by Erynn Mangum
I get to church right at six and the dinner starts at six thirty. Geraldine, the church secretary who is in charge of the event, finds me right when I walk in.
“Paige!” she says. “Oh good. Okay, I’ve got you guys set up in the nursery. I think there are only going to be six or eight kids here tonight, all ages five and younger. And Madalyn Louis is going to be helping you.”
Madalyn is in the fifth grade and is our senior pastor’s oldest daughter. She is a sweet girl, but I’m really not sure how much help she will be when she is only eleven.
“Great,” I say, faking a genuine smile.
“Thanks so much for doing this, honey. I just love how willingly you serve all the time,” Geraldine says.
I am single and live alone. Maybe this is what God has planned for these years of my life. “Sure.”
“All right. I need to go talk to someone about the music. You’re good?”
“I’m good.”
She hurries away and I walk down the hallway to the nursery. Nine kids under the age of twelve.
And me.
Emma is sounding better and better, but I feel horribly guilty even thinking that.
* * * * *
Later that night, I climb into bed exhausted. Two infants screamed the entire night, another one cried red-faced until he finally spit up in my hair and on my shirt. A two-year-old dumped animal crackers all over the floor and then stomped them into the carpet while a three-year-old girl asked nine hundred times if we could go outside and play on the playground in the pitch dark.
And Madalyn just sat there staring at her iPod the whole time.
After all of the parents collected their children and I mopped off my hair and shoulder, Geraldine came by to give Madalyn and me Starbucks gift cards and tell us thank you.
“And, Paige, honey, you’ll want to spray that shirt with stain remover before you launder it. Spit-up tends to stain,” Geraldine said.
It was a rough night. And now my car smells like spit-up too.
I took a shower the second I got home and immediately sprayed my sweatshirt and took a small load down to the Laundromat.
There is no better birth control than church nurseries. I am to the point that I’m not even sure I want kids anymore, ever.
I look at my Bible and then sigh and turn off my lamp. I am so tired I can barely keep my eyes open. I’ll read twice as much tomorrow.
Besides, I’ve spent the whole night serving. Maybe that counts for my Bible reading today.
I have every intention of sleeping in the next morning. Sleep in, maybe watch a movie, make myself French toast, and work on the wreath that is still half finished in my closet.
My phone buzzes at seven.
I force my eyes open and look at it. It’s a text from Rick.
CLAIRE ELISE. BORN AT 2:13AM, 8 LBS 6 OZ, 22 IN LONG.
Then he sends a picture of the new baby.
I can’t really be mad about getting a text of a brand-new baby. I roll back over in bed and look at the picture of Rick and Natalie’s new daughter.
She looks like every other newborn I’ve ever seen, and while I haven’t seen too many, I do notice that all of them have the same characteristics. Red, splotchy face, eyes squinched shut, mouth tight. She is wearing a striped hat on her head, so I can’t see if she has any hair.
I text back. CONGRATS YOU GUYS! SHE’S BEAUTIFUL! CAN’T WAIT TO MEET HER!
I set my phone back on my nightstand, yawn, and snuggle back under the sheets. I close my eyes and burrow into the pillow.
And lay there.
I try flipping over to my back and putting my arms out to the side.
Nothing.
I moan. Seriously? I am just going to be up now? I roll back over and look at the clock. Seven fifteen.
After lying in bed for another thirty minutes, I finally give up and just get up. I pull on my robe and pad out to the kitchen to start the coffeepot.
Getting up early on a Saturday when there is absolutely no reason to is just depressing. My grandmother used to tell me about how she would wake up at six every single morning just out of habit. “It’s the most annoying thing,” she always said. “But I just can’t help it.”
Heaven forbid that is already happening to me.
The coffeepot starts gurgling, and I sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. I don’t even like Cheerios very much, but they were on sale and I’m getting low in my grocery budget for the week.
So, Cheerios it is.
I get up and pour myself a cup of coffee, add cream and sugar, and right when I am about to sit down again at the table, my phone buzzes again.
It’s a number I don’t recognize, but I answer it anyway. “Hello?”
“Hi there, Auntie Paige,” Rick says. “I’m calling from the hospital room phone.”
I grin. That answers my question. “Hi, new dad. How’s the daughter?”
“Perfect in every way imaginable.” Rick is obviously gushing. “Oh, Paige, it’s the most amazing thing. You can’t even imagine what it feels like.”
Considering the closest I’ve ever come to parenthood is being sort of responsible for taking care of the family dog when I was in the eighth grade, nope. I probably cannot imagine what it feels like.
“Anyway. I’m calling for a couple of reasons. The nurses say Nat can have caffeine now since her milk hasn’t come in yet. And she really wants to see you.”
I grin. I knew it was going to be like this. Not even a month ago, I was over at Rick and Natalie’s house for dinner, and they went on and on about how they didn’t want any visitors in the hospital after the baby was born. They wanted to just have time to bond as a new family. Neither Rick’s nor Natalie’s parents live in town, but I think both of them are planning to come after Natalie is released from the hospital.
I look at the clock on the wall. Well, the no-company thing has lasted for about six hours.
Rick and Natalie are too social to go too long without seeing anyone.
“Starbucks then?” I ask Rick.
“Please. I’ll reimburse you when you get here.” His voice gets muffled. “Sweetie, you know what you want?”
“A grande nonfat caramel latte,” I say along with Rick.
“Wow. You’re good,” he says.
“No, she’s just predictable. Anything for you?”
“I’m pretty sure any caffeine would send me right over the edge into Wonderland, so I’m fine. But get something for yourself. On me. And thank you, thank you. When do you think you can be here?”
Considering I am still in my robe … “Forty-five minutes?”
“Sounds great. Thanks so much, Paige!”
I hang up, look at my half-eaten bowl of Cheerios and barely sipped coffee, and sigh. Oh well. I’ll get a macchiato at Starbucks and consider that breakfast.
I hurry into the shower, skip washing my hair for the day, and am out, dressed, and ready to go in twenty minutes. A new record, I’m pretty sure.
I grab my purse and jacket and head down the stairs to my car. My usual Starbucks is only ten minutes from the hospital.
I walk in and recognize the barista working. Mostly because he is the same guy I dated for about four months sophomore year at TCU.
“Paige?” He smiles at me as I walk up to the counter.
“Nick.” I smile back at him. “When did you start working here?”
“About a month ago. Wow, you look great! Have you been well?”
Nick Trayton is about the nicest guy I’ve ever met. We got to know each other through an on-campus Bible study and started dating. I can’t remember now why we decided to break up.
“Thanks, yeah, I’ve been good,” I tell him. “How about you?”
“I’m good.” He nods. “I’m back getting my master’s and working here to help pay the student loans.” He grins.
He looks great. He was tall and on the painfully skinny side when we dated, but he’s filled out a little bit. He has a five o’clock sha
dow thing going on and dark sticky-up hair.
“Well,” he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. “What can I get you?”
“A grande nonfat caramel latte and a venti caramel macchiato please.” I dig in my purse for my wallet, trying to come up with something to say. It is so weird seeing someone years later that I used to date. Nick and I were more friends than anything else.
Maybe that was why we broke up. You can’t force chemistry.
“Sure thing.” He tells me the total and passes the cups over to the barista making the coffee. “So, are you still friends with Layla?”
I nod. “She’s getting married in October.”
“No way! To who? Steve? Stephen? What is his name?”
“Peter.” Layla and Peter have been together a long time.
“Very cool. What are you up to now? Counseling?”
I shake my head, stomach twisting. “I’m working at an adoption agency, but I’m just doing receptionist stuff.”
“Awesome.”
We both just look around for a minute or two, and he finally smiles. “Well, it’s great to see you, Paige. Glad you’re doing well.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Caramel latte and caramel macchiato!” the other barista yells and sets my drinks on the counter.
“Okay, well, have a good day.” I pick up my drinks.
“You too, Paige.”
I leave, set one drink on top of the car, open the car door, and then put both inside in the cup holders. Why did Nick and I break up?
I drive toward the hospital. I remember thinking he was really cute before we started dating, and then once we did, it was a lot like I imagined being around a brother. We joked around … we watched movies. We rarely held hands and he never kissed me.
It just seemed too weird. Then I went home for Christmas and I think we both kind of started our good-byes with, “So …”
And it ended from there.
I pull into the underground parking structure at the hospital and slow down to a crawl as I drive through it, searching for a parking space that isn’t too far back in the boonies. Parking garages creep me out big time. I’ve seen a few too many episodes of NCIS.
I finally find one sort of near the elevators, grab my coffees, and pretty much jog through the structure to the even creepier elevator and push the button for the hospital lobby.
I walk over to a map, follow a blue painted line on the walls to another elevator, and push the button for the fourth floor. Rick texted me and told me they are in room 412.
I find it a few minutes later. I knock on the door with my foot and Rick opens it a few seconds later, looking worse than I’ve ever seen him look.
“Well, aren’t you just the picture of sunshine?” I say.
“You try staying up for thirty-seven hours and see how you look.” Then he grins. “Want to see my baby girl?”
I smile back and follow him farther into the room. Natalie is lying on the bed, a tiny little bundle in a pink blanket next to her. “Thank God,” she says when she sees me.
“I’m going to pretend that is excitement over seeing me.” I hand her the latte.
“Of course, of course.” She grins. Natalie, compared to Rick, looks wonderful. She is smiling, her hair is parted on the side and back in a loose ponytail at her neck. She is wearing a navy pajama shirt and gray sweatpants.
I get a little closer so I can see little Claire.
“Want to hold her?” Natalie asks.
“You should definitely hold her,” Rick says.
“Who are you guys?”
Rick clears his throat. “Oh, pardon, we’re not so good on manners after being up the whole night. I’m Rick and this is my wife, Natalie.”
“Nice to meet you,” Natalie says.
“Guys,” I say. “You ask me to come to the hospital, you’re offering to let me hold your baby … I’m just waiting for you to ask me to stay the rest of the day.”
“Can you?” Rick asks. “Then maybe I can get a nap without worrying about leaving Natalie alone with Claire and the nurse from down south of the heavenly border, if you know what I’m saying.”
“Seriously,” I say. “Remember the whole thing I had to listen to for the last nine months about not wanting anyone at the hospital?”
Natalie shrugs. “We changed our minds.”
“It’s boring here,” Rick says. “I can only take artificial lighting for so long.”
“You have a window.” I point out to the view of the parking lot.
“The sun doesn’t even hit this wing after about eleven in the morning,” Rick says.
“Come on,” Natalie says. “Wash your hands and come hold this precious girl.”
I set my macchiato on the table and go over to the in-room sink and scrub all the way up to my elbows.
Natalie picks up the baby and sets her straight in my arms. I hold her and my breath, worried I am going to crush her.
“She’s a big girl, huh?” Natalie smiles.
I look down at the tiniest baby I’ve ever held and shake my head. “She’s so little.”
“She’s really not,” Rick says. “The kid next door is like six pounds. He’s a scrawny little thing next to her. I saw him in the nursery when Claire was getting her heel pricked.”
“They pricked her heel?” I frown.
Natalie nods, making a sad face. “But I guess she did great. I couldn’t go watch.”
“I did.” Rick nods. “She did fine.”
All of the youth group kids had this running bet that if the baby ended up being a girl, Rick would become the softest, squishiest guy on the planet. And I always told them there was no way. Even if he had a girl, Rick would always be Rick.
I guess his statement right there just proved my point.
“My girl,” Rick says proudly. “This is only step one, you see.”
“Step one?” I repeat. “Of what?”
“Learning how to beat up any boy who tries to mess with her.”
“What’s step two?” I ask.
“Tackling drills.”
I look down at the tiny little face in my arms and just sigh. “I’m sorry, little one,” I whisper. “You can come see your Auntie Paige whenever you want.”
A nurse walks in and doesn’t even blink in my direction. “Time to try nursing again.”
I give Claire back to Natalie. “Well, I’m going to go.”
“Are you sure?” Natalie asks, messing around with her pajama shirt. “Don’t feel like you have to.”
“Um, yeah, I’m just going to head out. But text me when you get back to your house and I’ll bring you dinner.”
“Remember what I told you before,” the nurse says to Natalie. “Grasp yourself with your right hand and guide the baby’s head with your left.”
Past time to go.
I wave at Rick and hurry out of the room. Too many mysteries are being answered in there. I’m sure it will be different if I ever have my own kids, but I don’t need to know about breast-feeding issues right now.
I find my car in the creepy parking garage, drive back to my apartment, and climb the stairs. It is ten o’clock, and I have the whole rest of the day to myself. I can’t even remember the last time that happened.
I pull my half-finished wreath from the closet, plug in my glue gun, and lay a plastic-backed, paint-flecked tablecloth over my kitchen table just in case any glue drips down. I am going to finish this wreath and then start working on those centerpiece mockups that I’ve promised Layla.
I turn on Michael Bublé, and right then my phone buzzes again. I almost ignore it, staring at my heated-up glue gun, but I bite my lip, dig it out of my purse, and answer it.
“Hey, Paige, it’s Geraldine from church. How are you, dear?”
“Good, thanks. How are you?”
“Not so good, I’m afraid. I was trying to help my husband by cleaning out the garage while he was still asleep this morning, and I’m pretty sure I dislocated my shoulder. We�
��re at the emergency room right now getting it checked out.”
I can hear people talking in the background. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I say, honestly feeling bad for her. Geraldine is one of the nicest ladies at the church. But I am also a little confused. She’s nice and we talk occasionally, but it’s not like we’re the best of friends or anything.
“I’ll be fine. But listen, I was planning on going into the office today and finishing the bulletin for tomorrow’s service, and it doesn’t look like I’ll get to do that now. Do you still have that spare church key?”
I look at my glue gun again and bite back a sigh. “Yeah, I do.”
“Would you mind, honey? It would help me out a ton.”
How can I say no to that? I walk over and unplug my glue gun. “No, I’ll head over there right now.”
“Thanks so much, Paige. I have everything all ready to go on my desk. Thank you again.”
I hear someone call for Geraldine.
“I’ve got to go,” she says.
“Hope the shoulder feels better,” I tell her.
“Thanks, sweetie. Bye.”
I pick up my keys again. Maybe this is God’s way of telling me I do not need a wreath for my door. Maybe there is going to be a horrific windstorm in the next few weeks and it would have blown the wreath off the door and crashed it straight into me and killed me with its grapevine pokiness.
Churches are eerie when you’re the only one there. I unlock the door by the offices, punch in the alarm code, and turn on the lights. The silence is deafening.
Geraldine’s desk is stacked high with the unfolded bulletins. I’ve seen her folding the endless papers before and always feel very sorry for her. The church has a folding machine but it’s loud and cantankerous, so Geraldine prefers to fold all 2,500 bulletins by hand.
I am not going to be so picky.
I find the folding machine in one of the closets in the copy room and drag it over to Geraldine’s desk. Twenty minutes of fooling with the machine and I finally get it to fold a piece of scrap paper into a trifold correctly.
Carefully, I set a stack of the bulletins in the machine, line up all the edges, and press the button.
The first eighty or so look perfect. Then the machine starts spitting out two at a time, then three at a time, and finally it gets in such a paper jam that it takes me another twenty minutes to get all the papers straightened back out and start over again.