“I suggest we save the chatter for later,” Lola said, stopping at Blake’s side. She nodded to Corrie. “You better go on in and find your seat. We’ll be in right on after.”
Corrie’s mask of sympathy didn’t slip, but she conceded with a nod. The hand already on Blake’s shoulder squeezed once.
“Hang in there,” she said. Then she did what Corrie did best. The perfect parting shot, the multitooled weapon of the South. “Bless your heart.”
Blake’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, but Corrie was already through the doors. She expected Lola to follow, but instead the older woman hung back.
It wasn’t for support.
Lola turned Blake around to face her.
“I know you’re probably getting near overwhelmed today, but I have to tell you something you’re not going to like.” Her expression softened. Blake couldn’t help but brace herself.
Then Lola sighed out big.
“Bruce spit up.”
Together they looked down at Blake’s chest. Sure enough from her shoulder, down the yellow print on her dress, was baby Bruce spit up. She must have been more tired than she original thought. She hadn’t even felt it.
“The one time I wear a dress,” Blake breathed out.
Lola reached out for Bruce and laughed.
“The bathroom is around the corner. Hurry up and clean that so you’re not smelling it the whole time. I’ll get us seats.”
So Lola took Bruce, and Blake was off and speed-walking to the same bathroom she had used countless times as a teen. She went to the task at hand with the same urgency, thinking about how she should have packed the towel parents used in this sort of situation.
She pictured it sitting on the dining room table.
Blake sighed again.
Her gaze shifted up to her reflection in the mirror.
Before six months ago she had always styled her hair into one long braid. Part habit, part utility. One single braid that always rested against her back. Contained. In order. Familiar.
Now her hair was down and short, a choice she had made to save time. To save energy.
But seeing herself now, seeing the bags under her eyes and the frown across her lips, the question that often bothered her came right on back.
If she couldn’t take care of something simple like her hair, how could she take care of two little humans?
The ache in her chest grew cold.
It started to spread.
Blake shook her head.
“Now’s not the time,” she told herself. She straightened her dress and eyed the spot where the spit-up had been. She’d worn the wrong color of dress. The water stain was more than noticeable.
It made her grumble as she left the bathroom and hurried back to the lobby doors. Logically, she knew that no one would really care about it. That it wasn’t a big deal. Yet, she hesitated before going inside.
Blake knew that it wasn’t about the stain.
It was about the people.
And that made her feel shame.
She had dealt with all kinds of life-and-death situations, and here she was worried about gossip from people she had known all of her life.
