He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. There’s an emergency.”
I mutter, “There’s gotta be a rule about only a week of paternity leave.”
“Drop it, okay?” he snaps.
I raise an eyebrow, my lips parting in surprise. He sighs immediately, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I’m just… stressed.” Then his face brightens suddenly, too forced. “Besides, my mom said she’ll come around to help you.”
“That’s nice,” I say out loud.
What I’m really thinking:The woman who once called me ‘temporary’ is coming to help me? The sky must be falling.
I still don’t understand what her problem is. The girls from group said it’s normal, that mothers, especially mothers of sons, have a hard time adjusting to not being the only woman in their boy’s life. But come on, it’s beenmonths.And besides, we have adaughternow.
To be fair, she’s been… better. She came to the hospital on the second day. I’d been about to start feeding Penny, andshe was actuallyrespectful.She gently ran a hand over her granddaughter’s tiny head, asked if I was alright, and then left to give me space.
Maybe Zara was right. I’m not just “the woman with her son” anymore. I’m the mother of her grandchild. That changes things. It has to.
I clear my throat. “My sister said she’d come by…”
Matthew shakes his head. “Why bother her? She’s got her own family. Besides, my mom already said she’s on it.”
I nod slowly. “Great.”
Inside, it doesn’t feel great. It feels like the walls closing in, like I’m being handed over. My sister would’ve understood the unwashed hair, she would’ve allowed me to break down. But instead, I’m getting his mother. Mrs. Perfect-At-Everything. Mrs. I did it all alone.
Penny lets out a wail. Gone is the peaceful little angel; in her place is a red-faced, furious banshee.
Matthew practically leaps off the sofa. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” He fumbles with the buckles, unclips her, and scoops her up.
I gesture toward him. “Hand her over.”
He shakes his head, bouncing awkwardly. “I got it.”
“Unless you’ve got milk in your chest, you don’t,” I deadpan, tugging open the buttons of my shirt and peeling down the cup of my bra.
Hesitant, he finally hands her over. I guide her tiny mouth, help her latch. The relief is almost instant, the squalling softens to greedy sucking.
He keeps standing there, watching us. “You’re so good at that.”
“I think it’s more biology than talent,” I say dryly.
He shakes his head. “No, seriously. How’d you know she was hungry?”
“The nurse said from now on, whenever she cries, it’s either hunger or a diaper.”
“And how’d you know it wasn’t the diaper?”
I shrug. “It didn’t look heavy.”
He looks wounded by that, like he’s already failing some invisible test. I free a hand and grab his. “Hey. You’ll get it.”
He nods, squeezing my fingers, then clears his throat. “I’m gonna get started on dinner. My mom dropped off a lasagna; I’ll heat it up.”
I grimace. “Her beef-and-cheese one?”
He winces, realization dawning. “Shit. Beef.”
“Can you just make me an omelette?”
