The lasagna was done cooking and was resting on the stovetop when Gwen heard the garage door open. Jeff was home. June was just finishing feeding.
“Perfect timing again!” Gwen said to her.
She stood, June cradled in the crook of her arm, ready to greet Jeff. Had she not greeted him since he’d started back at work? She couldn’t remember doing so. It was like he just appeared, standing in the living room, his tie loosened around his neck, looking tired, but a different kind of tired than she was.
“Oh my god, it smells delicious in here,” he said.
He kissed Gwen on the cheek, then June.
“How are my girls? Good day?”
He seemed nervous to ask. It was her fault, this nervousness. He approached her like a grenade that could go off at any time.
“It was a good day,” she said.
He set his work bag on the floor and stepped out of his shoes.
“And what made this one so good?”
“June and I made friends. At that support group.”
He could have said “I told you so,” but he just said, “I’m so glad.”
“Me too,” she said.
She was smiling too much. She looked down, embarrassed that such a small thing, the meeting of this one person, could shift her mood so dramatically.
“What are your friends’ names?”
“The mom is Leigh. Shit, I don’t think I even asked the kid’s name.”
She felt her heart rate accelerate. What an idiot. Had Leigh asked June’s name? She couldn’t remember. But Gwen had introduced June at the beginning of the meeting, so Leigh probably already knew June’s name.
“Can I help set the table?” Jeff asked.
Gwen was suddenly distracted, looking for where she’d set her phone. There it was, on the island. She picked it up, tapped out a quick message to Leigh.
Hey. Just wanted to say thank you for chatting today. And I feel like a moron because I don’t think I even asked your daughter’s name. I’m so sorry!
She stared at her phone, waiting for an instant response. What if Leigh didn’t write back? What if she’d done her own replay of their interaction and been so offended by Gwen’s self-centeredness that she had no interest in hanging out after all?
“Babe?” Jeff said.
She looked up. “Huh?”
“Can I set the table?”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. Thanks.”
He moved around her in the kitchen, taking plates and utensils and water glasses to the table. They would usually have wine with lasagna, a nice red, but he knew she wasn’t comfortable drinking when she was breastfeeding. Her supply wasn’t good enough for her to do the “pump and dump” that other lucky moms did. He could’ve opened a bottle on his own, indulged a bit, but he didn’t. He was a good man, decent, and she’d been so awful.
“Who are you texting?” he asked.
“Leigh. The woman. I can’t believe I didn’t ask her baby’s name.”
“Hon, I’m sure it’s fine,” he said.
He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her and June.
