I look at her, processing her explanation of my tooth in my hand. “Yeah,” I agree finally. Then sigh. “I guess that settles it. It’s finally time to let him go.”
She nods, staring into the sunset casting golden hues over the lake. “For now.”
fifth chance
DECEMBER
5 MONTHS LATER
twenty-two
I HOLD MY SECOND NIECE, Anjali, in my arms. She’s just two weeks old, wrapped in a soft pink blanket, and has the fresh smell of a brand-new baby. I run the back of my index finger over her soft cheek and she grunts. She looks like Benjamin Button, but I say, “She’s perfect.”
Emily laughs on the other side of the couch. “Whatever. You think she’s funny looking.”
My jaw drops. “I did not say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I know you, and you think newborns look a little funny.” She sips her coffee and eyes me over the rim of her mug that saysMy Jolly Juice.“You said the same thing about Alyson when she was born.”
I grin, thinking of when my fifteen-month-old niece was born last fall. I remember being shocked by her squishy and eyebrow-less face. Thankfully, she’s turned into an adorable toddler with bright red hair and big amber-colored eyes.
My cheeks turn as red as the ornaments on her Christmas tree lit in the corner of the room from the embarrassment of being called out. She waves a hand and sets her coffee down. “It’s okay. She is a little funny looking,” she says, scooting closer to me. “But I love her, and she’s mine.”
“I love her too.” I smile down at my niece—soft, rosy cheeks, puckered lips with a small, white nursing blister on her top lip. At least, that’s what Emily said it was. “How are your boobs?”
“Destroyed,” she deadpans.
I laugh and Anjali cries. Kind of. There are no tears—no sob or whimper—just this howl of a cry and her body turns rigid. “How dare you say she destroyed your boobs?” I chide, turning her over on my shoulder. Anjali’s tiny body does that tiny newborn thing where she arches her back and scrunches her legs as close to her as she can. My heart melts into a puddle at my feet. “Oh my gosh,” I say, patting her gently as she settles on my shoulder through grunts. “She’s so precious.”
Emily stares fondly at her daughter. “She is. Worth every crack on my nipple and stitch on my va-jay-jay.”
I make a face. “Gross.”
Emily shrugs as if to say, this is my life now.
“Can you believe you’re a mom?” I ask because it feels serendipitous, even if she’s been growing this thing for nine months. My baby sister is a mother of two. We used to play house in our shared bedroom with our dolls and mini strollers and pop vacuums. “I don’t feel like you’re old enough to be a mom of two.”
“Me either,” she laughs.
“You’re in charge of keeping two whole humans alive,” I add for emphasis.
“Three if you count myself.” She smiles so wide that all her teeth are showing and her lips are straight with shock. “It’s really weird. Sometimes I wonder if Mom felt like this.”
I kiss the side of Anjali’s head. “Like what?”
“Like she had no idea what she was doing.”
I snort. “Mom still doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“Oh, stop being so hard on her—”
“She’s hard on me,” I argue.
“She’s doing her best. She always has.” She shrugs. “She loves you and she’s so proud of you. She tells people all the time—makes me jealous.”
I narrow my eyes at my sister. I don’t believe her.
“I’m serious.”
