THE FIRST PROUDEST DAY OF SOPHIA’S LIFE had been when Maisey was born. The second proudest day was when she left a young, irresponsible Alan and jumped headfirst into creating a life for herself and her daughter. But jockeying for position was the day that all of the hard work paid off, and Maisey graduated high school, with honors.
“I’m so proud of you, sweetie!” Sophia said when they found each other in the milling crowds on the high school football field after the ceremony. Maisey looked like the adult she would no doubt become in her scarlet cap and gown—poised, confident. A force to be reckoned with. Sophia, already emotional, was barely able to relinquish her daughter to her father for their hugs.
“Great work, kid,” Alan said, Christy and their cute, chubby toddlers beside him. “I can take almost no credit for it. It was all your mom.”
Sophia gave Alan a surprised look. “Hey, I call it like I see it,” he said. Then his wife Christy shot him a look. “Or Christy rightly pointed out that all the work she does with our kids you did alone.”
“Wow,” Sophia said, giving Christy a soft smile.
“No kidding, wow,” Maisey added.
“Now, I can’t give you a car for your graduation, because I already gave you my car,” Alan said. “So, how about I take you and some of your friends to dinner?”
“Oh, thanks Dad,” Maisey replied. “But Foz and I already have plans for tonight.”
Alan’s face went still. “Who’s Foz?”
Maisey and Sophia pointed to where Foz was with his mom, stepdad, and grandfather, about twenty feet away through the crowd. He’d been allowed to walk with their graduating class—Ms. Kneller had made sure of it. He’d been seated in the row right behind Maisey, and Sophia had been amused watching them whisper things to each other throughout the long graduation ceremony.
“Uh-huh,” Alan deadpanned. “And what are these ‘plans’?”
“Alan, relax,” Sophia said. “He’s a good kid, and I trust our daughter.”
Alan made a noise that sounded like a car tire leaking air—which was better than it exploding from pressure, she supposed. “Okay, we are definitely having dinner with this Foz next week.”
“Deal,” Maisey said.
Then, one of the toddlers tugging at Christy’s hand made his escape, causing Christy to duck through the crowds after him, lifting the other child up and balancing him on her hip as she ran.
“Oh crap,” Alan said. “Sorry, he’s a runner. So proud of you, sweetie.” Alan pecked Maisey on the cheek before darting off after his wife and kids.
“Are you ready for that?” Maisey asked, as she watched Christy dive around graduates and their families trying to catch her runaway.
“Not yet,” Sophia admitted. “Luckily he won’t be mobile for a little bit. But, I know better what to expect this time. You were a great first kid. I learned a lot with you.”
“Not a kid anymore though,” Maisey said, smiling.
“No you are not. So . . . what are you going to do, my adult child?” Sophia said, taking her daughter’s arm. They strolled across the turf, enjoying the pleasant after-ceremony exhilaration.
“I have work tomorrow morning,” Maisey said. “And then . . . I have to send in my registration paperwork for UCLA.”
“UCLA?” Sophia pulled to a stop. “Not Berkeley?”
“UCLA.” Maisey had gotten the acceptance right before prom. While Sophia was dealing with the fallout from her zombie-makeup work at Fargone, Maisey had been making the biggest decision of her life thus far.
“Why? I thought you wanted to be in the Bay Area. And Berkeley has such an amazing literature program—”
“I made the decision on prom night,” Maisey said. “Yeah, the financial package isn’t as good as Berkeley, but if I live at home for the first couple semesters, I think I might be able to get through college debt free. I figure, with the baby, money is going to be tight, and—”
“No, don’t you dare,” Sophia interrupted. “I don’t want you worrying about me—that’s not your job. You are not going to sacrifice your future because of decisions I made. This baby and I will be fine. Trust me, I’m going to sue Sebastian for so much child support he’s going to rue the day his band ever became successful.”
“Well, I definitely approve of that.” Maisey smirked. “But that’s not why. When Foz and I were in the waiting room, and Ms. Kneller’s baby was in surgery, I realized that . . . I don’t want to miss him.”
“Who?” Sophia asked, eyes wide. “Foz?”
“No . . . my brother,” Maisey replied. “I don’t want to miss a single second of him.”
Tears welled in Sophia’s eyes, as her hand fell to her growing baby bump.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
“UCLA’s got a pretty kick-ass literature program, too, you know.”
“As long as it’s not about the money. I told you not to worry about that . . . because I got a new job.”
“You did?” Maisey perked up. “Mom that’s great! Where?”
Sophia’s new job was on a sitcom. A perfect situation for her, because as they only filmed one day a week, her work hours were much more reasonable. Ironically, she was filling in for the last ten weeks of shooting for someone who was on maternity leave. The other makeup artist had stated her intention of not coming back, so, after Sophia’s own maternity leave, the job could become permanent.
She had been thrilled to get the work . . . not to mention shocked that anyone wanted to hire her. Usually when you sabotage the lead of your show—no matter how much they deserved it—it’s considered bad form.
But it turned out that Vanessa’s form was worse.
The reporters on set that day breathlessly rushed to tell the story of her histrionics—and they had audio, too. With a judicious apology, that would have likely been the end of the scandal, but Vanessa didn’t manage an apology—not a sincere one, anyway. The public saw right through her, helped by a new leak of rumors about how she hadn’t been such a peach to work with on that indie movie they did last summer. This was accompanied by a Twitter rant where she tried to defend herself, and ended up digging the hole deeper. Vanessa had always been tabloid fodder, but lately it had gotten rabid, expecting her to explode at any minute. They always had new photographs of her ducking her head as she came out of a restaurant, or preening in a club . . . and there was Sebastian, somewhere in the background, looking strangely glum under such negative scrutiny.
They deserved each other, Sophia thought.
“I’m sorry about Sebastian,” Maisey said after Sophia’s recounting.
“Don’t be,” Sophia replied. “I am 100 percent better off without him. And there were plenty of problems before Vanessa. It’s like he thought a blood pressure machine and a tattoo were what I needed from him.”
“Ugh, ‘Sebastian,’” her daughter commiserated. “It’s like his parents knew he was going to be an asshole, and gave him the most pretentious rock-’n’-roll name to match.”
“Oh, Sebastian’s not his real name. He chose that—and to be that—for himself,” Sophia replied.
“It’s not?”
Sophia shook her head. “His real name is Steve.”
And then, Maisey laughed. And they didn’t stop laughing, until Foz came over, his nervousness trumped by his vague befuddlement.
“What’s the joke?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Maisey said, wiping away tears. “I wasn’t able to hear when they gave you your diploma . . . is your name really Foz?”
“Uh . . . it’s short for Alphonse,” he replied, eyeing the giggling pair like they had lost their wits.
“Close enough,” Maisey allowed, her giggles subsiding.
“Can I borrow Maisey for a second?” Foz asked Sophia. “I wanted to introduce you to my grandfather.”
Sophia shooed the pair away. As they came up to Foz’s mother and grandfather, it did not go unnoticed as Maisey slipped her hand inside his.
Sophia took a deep breath, turning her face up, letting the California sun warm her. Her hands came to her belly, felt her son kick. He was just as eager to start his journey here. And Sophia was ready to guide him.
What a wonderful, wonderful day.
NATHALIE WAS VERY sorry to miss graduation this year—she had a number of seniors that she was fond of, none more so than Maisey Alvarez. And while she might have yearned to attend the festivities, even if she was on maternity leave, Nathalie had a rather good reason for skipping the chance to wish everyone good luck and listen to what was no doubt a run-of-the-mill valedictorian speech (if you’ve heard one, you’ve heard them all). Because that day, ten days after a prom night to remember, Nathalie and David finally brought Margot Kathleen Chen home.
“There she is!” Kathy cried, throwing the door open for them. “Welcome home, Margot!”
They had named the baby after Nathalie’s mother. When she thought of it, nothing felt more right. But the middle name had been up for debate—until ten days ago, when the right name became clear as day.
“Now, I’ve got everything ready,” Kathy said, ushering Nathalie in, David following behind with all the bags—diaper bag, Nathalie’s clothes bag, the breast pump and breast milk Nathalie had been pumping while Margot had been in NICU, and all the supplies the hospital gave them. “There’s lunch and dinner in the fridge—five meals in the freezer, all you have to do is move them to the fridge a day before to defrost. I would put them in the oven for five or ten minutes longer than usual, I think your oven is much more finicky than mine . . .”
Kathy talked a mile a minute. Nathalie felt that old irritation well up, but she was too pleasantly tired to care. She would let Kathy do what she liked. The baby was where Nathalie’s attention was now.
Margot was perfect. Even the scar where her chest tube had been was perfect.
The doctors and nurses in the NICU had been amazing. They’d seen to Margot’s every need. She was, at six pounds, one of the larger babies in the ward, and one of the loudest. One of the nurses even said that having a strong baby like Margot in there was a good example for all the other babies, making them cry loud, too. Nathalie didn’t know if it was true, but it was a nice thing to hear. They’d made Nathalie feel so comfortable, helped her learn her baby, she almost didn’t want to leave.
Almost.
Having her home felt right. In their little house, in her feminine blue room, with the finally assembled IKEA furniture.
“May I . . . ?” Kathy asked, her eyes on the baby.
Nathalie tentatively handed Margot over.
“Wait! Did you wash your hands? All visitors are supposed to wash their hands, that’s what the nurse said—”
“Yes, David,” Kathy singsonged, with a roll of her eyes to Nathalie. “Why don’t you go unpack your bags?”
“Right. Right—don’t want dirty hospital germs on our stuff. Nat—you should get out of those clothes, shower. Twice.”
“Why don’t you go first?” Nathalie said, and David, glad to have a task, disappeared into their bedroom.
“He’s been like that since the surgery. Caution is one thing, but I swear, he’d burn my clothes if I’d let him.”
Kathy eyed the loose T-shirt and sweatpants she was wearing. “Well, perhaps . . . no, I won’t say anything. I think they look fine.”
Kathy returned her attention to cooing at the baby.
“Have you heard from Lyndi?” Nathalie asked.
“Yes—they’re staying the night with your father’s college roommate in Kansas City. Your father is having a ball, even though the RV is packed to the gills.”
“Already?”
“They want to get to Boston before the end of the week,” Kathy replied.
While Nathalie giving birth four weeks early had been quite the surprise in their family, it was nevertheless topped by Lyndi’s news.
It was just like her little sister to one-up her.
“Hey,” Lyndi had said, as she came into the NICU to see Nathalie a few days earlier. “How’s Mom and Margot?”
“Good—recovering more by the minute,” Nathalie replied. “Killing my boobs with her milk demands.”
“Yeah, she’s definitely not a vegan.”
“Marcus will be so disappointed.”
Lyndi rolled her eyes. “For the hundredth time, he’s gluten-free, not vegan. He just likes vegan food.” Then, she leaned over, and let a gloved hand run over the top of the baby’s head. “I’m so proud of you, Nat.”
Nathalie blushed, and let her eyes fall to her daughter. “It’s super hard, and incredibly easy at the same time.”
“You are my inspiration. Seriously, I don’t know how I’m going to do this in seven weeks’ time.” Lyndi hesitated. “Especially so far from home.”
Her eyes shifted to her sister.
“I told Paula that I wanted the job in Boston.”
“You did?”
“I did. I’m officially a manager, overseeing the opening of the Favorite Flower’s East Coast operations.”
“Lyndi, that’s—”
“Insane?”
“Amazing. But . . . what about Marcus?”
“He’s coming, too. The website will let him go freelance, submit articles and listicles for publication . . . and he can write his book from anywhere, he doesn’t need to be in LA for that.” Lyndi gave her usual small shrug. “So we are moving in a week. That’s what Mom was doing at my place—helping me pack boxes. I’ll have six weeks to set up the office, and then six weeks off, and then dive right back in. As the boss.”
“Wow,” Nathalie replied, in awe. “It sounds like you have it all figured out.”
“Hardly,” Lyndi scoffed. “I have to get an apartment, and a doctor, and figure out how to transpose our business model onto a new city . . .”
“You can do it,” Nathalie interrupted. “I have complete faith in you.”
“Thanks . . .” Lyndi said, biting her lip. “I was kind of hoping you would help me make a plan.”
“Like you could stop me.” Nathalie had laughed—and then the baby, who had been snoozing in the crib so contentedly woke up, and began to bawl.
And Margot was bawling now, wriggling in Kathy’s arms, turning her head back and forth, searching.
“Oh, I think this one’s hungry,” Kathy chortled, as Margot began to mouth Kathy’s chest. “Sorry, baby, this bar’s been closed for a while.”
Nathalie came over and took her daughter back. “Again? I swear, you never stop eating.”
“I remember you were like that—it used to drive your mom crazy.”
Nathalie’s head shot up. “What?”
“You used to eat day and night. Your mom said she’d feed you in her—and your—sleep. You just chow down, and she’d wake up two hours later, still holding you, and you’d still be sucking away.”
“How do you know that?” she asked. Her entire body had gone still, oblivious to Margot’s wriggling.
“She told me,” Kathy replied simply. Then, after seeing the look on Nathalie’s face. “Honey, you know your mom and I were friends.”
Yes, they’d been friends, before Kathy had moved away for work. When she moved back, her mother was already gone.
“Of course I knew that. I . . . I didn’t know you were friends when she was pregnant with me.”
“Sweetie, I threw her baby shower!” Kathy cried. “Oh my, and once you came along? We would meet for coffee once a week, just so she had an excuse to get out of the house. And if you were awake, the only thing you wanted to do was eat. And only from the left side—your mom used to joke that she was a D cup on one side and an A on the other.”
Nathalie could only stand there, in complete disbelief. All this time, she’d been searching for someone to give her answers . . . to give her a clue about what to expect during her pregnancy. She’d been so lost, yearning for her mother. And she’d had the answers in front of her the entire time.
“What else did she say?” Nathalie asked. “About . . . about me, as a baby?”
“That you were the most wonderful girl in the world,” Kathy said, tweaking her nose.
“Right, but I’m looking for specifics. How many ounces did I drink in a sitting? Did I have reflux, baby acne, did she use the cry-it-out method?”
“Nathalie, I’ll tell you everything I can remember.” Kathy’s eyes flicked down to Margot, whose wriggling had gone from desperate to frantic. “But first why don’t you feed that child? We have all the time in the world, I’m staying all week until your dad gets back. Although, do you have anything besides the air mattress or the couch? My back is not what it used to be. I really wish you would have considered getting a slightly bigger house, I told you—”
As Kathy chattered away, Nathalie sighed, and her gaze fell to the baby in her arms. Her stepmother was right. They had all the time in the world. Because, while the road might not have been straight, they had made it here at last.
She was home, a baby at her breast. Finally a mother.
Exactly as she had planned.