“Thanks,” I say again.
“It’s not a big deal,” Angie says. She straps the baby back into her carrier. “She said something to me.”
“Sylvie?”
“Yeah.” She looks up at me. “She said to tell you that she’s glad you’re feeling better and congratulations.”
I feel my mouth open, but no words come out.
Angie finishes strapping in her daughter and looks at me. “How does she know?” she asks me.
“Jack probably told her,” I say. “You remember Jack Murphy, Finny’s friend? He came to see me in the hospital.” I haven’t seen Jack since that visit, but he texts me every three days or so. He’s checking in on me, which would annoy me, but I know he’s doing it for Finny. Usually, he asks how I’m holding up and sometimes he sends a knock-knock joke. My answer to how I’m doing, like the quality of his jokes, varies widely.
“Yeah, I remember Jack,” Angie says. “Are you ready, by the way? I didn’t know you were close with him.”
“We’re not,” I say, standing up to leave with her. “He came to see me for Finny’s sake, I guess.”
“Huh,” Angie says. “And he told Sylvie, and Sylvie doesn’t hate you?”
“I don’t know. Did it sound like she hated me? Was she being sarcastic?”
Angie pauses. “I don’t think so. She sounded solemn. I don’t think she’s thrilled, but she genuinely sounded glad that you’re better.” She shoulders the diaper bag, and we head to the parking lot.
“I guess it’s good for both our sakes if she doesn’t hate me,” I offer, and Angie only nods, because like so many things in my life right now, there’s nothing to say.
At least I have this smoothie.
five
I found an article online that was titled “What You Really Need for Baby,” and they had already earned my trust by dropping “the” or “your.”
It said that you need
A place for baby to sleep safely
A place to change diapers and the supplies to do it
A way to carry baby
Clothes
A swing
Toys and books
And even though I knew that each item was full of its own subcategories, I decided to trust its deceptive simplicity and showed the list to my mother. This empowered Mom to show me her much, much longer list.
In the end, we compromised by agreeing to let Aunt Angelina choose the store we’re going to today. That’s why we are here, standing outside a resale shop.
My mother feels betrayed by her lifelong best friend.
“I thought you would at least pick one of the big cheesy department stores,” she says to Angelina, who is aghast.
“Why would we put more money in the pockets of those corporate shills?”
“This place looks fine, Mom. Let’s go in,” I say.
She sighs and moves her handbag to the other shoulder, so I turn and head to the door.
Inside, a blue-haired woman behind a glass counter shouts a bit too loudly, “If you need anything, just ask!” She’s either crocheting or knitting, but she’s too stooped over for me to see clearly. There’s something witch-like about her, the way she hunches over her textile crafting as if it were a cauldron.
There’s a row of changing tables on the left, and I head to my number two agenda item. Once there, I am unsure what I need in a changing table. Obviously, I don’t need anything fancy, but what is fancy? I’ll need more than the pinewood one with two shelves, but what about the one that is also a playpen and a bassinet? Should a baby be playing and sleeping where its poop gets cleaned?
My mother and Aunt Angelina are still talking near the entrance. Aunt Angelina points to a rack of clothing, and Mom remains stony-faced as she walks over and begins to inspect the wares.
“This is Ralph Lauren,” she exclaims loudly enough for the old lady behind the counter to look over at her questioningly.
Mom drapes whatever it is over her arm and begins to peruse happily. I’m glad the store has met her standards. I return to the changing table conundrum.
“Those are really useful,” Aunt Angelina says.
“Which one?” To my surprise, she indicates the one with the bassinet next to the changer.
“The first two months, they spend so much time sleeping and pooing, and you spend all your days napping on the couch or watching TV next to one of those.” She walks around it and looks at it like she’s kicking tires at a car dealership. “It has a pouch for wipes there,” she points out.