“Who the hell knows. It changes daily.” I drop the stack back on the dresser from where I grabbed them. “Did I have this many?”
Pops shakes his head. “You had one, and when that wore out, we bought another. Lucia,” Pops says, turning his head toward my mother. “Did you buy all those?”
Ma smiles nervously. “It needs to match their outfit,” she explains, like somehow it makes sense when it damn well doesn’t.
“And which one is baby-puke color? Because everything is going to be covered in it for months,” he tells her, shaking his head. “And I mean everything.”
“Remember when Franco threw up in your mouth?” Ma asks him, laughing. “I’ll never forget the look on your face.”
I cringe thinking about it. Puke has never bothered me, but having someone, even a tiny human, throw up in my mouth is a hard pass. “That’s awful,” I whisper.
Pops covers his mouth like he can still remember the taste. “I’ll never forget it. I learned not to hold him over my head after he ate. Some lessons are harder than others.”
“I’m putting that away in my memory bank. No holding the baby over my head after eating,” I state to myself, hoping I’ll make it a lasting impression.
“It’s best if you don’t hold the baby over your head any time, not just after eating. Babies sleep, eat, poop, and puke, and all of them at the worst times possible.”
“You make it sound like a great experience,” I tease him.
“Best thing I’ve ever done. There’s nothing like being a father.”
My mother clears her throat.
Dad smiles at her as he mindlessly runs his finger across the top of the blankets. “Besides marrying my beautiful bride, of course.”
“Smart man,” Ma mutters under her breath before reaching up a hand to touch my face. “You’re going to be a great dad.”
“I had great parents. You two taught me everything I know.”
“Then you’re doomed,” Gracie says, coming into the room with a cup of coffee in her hand. “We’re all screwed up.”
“Speak for yourself,” I tell her. “Name me a normal person.”
She moves her head from side to side like she’s thinking, but we both know there’s no answer. Normalcy is a falsehood. Everyone has issues, but some people have more than others.
“I’m kidding,” she adds, bumping my dad with her shoulder. “We had the best parents.”
“Had?” Pops asks. “We’re still here.”
“Yeah, but I’m grown.”
“And still need a parent,” Ma adds. “Where would Franco be if it weren’t for me meddling in his life?”
I sigh. She has a point, but not one I like to give in to. She’ll use it as an excuse to keep going on her butting-in, and that’s the last thing I want her to do. “You did good, Ma, but it doesn’t always work out.”
Ma touches her chest with her fingertips, lowering her chin. “I know my children and what’s best for them.”
“We’re not children anymore, Ma,” Gracie explains like it will make a damn bit of difference.
“You’ll always be my children. I don’t care if you’re eighty years old and using a cane. Always my babies,” she repeats.
Gracie rolls her eyes. “Pops, you need to keep her busy so she doesn’t butt into our lives.”
Pops raises his hands and lifts his eyebrows. “I can only do so much. I’m just one man.”
Gracie grunts into her coffee cup. “Bullshit.”
Chloe waddles into the nursery, rubbing her belly. “I’m ready for this to be over,” she grumbles. “Soon, my ass won’t fit through a doorway.”
