a brusque kiss on my cheek. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”
I nodded. “Yes. I guess you will.”
*
Mom and Dad stayed the first night at my apartment.
Like so many of the mothers I’d cared for over the years, I didn’t sleep a wink. Every time my lids became heavy, fear clamped around my heart. If I didn’t watch her constantly, would she remember to breathe? What if she spit up and then choked on it? What if? What if? What if?
At some point, I couldn’t fight it anymore. Just one second, I’d rest my eyes. Just … one … second …
At 3 A.M., I jerked upright, frantically taking in my surroundings. Where was I? I was home. With my baby. I snapped my head up and looked over the rim of her bassinet. It was empty.
I shot through the house so fast that I got dizzy. Mom was asleep in my bed. No Mietta. I dashed up the hall into the sitting room and stabbed at the light switch. As the room illuminated, Dad thrust out a hand, shielding the light from his eyes. He sat in the recliner. Mietta was cradled against his chest.
“Dad.” I held my chest. “You gave me a heart attack.” I switched off the light and turned on the small lamp.
“Sorry, darling. She was fussing a bit, and you were asleep—so I just brought her out here. She’s fine now.”
I looked her over. She did look positively blissed out. Dad’s hand covered her bottom, and he stroked her back with two fingers. He’d probably held me that same way once.
“Do you want me to take her?” I asked.
“No. You sleep. We’re having some Papa-and-me time.”
I smiled. “Papa, is it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Grampy? Gramps? Poppa? I don’t care.”
He kissed the top of her head. My smile widened. My daughter would have a Papa. It was a relationship I had no frame of reference for, but I had a feeling it would be an important one.
“Now, off with you,” he said sleepily. “Mietta and I have some bonding to do.”
I skulked back to my bed. In the next room, Mom was already snoring. My daughter was asleep in the living room. And, with my dad watching over us all, my eyelids fluttered closed.