And sure, there had been some snickers from kids in his class. But they hadn’t really bothered him as much as that look on his mother’s face, the way he knew even then that what she really meant was that she was trying to protect him from his dad.
Lauren took the clothespins from him, clipping one to her cardigan before clipping the other to the collar of his shirt. She leaned in, her mouth brushing his ear as she said, “Watch me clean up in this game.”
He snorted a laugh, the unexpectedness of it burning his nose. “So competitive,” he murmured, pulling her close to kiss her hair.
When he looked up, his mother was still standing, watching them with an expression of such raw pain that he had to glance around the room, blinking away the sudden sting at the corners of his eyes. There was a pile of wrapped presents in the corner by an empty wing chair, and he gestured vaguely over to it.
“You’ve got a lot left,” he said. “Go ahead and get back to it. We’ll stand over here.”
“I can get you chairs . . .” Becca started to say, but Lauren seemed to understand that he needed to be on his feet, needed to feel like he could bolt at any minute even if he had no intention of doing so. She demurred, saying they were fine as they were, and Becca took her seat again.
His sister proceeded to open a series of presents that made no sense to him—a breast pump that looked like a torture device, a long circular piece of fabric that was supposed to somehow wrap the baby against her body, a thing that heated up wipes. He was only half paying attention, trying to remember to smile or make a similar sound to the one other people were making. Most of his focus was on his parents. Even though he hadn’t looked directly at them since entering the room, he knew that his mother hadn’t stopped looking at him, whereas his father hadn’t glanced over once.
Lauren leaned over to address the woman who had opened the door, seated closest to them. “What’s that thing do?” she whispered about the last present.
“Oh!” the woman said, brightening. “It’s pretty nifty. I had one for my kids. Sometimes the cold can be a real shock to their skin, so when you change your baby’s diaper—”
Lauren held out her hand, and the woman flushed when she realized her mistake. She unclipped her clothespin and gave it to Lauren, a sour twist to her lips.
Asa glanced down at where Lauren was clipping the clothespin next to her other one, and when she looked up, she did the most surprising thing. She winked at him.
He couldn’t stop the grin that split across his face. God, he wanted so bad to just haul her out of there, go back to bed, forget this stupid impulse that had him surrounded by strangers and baby paraphernalia. But if he had to see this through, at least he had the distraction of watching her work the room.
She was scarily good at the game. One by one she targeted people, making polite small talk until eventually they slipped up and said the forbidden b-word. It wasn’t long before she had a conspicuous five clothespins, and people started eyeing her like she was a hustler walking into a pool hall. Who knew, maybe that was what she was.
After the presents had all been opened, the room cleared out a bit, some people leaving early for other engagements. The significance of the date and time only hit Asa then, and he grabbed Becca as she was heading into the kitchen with a stack of paper plates.
“It’s Sunday,” he said. “And the shower started at ten.”
He didn’t have to spell out what he meant. Growing up, Sundays had always been untouchable. Not just because they were the Sabbath, but also because it was a day that his dad’s schedule was completely spoken for—last-minute preparations for the sermon, the sermon itself, and then a disciplined block of time afterward for reflection and study. When Asa was a kid, he hadn’t been allowed to join a Little League team because it had a few Sunday games throughout the season.
Becca gave him a slightly sad smile, and for the first time he noticed that despite the makeup and her bouncy blond hair, her brightly flowered maternity dress, she looked . . . tired. He could only imagine how hard it would be to get any sleep right now, and if the rumors were right she was staring down the barrel of at least a few more years of not getting much sleep.
“Follow me,” she said. “I want to show you the nursery.”
He made quick eye contact with Lauren, who seemed to understand his wordless message as he followed his sister. I’ll be right back. But hopefully she also understood the plea under that, somewhere even beyond wordless—If I’m not, come rescue me.