Darren, on the other hand, studies me carefully.
“So,” I say, clearing my throat, “can I at least look at the child before I go, or are you going to throw holy water at me?”
“You can look,” Darren answers quickly before Simone can say no. “I’m gonna put these in the nursery.” He grabs the bags from the counter and wheels off, completely missing the death glare his wife throws at his back.
I, however, know better.
I slowly raise my eyes to Simone.
She rolls hers dramatically, but after a second, she nods, still scowling and lowers herself onto the sectional.
“Don’t wake her,” she mutters.
“I raised two,” I remind her.
“I raised two,” she does a horrible mimic of my answer.
I step closer and gently peel back the blanket covering the car seat.
Inside is the tiniest little face, fast asleep.
I’d love to say she looks angelic. Ethereal.
Alas she looks like a potato. A very small, slightly wrinkled potato.
Just like my boys did.
I’m still leaning over her when her face scrunches. I don’t know if it’s the shift in light or the sudden silence, but her mouth opens-
And she lets out a loud, newborn wail.
My eyes swing to Simone just as she throws a hand in the air. “Unbelievable.”
I shrug. “I didn’t even touch her.”
She gestures sharply with her hand. “You woke her. Now pick her up.”
“Really?” I ask, making sure I heard her right.
“Just do it.”
“Hi baby, whose name I don’t know,” I baby talk, sliding my hand under her butt.
Simone narrows her eyes when I straighten. “You know you’re not supposed to do that.”
“What?” I mutter. “Breathe.”
“Baby talk,” Simone deadpans. “It’s bad for their development.”
I give her a tight smile. “I baby-talked to both of my kids.”
She smirks. “And which one of them barked until he was two?”
“Still your godchild,” I say, offended.
“Sorry,” she winces, and there’s real regret in it. Then her eyes drop to the way I’m gently bouncing her daughter in my arms.
“Her name’s Penny, by the way.”
