“It’s all fine.” I’m almost done with my smoothie, and I’m going to ask for a box for my sandwich and another smoothie before we go. Guinevere gurgles thoughtfully, turning her teether over in her hands again.
“Okay,” Angie says into the phone. “Yeah, we’ll be there in an hour. Because we have to finish eating and then drive all the way out there! Webster Groves? What does it matter? Because I thought I was dropping Autumn back and going home to put Guinnie down and then would have two hours before picking you up! Oh my gosh, I’ll see you in an hour.” Angie rolls her eyes at me. “He’s annoyed that he has to wait.”
“It’s not like you knew this would happen,” I offer.
“Yeah, but he’s in a bad mood a lot of the time.”
“Why?” I slurp the last of the smoothie.
She shrugs and looks at the baby. “I mean, we’re both tired. Even when she sleeps through the night, we’re tired. And he’s going to school and working sixteen hours at the burger place on the weekends. I don’t know. I feel like I have more to complain about than him since nobody spits up on him at school or work, but I see why everything is hard for him too.”
“He does get thrown up on at home sometimes,” I point out. “You were telling me that story about his favorite shirt.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” Angie says.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask. “Like, relationship-wise?”
“Yeah? I think so? I don’t know. There’s always so much other stuff to talk about. And even after the episiotomy healed, I really didn’t want to have sex. I think we’ve had sex twice since Guinevere was born.” She shrugs.
“How does Dave feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I probably should ask him, but I feel kinda guilty about it,” Angie says.
“Why would you feel guilty? Doesn’t everybody know that happens after people have babies?”
“Yeah,” Angie says, “but we had been joking the whole pregnancy about how there was no way that would ever happen to us because we were like, well, rabbits. Now here we are. Honestly, he’s probably upset but trying to be nice by not bringing it up, but I don’t bring it up because I’m just too tired.”
I can’t let her leave it unsaid. What if something happens to Dave?
“You should tell him that you care,” I say. “That you’ve noticed him not complaining and that it means a lot to you. ’Cause how much worse would it be if he was complaining?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Angie says.
“Definitely, tell him,” I say. “I mean it.”
Angie cocks her head to the side and starts to say something, but then her face goes pale. Her mouth drops open.
“What?” I look over my shoulder at Sylvie Whitehouse waiting in line at the counter. She’s studying the menu. “Did she see me?” I ask.
“Definitely,” Angie says. “Do you wanna go?”
“I wanted another smoothie.” I’m so sad about it that I want to cry and really might. This smoothie was the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I wanted to have another, and now I can’t, because I obviously can’t wait in line behind the girl whose boyfriend I slept with right before he died.
Angie’s face hardens. She glances at her baby and looks back at me.
“Wait here with Guinnie.” She leaves our booth and walks to the counter and gets in line behind Sylvie. They both stare straight ahead, but by the set of Sylvie’s shoulders, she knows Angie is behind her.
“Meh?” Guinevere asks, and it truly is a question. I can hear it. “Meh? Meh?”
“It’s okay.”
Her gaze had been wandering around the room, but it latches on to me. “Meh,” she tells me.
“She’ll be right back,” I say, and the baby bursts into loud sobs. I launch out of my seat and around the table. “Shh,” I soothe, though it comes out too high-pitched. “It’s okay.” I fiddle with the straps on the seat, trying to unbind her from the carrier’s rigorous safety features. “I’m here,” I say, as if that is comforting.
Once she is free, the baby stops crying, but seemingly only out of confusion. “Beba?” She waits for me to do something, but I don’t know what to do, so I continue to hold her from under her armpits out in front of me. “Meh?” she tries again and whimpers.
I start to swing her back and forth in a tick-tock motion. A series of emotions passes over her face: surprise, pleasure, and then annoyance. I think she likes what I’m doing but is annoyed that I’m distracting her from her mission.
“Baby swing, baby swing,” I sing to her for some reason, and that makes her laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sylvie waiting for her drink. I’ve honestly tried not to think about how much Finny and I hurt her. She and I were never friends, yet what happened is too similar to what Jamie and Sasha did to me for me to be comfortable thinking about it.
Guinevere regards me distrustfully, like she knows people would say I stole another girl’s boyfriend.
“Life is really complicated, Guinnie,” I tell her, still swinging her back and forth. She isn’t very heavy, but my arms are getting tired. Still, I keep rocking in fear she cries again. “Baby swing,” I sing again, but this time, she is less impressed.
“Looks like you’re a natural.”
Angie’s reappeared with my smoothie in a to-go cup and a box for my sandwich.
“Thank you, Angie.” I feel like crying again, and I realize, for the first time, it might be a pregnancy thing.
“I saw the look on your face, and I remembered that feeling,” Angie says. “I wasn’t going to let you leave without one.”
I stand up and trade the child for the to-go cup and take a big drink.
“Thanks,” I say again.
“It’s not a big deal,” Angie says. She straps the baby back into her carrier. “She said something to me.”
“Sylvie?”
“Yeah.” She looks up at me. “She said to tell you that she’s glad you’re feeling better and congratulations.”
I feel my mouth open, but no words come out.
Angie finishes strapping in her daughter and looks at me. “How does she know?” she asks me.
“Jack probably told her,” I say. “You remember Jack Murphy, Finny’s friend? He came to see me in the hospital.” I haven’t seen Jack since that visit, but he texts me every three days or so. He’s checking in on me, which would annoy me, but I know he’s doing it for Finny. Usually, he asks how I’m holding up and sometimes he sends a knock-knock joke. My answer to how I’m doing, like the quality of his jokes, varies widely.
“Yeah, I remember Jack,” Angie says. “Are you ready, by the way? I didn’t know you were close with him.”
“We’re not,” I say, standing up to leave with her. “He came to see me for Finny’s sake, I guess.”
“Huh,” Angie says. “And he told Sylvie, and Sylvie doesn’t hate you?”
“I don’t know. Did it sound like she hated me? Was she being sarcastic?”
Angie pauses. “I don’t think so. She sounded solemn. I don’t think she’s thrilled, but she genuinely sounded glad that you’re better.” She shoulders the diaper bag, and we head to the parking lot.
“I guess it’s good for both our sakes if she doesn’t hate me,” I offer, and Angie only nods, because like so many things in my life right now, there’s nothing to say.
At least I have this smoothie.
five
I found an article online that was titled “What You Really Need for Baby,” and they had already earned my trust by dropping “the” or “your.”
It said that you need
A place for baby to sleep safely
A place to change diapers and the supplies to do it
A way to carry baby
Clothes
A swing
Toys and books
And even though I knew that each item was full of its own subcategories, I decided to trust its deceptive simplicity and showed the list to my mother. This empowered Mom to show me her much, much longer list.
In the end, we compromised by agreeing to let Aunt Angelina choose the store we’re going to today. That’s why we are here, standing outside a resale shop.
My mother feels betrayed by her lifelong best friend.
“I thought you would at least pick one of the big cheesy department stores,” she says to Angelina, who is aghast.
“Why would we put more money in the pockets of those corporate shills?”
“This place looks fine, Mom. Let’s go in,” I say.