I’d get them in a minute . . .
I looked at Laurie dozing in my arms. I stared and stared at her, her perfect little round face, rosy cheeks, and tiny chin. When I glanced at the clock, I was shocked to see that an hour had gone by. I nestled her closer and closed my eyes.
I woke to a ringing phone.
Oh my God! I had fallen asleep next to Laurie on the couch! I could have rolled over and squished her. And I hadn’t actually checked to see if she was breathing in—how long?
What time was it?
I put my hand to her tummy; it rose up and down.
I grabbed the cordless and Jim’s voice filled the line. “Definitely not George Connolly! What a relief!”
“You obviously got my message.”
“Yes. Thank God! Listen, honey, a client called last minute, wants to do dinner and drinks, is that okay with you? This is a big account for me. I should go.”
I yawned. “No problem. I’ll just be hanging out here enjoying my new favorite pastime.”
“What’s that?”
“Staring at my beautiful daughter.”
The next morning I fed Laurie and got dressed, two activities that are mind-numbingly simple but took over an hour.
How could one little infant be so much work? It took almost forty minutes to feed her. Oh, well, I could take comfort in the fact that we were getting better. We were twenty minutes faster than last week.
Before heading to Michelle’s, I reviewed my to-do list.
To Do:
1. Get better at breastfeeding.
2. Lose weight.
3. ✓
4. Call work and let them know about Laurie and plan a return date—yuk!
5. George? Where is he? What’s happened to him? Check out his bags today, see what I can find.
6. Visit Michelle.
7. Return well-wishers’ phone calls (Paula, Andrew, etc.).
8. Make dinner.
I parked outside the Averys’ refurbished Victorian house on Noe Street. It was dark green with white trim and there were delicate potted yellow flowers on each step. I couldn’t wait to get a peek inside.
I hopped out of the car with a little too much gusto. My body immediately complained. I fished for the Motrin in my purse.
I pulled a screaming Laurie out of the car. Well, not entirely screaming. Newborns are funny that way. They try to scream, but only a pitiful little cry comes out.
Poor thing. Can’t even cry properly yet.
I hiked up the front walk toward the Avery home, rang the bell, and rocked Laurie back and forth, hoping she would quiet down before Michelle answered.
The door swung open, revealing Michelle clad in a silk dress and stockinged feet. Laurie wailed at the top of her little lungs.
Michelle ushered me into her living room. “Come in, come in.” She peered over the blanket at Laurie. “Oh! She’s too cute! What can I get you? I have a wonderful chardonnay.”
I settled onto the sofa. “I’d love to, but I can’t. I’m breastfeeding. I’ll have some water.”
Michelle was eagerly cooing at Laurie, ignoring me. “She’s beautiful, absolutely beautiful. She looks nothing like you.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
“Oh my God, I didn’t mean that. You’re beautiful, you know that, Katie. I just meant . . . well, she’s so fair, so blond, so delicate.”
“Don’t worry, I know what you meant,” I said, self-consciously running my hand through my dark curls. Had I even brushed my hair today?
Michelle extracted herself from Laurie and disappeared down the hall. I glanced at myself in the mirror above her fireplace. I relaxed. My locks were in place. Somehow, I’d managed to whip a comb through my hair. And Jim’s red flannel shirt, the only thing I could find that I fit into, actually added some color to my face. I may not have been dressed as stylishly as Michelle, but at least I was keeping up with general hygiene and good grooming.
On her mantel I noticed photos of Michelle and a man I assumed was Brad. There was a picture of them swimming with a dolphin, one of them on their wedding day, and another standing next to Michelle’s mother, who was in a wheelchair.
Michelle reappeared, carrying a tray with mineral water and a newly opened bottle of wine.
“I thought you moved to L.A. Trying to make a go of the acting thing after making off with my award,” I joked.
“Are you still sore about that?” Michelle laughed, then became serious. “I came back to San Francisco when I found out my mom was sick. She died of cancer last year.”
“I’m sorry.”
Michelle nodded. “How’s your mom?”
“Great. Crazy about Laurie.”
“I’ll bet.” Michelle took a sip of wine.
“What’s up with your sister?” I asked.
Michelle grimaced. Either the wine was bitter or I’d asked the wrong question.