“Well, thank you,” I say, smoothing her blond hair from her cheek. “It’s perfect, and I’m sure the baby will love it.”
“And this one here is called boob tube.” She hands me one of the fancy lotions. “It’s for your boobies.”
“Thanks?” I give a stuttering laugh.
“I can say that because it’s not a bad word, right?” She glances her mother’s way but doesn’t really wait for confirmation. “Bangersisn’t bad either.”
“Clo!” Her mother laughs, exasperated.
“Orta-tas, or even Brad Pitts. There’s another name I heard Uncle Seb say, but I can’t remember it.”
“Thank God,” Letty mutters.
“I think it wasthumb bags, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would boobies look like a bag of thumbs?” Shrugging the thought off, Clodagh skips happily back to her pencils and book.
“I’m gonna have such a conversation with that man,” Letty grumbles, kind of red cheeked.
Embarrassment, not anger,I think, as I pull the last item from the box. A beautiful hardback book, embossed in gold with the words “Baby’s First Year.”
“I hope you don’t mind I got in first with that,” she says softly.
“Oh, it’s so pretty. The illustrations,” I whisper, turning beautiful page after beautiful page, each with a space for a photo, a thought, or a memento.
“Ma will probably bring Matt’s baby book when she comes to visit and bore you half to death with tales of himself and his grand escapades.”
I look up. “You all have a book like this?”
She nods, her flash of surprise evident. “At least one each.”
“That’s so sweet,” I say, looking down again, embarrassed by the slip.
“I’m gonna draw the baby a picture,” Clo says, filling the awkward pause.
“That’s a grand idea. Scuse me,” Letty adds, pulling her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. “Ah, shit!”
“I better get my swear jar.” Clo drops her pencil and clambers from the cushions.
“No time. We’ve got your parent-teacher conference in half an hour. It’s a good thing one of the other moms thought to remind me.” She shoots me an apologetic glance. “Honestly, baby brain lasts for years.”
“I don’t wanna go,” Clodagh whines. “You said I could have a hot chocolate at Uncle Matty’s.”
“Maybe later. Come on, we don’t want to be late.”
“I know we don’t want to be late, because I don’t wanna go!”
“Why don’t you leave Clodagh with me?” I suggest, surprised by the offer myself. But the little girl is really not keen, and her mom looks so frazzled. And I just put my foot in my mouth.
“You’re sure?”
I nod. Because I can’t really say,Lol, jokes, no,can I? But really, how hard can it be? Clodagh is five—practically self-sufficient! Or maybe that was just me.
“I’ll be an hour. Ninety minutes tops,” Letty says, grabbing her purse after shoving one arm into her jacket. “Her teacher is a bit of a gasbag. It’s hard to get away sometimes.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be here.” As usual.
A quick kiss to her daughter’s head, a grateful smile for me, and she’s gone.
Things start out well enough. We sit on the couch with Clodagh’s coloring book.
