by Claire
Liz laughed. “She looks great. She should wear that for her weekly picture today.”
“No. She finally fits into that beautiful white, smocked dress. You know, the one Gina gave me at the baby shower? I was going to put her in that.”
Erin made a playful kissing noise, which caused her daughter to stare at her curiously. Erin kept making the noise, leaning forward until she reached the baby's stomach, just below the t-shirt. Then she blew gently against the smooth skin, increasing the pressure and sound with her lips.
Her daughter babbled happily at this game.
Erin laughed. Did it again. Prompted even more babbling.
She’d never imagined she could love anyone this much. Never imagined she was even capable of it.
When she saw an unexpected flash, she turned her head sharply in the direction of Liz.
Her sister had clicked a picture of them without warning, using the camera she’d brought over for their weekly picture.
Erin frowned. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“It was too irresistible. You were in full mommy mode. It had to be documented so you couldn’t deny it later.” Glancing down, she checked the camera. Her face changed. “Wow. It’s really good. Look.”
When Liz brought the camera over, Erin looked obediently, not expecting to be impressed, since she always hated how she looked in pictures.
It was good.
It was a profile shot of both of them and was one of the best pictures of the pumpkin she could remember—smiling, natural, waving her hands excitedly. The reddish hair was mussed, and the tummy was sticking out between the short t-shirt and the diaper, but she looked vibrant and adorable.
Erin actually looked good too. Also smiling, holding up her baby with an uncharacteristically tender expression. Her hair was tousled around her face kind of messily and her upper body looked a little too curvy, but she looked good.
Not sexy, but something else. Something Erin had never associated with herself before.
It made her feel kind of weird. She'd always been quite confident that all things maternal were completely foreign to her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she had become this person, instead of the person she’d always thought she was.
Liz was looking ridiculously pleased with herself. “I’m going to frame this one for Dad. He’ll love it.”
“Yeah,” Erin mumbled, feeling irrationally embarrassed—as if she’d been caught doing something that should have remained secret. “Thanks. Since you think you’re so talented, you better do a good job with the weekly picture, once I put her in her pretty dress.”
Liz frowned thoughtfully. “No. I think this should be the picture.”
“No. It shouldn't.”
“But it’s perfect. You both look great in it. This is the best picture of the two of you I’ve seen.”
“No. I shouldn’t be in it, and she’s going to wear her pretty dress.”
“Why are you being so stubborn? I’m telling you that this is the picture you should send him. He needs to see it.”
“I don’t want him to see it,” Erin mumbled.
Every Saturday, Erin sent Seth an email. She briefly outlined anything noteworthy about their daughter and attached a new picture. After the first two weeks of trying to explain and get a response from him, she’d stopped hoping he'd reply. But she emailed him once a week, keeping the notes brief and impersonal.
She’d already composed the one for this week: She’s almost thirteen pounds now. She was slightly sick at the beginning of the week, but she was feeling better by Wednesday. She likes to wave her arms around, and she can almost clap sometimes. Her new favorite thing is to rock in her swing.
That was it.
The emails were always painful to write and to send, but she still sent them every week with a picture. She’d told him from the beginning that she’d keep him informed, so she was committed to doing so, even if he’d decided he didn’t want anything to do with them.
She didn’t want Seth to forget he had a daughter.
“Give me one good reason why you shouldn’t send Seth this picture,” Liz demanded.
“I’ll give you three. I’m in this one, and the picture is supposed to just be of her. Plus, her hair is kind of messy, and her diaper is droopy. I was going to fix her up before I took the picture.”
She’d been planning to put their daughter in the delicate, smocked dress with embroidered flowers that Seth had unconsciously picked out when he’d been looking at the nursery four months ago. She’d just been waiting for it to fit, and now it finally did.
“Who cares about that? She looks really cute in the t-shirt. Why can’t she look natural? Why do you always dress her up for the pictures?”
Erin clenched her jaw, turning her daughter around until she was lying against her chest and shoulder.
“Erin?”
Finally, she sighed. “I want him to think she’s pretty.”
“She is pretty. She’s beautiful.”
“I know. But...but I just want him to see how beautiful she is.” She added in a whisper, almost to herself. “I want him to be proud of her.”
Liz contorted her face. “Oh, shit, Erin. You know I hate when you make me cry.” Before Erin could object to both the sentiment and the language, Liz added, “If only I could knee that selfish bastard in the balls.”
Erin had quickly recovered from her descent into poignancy. She cleared her throat and then said with exaggerated primness, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pollute my innocent daughter’s ears with such vulgarity.”
“Sorry. I’m trying to be good.”
“I know. All in all, you’re doing pretty well.”
Evidently relieved that the emotional part of the afternoon was over, Liz resumed her badgering. “Anyway, she does look beautiful in this picture, and she looks happy and natural. So do you.”
“It doesn’t matter about me.”
“Well, I think it does. He should see that you’re happy. He should be reminded of what he’s missing out on.”
Erin felt awkward and just shrugged. “I’m not sending it.” Then she stood up and carried her wriggling daughter to set her up in the infant swing in the living room.
The blue eyes stared mesmerized at the turning animals on the mobile that moved with the music and the rocking of the swing.
Liz had followed Erin. “If you don’t send it, then I’ll send it to him myself. With a nasty, scathing note.”
Erin groaned and collapsed on the couch. “He probably just deletes the emails without reading them anyway. Obviously they don’t mean anything to him.”
“Then it won’t matter which picture you send.”
“Fine.” Erin hauled herself up and got her laptop from the dining room table. Found the draft of the email she’d composed yesterday. Then attached the picture from the camera.
Hit "send" before she changed her mind.
She had a sick, heavy feeling in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. He probably wouldn’t ever see the picture anyway. If he was trying to close himself off from them completely, then he wouldn’t want any reminders.
He wouldn’t ever see the picture. Erin shouldn’t worry about it.
“Erin?” Liz asked, after several minutes of silence. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
Erin smiled. It wasn’t bright and cheerful, but it wasn’t fake either. Just kind of tired. “Yeah. We’re good. This is my life. I have her. And you. And Dad. And plenty of friends—I don’t hang out with them much anymore, but they’re still there. And I have a decent job. Maybe eventually I’ll try to date again.” She sighed and felt that stupid lump again that she couldn’t rid herself of completely. “Yes, I wanted her to have a daddy, but we’re not going to fall apart without one. We’re good.”
“Are you good?” Liz asked, very softly, very carefully.
“I’m good. I really am. Eventually, you get over things. Eventually, I won’t miss him so much.”
Thirteen
Erin was having a miserable Friday.
She’d woken up just after five o’clock that morning to the sound of anguished squalling, only to discover that her daughter had produced the poop from hell, which had leaked out of her diaper and all over the bedding.
She’d ended up a half-hour late for work and had a headache all morning.
Then she’d been so exhausted that she’d actually nodded off during a staff meeting, to be awakened by an annoying colleague poking her in the arm and everyone else laughing at her.
She’d been so busy that she hadn’t had time for lunch—just swallowing down a little bag of peanuts from the vending machine. The lack of food hadn't improved either her headache or her mood.
Then she’d needed to go to the store after work, and—as she’d been standing in the endless line at the checkout counter—she’d discovered that she’d never put her wallet back in her bag, after pulling it out to get change for the vending machine that afternoon.
So she’d had to leave all her stuff in the cart and go back to work. Find her wallet—which was naturally right on top of her desk—and then return to the store and stand in line again.
This time, there was a woman with a baby behind her, and the baby was crying at the top of his lungs.
Erin tried to shut the sound out. Tried to think of anything else. But her breasts were full, and the crying triggered their letdown reflex.
She started leaking. A lot. More than she'd leaked since the first month after giving birth.
Erin crossed her arms over her chest and prayed for the baby to stop crying. Squeezed her breasts, trying to use pressure to get it to stop.
It didn’t really work. Despite the pads in her bra, she could feel the milk spreading out over the fabric of her shirt.
She was just about ready to cry when she left the store and made her way home, finally stumbling into her apartment an hour later than Stella had been expecting her.
She apologized profusely to the nanny, who shrugged it off and said that Erin looked like she’d had a horrible day.
“I was just about to give her a bottle, since she’s getting hungry. Why don’t you nurse her first?” Stella suggested. “Then I can stick around while you change clothes.”
Erin smiled faintly as she reached toward the swing to pick up her daughter, who was fussing and grimacing with dramatically grumpy expressions. “Hey, pumpkin. I’m sorry I was so late.”
The baby didn’t seem to appreciate the apology and wriggled impatiently until Erin cradled her against her chest. As soon as a nipple was offered, however, all resentment was forgotten.
Erin sighed and closed her eyes, feeling like a disgusting, half-dead cow.
“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Stella said sympathetically. “If you’re too tired, you should just skip your walk today.”
Erin took a walk with the stroller every day, immediately after work, when the sidewalks were still busy and it wasn’t yet dark. She exhaled again in defeat. “I don’t much feel like it today, but I’ve been trying so hard to establish a good routine for her, and I hate to mess it up every time I’m tired.”
Stella wasn’t an attractive woman. She had a plain face and graying dark hair that she pulled back severely with clip at the nape of her neck. She had a warm smile, though, and she offered it now to Erin. “I’d be happy to walk her this evening, since you're not up to it. Actually, that would be perfect. You could shower and recover a little before I leave.”
Erin tried to argue, but Stella was adamant. And honestly Erin thought the idea of a half-hour alone in her apartment was a dream.
So, after she’d finished breastfeeding, Erin helped Stella get the infant in the stroller and then felt horribly guilty—like a selfish, unnatural mother—when she was so vastly relieved to be alone for once, when her daughter left the apartment with the nanny.
Erin left her icky clothes on the floor in a heap, turned on the shower, and got in.
Stood under the warm spray of water and didn’t move, didn’t think, for a long time.
She felt better when she got out. She was starving and had a lingering headache, but she felt like she might actually survive until bedtime.
Before she dressed, she stared at her naked body in the mirror.
Remembered what she’d looked like a couple of years ago and resigned herself to never looking like that again.
Her breasts were full and heavy—not nearly as perky as they used to be. Her belly still curved out more than it should, and her hips were too rounded. Checking herself out from the side, she shook her head over the faint stretch marks.
She did wonder if she’d lost a little more weight, though. With this in mind, she opened a drawer to her dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in a year.
Erin pulled them on, moaning in relief when she could comfortably pull them up over her hips.
Then she held her breath. Made the final test.
Pulled up the zipper. Fastened the button.
They closed and were only slightly snug.
At this unexpected victory, Erin might have squealed. Just a little.
She preened in front of the mirror for a minute, studying how the denim fit over her ass and thighs, until she realized that Stella would be back soon.
So she quickly put on a clean bra and white t-shirt. She’d just finished blowing her hair halfway dry when she heard the apartment door open and close.
Erin hurried out to the living room. “Look,” she called happily. “I fit into my jeans again.”
Stella was removing the convertible carrier from the stroller. “That’s great,” she replied, sounding a little distracted. “It takes some women a lot longer.”
Her expression was worried.
“What’s wrong?” Erin asked, immediately anxious. “Is she all right? Is she sick?”
She didn’t look sick. Her head was lolling back contentedly, and her blue eyes were getting a little sleepy. She loved going for walks in her stroller.
“She’s fine. I just...it’s probably nothing, but it was strange.”
“What? What is it?”
Stella sat down in one of the dining room chairs. “Well, maybe you’ll think I’m paranoid, but I’ve noticed a man sitting in a car on this street a few times as I leave in the evenings, usually just as you're taking her out for your walk. The first couple of times I didn’t pay attention, but now I’ve seen him there several times over the last few weeks.”
“What is he doing?”
“Just sitting. I always assumed he was just waiting for someone. He looks perfectly respectable, and he’s not always there, so I’d never thought much about it, except to wonder who he’s waiting for.” She paused thoughtfully, “Although, now that I think about it, he did always seem to be watching you, as you went on your walk. Maybe I should have said something sooner.”
Shrugging that away, Erin stepped into the kitchen to get her dinner together. She was so hungry she couldn't wait any longer to eat. “So what made you nervous today?”
“Well, today he was standing outside his car. It was strange. He wasn’t there when we left the building, but he was when I was coming back. As soon as he saw me with the stroller, he took a few steps in my direction. Then he stopped, I think because he saw it was me and not you. Maybe I’m wrong, but that’s what it looked like.”
Erin combed her fingers through her slightly damp hair, feeling both confused and nervous. She continued peering into the refrigerator, though, hoping to find something appetizing. “Then what did he do?”
"He turned around, got back in his car, and drove away.”
“So you think he’d been expecting me, and then left when he realized you were walking instead?”
At Stella's assent, she made a bewildered face and asked, “What did he look like?”
At that point, Erin still had no idea. None at all. The obvious explanation hadn’t even occurred to her.
So the answ
er crashed into her without warning.
Stella replied, “He was really nice looking, actually. Maybe early thirties. Wearing a nice suit. Sometimes I think he looks kind of familiar, but I'm sure I've never met him. He’s always wearing sunglasses, and he drives this fancy blue car. His hair is reddish-brown.”
Erin dropped the bag of lettuce she’d been trying to open. “What?”
When she took in Erin’s frozen face, Stella said slowly, “It never occurred to me that he was suspicious until today, but maybe I should have told you sooner.”
Erin ignored the words. Couldn’t even focus on them. Felt the most intense rage she’d ever experienced rising inside her.
Without speaking, she pushed past Stella and went into the living room to find her phone. Picked it up and started jabbing blindly at numbers she knew by heart.
But, before it started ringing, she put it down again.
“Do you know who he is?” Stella asked.
“Oh, yes. I do.”
She was shaking with emotion as she found her shoes and stepped into them. “Thanks, Stella,” she managed to say. “I really appreciate you telling me.”
Then she went back into the dining room, where her daughter was still in her carrier, almost asleep.
“Come on, pumpkin,” Erin muttered. “It's time we go see your daddy.”
***
Erin wasn’t made to wait very long before the doorman allowed her up to Seth’s apartment.
She actually hadn’t known if she would be let in at all. She’d been quite sure she would have been turned away without question if she’d tried storming his residence during the first weeks after their confrontation in the hospital, but now she thought he might consider it.
Since he’d apparently been trying to talk to her earlier that day.
Seth was waiting for her at the door. He’d taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but he still managed to look professional, perfectly composed.
And that just made Erin even more furious.
On the way over, she’d been building up steam, rehearsing all of her collected resentment from the last three months, and now she was about to erupt with it.