She holds it as if it were the most precious thing she has ever been given.
“And these are for daycare?” she whispers.
“They are,” I say. “So, she has something comfortable to wear for pictures.”
She lifts the matching hat next. A knit cap insage green, with apumpkin orangepom on top.
Then the slippers. Little fleece booties inpumpkin orangewith stitchedforest greenvines at the ankles.
“Oh my god,” she whispers.
I nod toward the matching bundle next to it. Her set. A soft long-sleeve tee inivorycotton.
Embroidered across the chest in Little One’s Mama
And her cardigan, loose-knit in warm brown with wooden buttons and a matching hat:
Cream knit with an orange pom.
Claudia presses her free hand over her heart like she needs to hold something inside herself together.
“Deacon. These are beautiful.”
“It is Halloween,” I say. “You two should have something fun.”
“You did not have to do this.”
“I know.”
She looks up at me, eyes bright. “You even matched the colors.”
“I tried.”
She gives a tiny, breathy laugh that hits me right under the ribs. “This is the sweetest thing.”
I can’t wait to do more, I think, but instead tell her, “Koa may be into all the gear, but I want you both to be warm and comfortable.”
Claudia’s lips part. “You,” she shakes her head in an apparent attempt not to get emotional again.
“You.” I mirror her words.
Savannah stirs and starts nuzzling into Claudia’s chest. “I have to feed her.”
“You hungry?” I ask softly.
Claudia nods without looking away from the baby outfits. “Starving.”
“Good. I will order. Did you pick something from the menu?”
She shakes her head, “Beef or chicken, a potato maybe?”
“Nothing spicy, right?” I nod to Savannah.
“Or gassy,” she says, smiling at her as her eyes flutter open. “Because you can be a little stinker, can’t you?” She looks at me, “Thank you, Deacon.”
Twenty minutes later,Claudia is walking out of the bedroom in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with Stanford across the chest. Pride blooms inside of me, knowing just parts of her story and how hard she worked to become who she is. And then another feeling hits altogether. It’s way too big for her to have been hers. Was there someone else she trusted to care for her? Someone else who hurt her?
“You hung up my work clothes?” She asks, walking over to the couch.
