Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“No. And no, you’re not.” Old, at least. I give a little smile. “I guess I haven’t been here long enough to make friends.”
“I’ve made friends,” Clo pipes up, looking up from her coloring book. “I have lots of friends at school.”
“Aren’t you a lucky girl.” Gosh, she’s as cute as a button.
“I’ll be your friend, Ryan. We can be family and friends at the same time, can’t we, Mommy?”
“Of course, honey.”
Clodagh returns to her pencils, and we both watch her for a minute or two.
“It’s tough when you move, I know.” Consternation knits Letty’s brows. “It can be hard to make friends and stuff. But once the baby comes, you’ll have baby groups and other mommy things to keep you occupied.”
“And work. I hope.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, that’s important too. A sense of self. Because it’s easy to lose yourself in motherhood. Oh,” she says, putting her huge teacup down. “I forgot. I brought you something. Just a little thing.” She kind of pauses. “You’re not superstitious, are you?”
“I’m way too practical.”
“Just thought I’d check. Matt said you hadn’t started to get things in for the baby yet.” Her delivery is halting and awkward.
“Yea-aah.” My answer is dragged over too many syllables. I’ve been avoiding all conversation of baby things. It all just seems so . . . “It’s kind of overwhelming. I just don’t know where to start. Do I need a crib or a cot, or are they the same things? Do I choose a stroller with a car seat—one of those three-in-one things? What kind of baby monitor do I choose, and do I really need a white noise machine? Also, what the hell is a butt spatula?”
“It’s like a whole new world,” she says with a laugh. “I’m no expert, but I could help you, if you like? We could go shopping, head into town. It might help you to get your mind around things even if you order what you want and need online later.”
“Really?” I feel my shoulders stiffen, as though I’m asking her for a limb. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Who doesn’t like to shop?”
“I do love a little retail therapy.”
“We’ll make a day of it. Have lunch,” she says, rounding the couch as she heads for her shopping bags.
“That would be so good. I also think I might need new pants soon,” I murmur, stroking my stomach now.
“Oh, you’ll need a lot more than pants before you’re through,” she singsongs in a tone of one who knows all the secrets and isn’t telling. That’s fair, I guess. Can’t scare people to death the first opportunity you get them alone.
“This is for you,” she says, coming back and setting a buttermilk-colored box next to me. Tied in a white satin ribbon, the box is so pretty.
“That’s so kind of you,” I murmur, running my hand along the edge. I don’t remember the last time someone bought me something. Well, there was coffee and zeppole. And before that, a night in the Pierre. Room service and champagne.
“Are you gonna open it?” Clo asks, looking across at me.
“Would you like to help?”
Her mother laughs. Boy, would she ever.
“Yes!” The little girl abandons her pencils and scrambles from the couch. “I’ll pull the end of the ribbon.” And she does.
My heart. Letty’s gift is so, so thoughtful. A selection of upscale lotions and potions for expectant mothers, and a bunch of the tiniest socks rolled to look like pastel-colored rosebuds.
“This is for when the baby gets a little older,” Clo says, handing me a fabric rattle. “It’s soft, see? So it won’t hurt its head,” she adds, giving a short demonstration.
“It’s so cute.”
“I picked it. It’s a zebra,” she says. “Because babies like black and white.”
“Do they?”
“The lady in the shop said.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, smoothing her blond hair from her cheek. “It’s perfect, and I’m sure the baby will love it.”
“And this one here is called boob tube.” She hands me one of the fancy lotions. “It’s for your boobies.”
“Thanks?” I give a stuttering laugh.
“I can say that because it’s not a bad word, right?” She glances her mother’s way but doesn’t really wait for confirmation. “Bangers isn’t bad either.”
“Clo!” Her mother laughs, exasperated.
“Or ta-tas, or even Brad Pitts. There’s another name I heard Uncle Seb say, but I can’t remember it.”
“Thank God,” Letty mutters.
“I think it was thumb bags, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why would boobies look like a bag of thumbs?” Shrugging the thought off, Clodagh skips happily back to her pencils and book.
“I’m gonna have such a conversation with that man,” Letty grumbles, kind of red cheeked.
Embarrassment, not anger, I think, as I pull the last item from the box. A beautiful hardback book, embossed in gold with the words “Baby’s First Year.”
“I hope you don’t mind I got in first with that,” she says softly.