Chương 9
A banana had gone brown in the fruit bowl.
Daniel had left a screwdriver beside the television because he had been mounting a shelf the morning Grace went into labor.
Grace stood in the living room holding the handle of Noah's car seat and stared at the screwdriver.
Daniel came in behind her with Liam.
"What?"
"You left that there."
He looked.
"Oh."
"You said you'd put it away."
"I was distracted by childbirth."
"Excuses."
He put Liam's seat down, picked up the screwdriver, and carried it to the drawer.
Grace started laughing.
Daniel leaned against the counter.
She laughed until she cried again.
This time he came to her.
For the next week, their lives became small.
Feed.
Change.
Sleep badly.
Check breathing.
Recheck breathing.
Heat coffee.
Forget coffee.
Find coffee three hours later.
Argue about whether a baby had eaten at 2:10 or 2:30.
Write it down.
Lose the notebook.
Find the notebook under a blanket.
Grace discovered that fear did not disappear when a hospital said the babies were safe.
It changed shape.
She checked the boys' ankle bands even after they no longer wore hospital bands.
For three mornings after discharge, she woke convinced someone had switched the bassinets in the night.
The thought made no sense.
The bassinets were beside her bed.
Daniel was the only other adult in the house.
Still, she would turn on the lamp and look for Noah's smooth left ear.
Then Liam's folded one.
One night Daniel woke and found her doing it.
He did not say anything.
The next morning he put a small piece of blue painter's tape on the underside of Noah's bassinet and green on Liam's.
Grace stared at him.
"That's insane."
"I know."
She left the tape there.
Diane texted every day for the first four days.
Not long messages.
Thinking of you.
I hope the boys are doing well.
No need to reply.
Grace did not.
On the fifth day, there was no message.
Grace noticed.
She was irritated that she noticed.
At breakfast, she said, "Your mother didn't text."
Daniel looked up from a bowl of cereal.
"Okay."
"Did you tell her to stop?"
"No."
"Why did she stop?"
"Maybe because you didn't answer."
Grace frowned.
"That would be reasonable."
"She's capable of it occasionally."
Grace looked at him.
"Are you talking to her?"
"Not much."
"Because of me?"
"No."
"Daniel."
He set down his spoon.
"I'm angry at her."
"You can be angry and still talk to her."
"I know."
"You're doing the thing."
"What thing?"
"The standing-between-everyone thing."
He leaned back.
"I don't know what that means."
"Yes, you do."
"No, I honestly don't."
Grace was too tired to explain kindly.
"You are waiting to see what I do so you can decide what you're allowed to feel."
Daniel's face hardened.
"That's not fair."
"Probably not."
"Definitely not."
"Fine."
He stood with his cereal.
Grace immediately regretted it.
Daniel went to the sink.
She watched his back.
"Don't leave."
"I'm putting a bowl in the sink."
"I mean emotionally."
He turned.
Grace looked down at her coffee.
"I know you're angry. I know she's your mother. I don't want you to choose a side every morning before breakfast."
Daniel stared at her.
"I don't know how to do both."
"Neither do I."
That helped more than anything wise would have.
He came back to the table.
They sat there while Noah began making hungry noises in the next room.
Daniel said, "He sounds like a tiny goat."
Grace pointed at him.
"Do not start insulting the children before eight."
It took twelve days before Grace invited Diane to the house.
She regretted it almost immediately.
Not because Diane did anything wrong.
Because she did everything carefully.
Too carefully.
She stood by the door until Grace told her to sit.
She kept her hands in her lap.
When Liam cried, she looked toward him and then away.
Grace hated that.
"You can look at him."
Diane blinked.
"I am."
"No. You're pretending not to want to hold him."
Diane looked down.
"I promised."
"You promised not to ask."
"Right."
Grace adjusted Noah against her shoulder.
Diane watched.
The silence grew uncomfortable.
Finally Diane said, "Your plant died."
Grace looked at the windowsill.
The basil plant had, in fact, become brown sticks.
"I know."
"I can replace it."
"No."
"Okay."
Grace sighed.
"Sorry."
"It's fine."
"It's not."
Diane folded her hands.
After a moment she said, "I killed one once."
"A basil plant?"
"An orchid."
"Everybody kills orchids."
"I kept watering it."
"That's how you killed it?"
"Apparently."
Grace looked at her.
Diane gave the smallest shrug.
It was the first normal conversation they had had since the hospital.
Liam cried again.
Grace went to lift him from the bassinet, but pain caught low in her abdomen. She winced.
Diane half rose.
Then stopped herself.
Grace saw the movement.
"Wash your hands."
Diane froze.
"What?"
"Wash your hands."
Diane stood so quickly she bumped her knee against the coffee table.
Grace almost smiled.
She didn't.
Diane washed her hands at the kitchen sink for so long that Grace said, "You're not scrubbing into surgery."
"Sorry."
"Stop apologizing for soap."
Diane came back.
Grace held Liam against her chest.
The baby was fussing.
Diane stood two feet away.
Grace looked at her.
"I am not forgiving you."
Diane's eyes filled.
"I know."
"This isn't that."
"I know."
"If you ever see something wrong with either of them, you tell me. Even if you caused it."
Diane nodded.
"Especially if you caused it."
"Yes."
"Even if I hate you for it."
"Yes."
Grace swallowed.
Then she held Liam out.
Diane did not move immediately.
For once, caution was the correct response.
"Are you sure?"
Grace almost changed her mind.
She hated that question.
May you like
She hated that there was no ceremonial moment in real life where trust returned with music beneath it.
There was only a tired woman standing in a living room with a dead basil plant behind her, offering a baby to another tired woman who had failed her.
