“Yes,” I said. “We would love that.”

“Good. I would too.” He bent forward, filling my airspace with his scent, and planted a brusque kiss on my cheek. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

I nodded. “Yes. I guess you will.”

*   *   *

Mom and Dad stayed the first night at my apartment.

Like so many of the mothers I’d cared for over the years, I didn’t sleep a wink. Every time my lids became heavy, fear clamped around my heart. If I didn’t watch her constantly, would she remember to breathe? What if she spit up and then choked on it? What if? What if? What if?

At some point, I couldn’t fight it anymore. Just one second, I’d rest my eyes. Just … one … second …

At 3 A.M., I jerked upright, frantically taking in my surroundings. Where was I? I was home. With my baby. I snapped my head up and looked over the rim of her bassinet. It was empty.

I shot through the house so fast that I got dizzy. Mom was asleep in my bed. No Mietta. I dashed up the hall into the sitting room and stabbed at the light switch. As the room illuminated, Dad thrust out a hand, shielding the light from his eyes. He sat in the recliner. Mietta was cradled against his chest.

“Dad.” I held my chest. “You gave me a heart attack.” I switched off the light and turned on the small lamp.

“Sorry, darling. She was fussing a bit, and you were asleep—so I just brought her out here. She’s fine now.”

I looked her over. She did look positively blissed out. Dad’s hand covered her bottom, and he stroked her back with two fingers. He’d probably held me that same way once.

“Do you want me to take her?” I asked.

“No. You sleep. We’re having some Papa-and-me time.”

I smiled. “Papa, is it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Grampy? Gramps? Poppa? I don’t care.”

He kissed the top of her head. My smile widened. My daughter would have a Papa. It was a relationship I had no frame of reference for, but I had a feeling it would be an important one.

“Now, off with you,” he said sleepily. “Mietta and I have some bonding to do.”

I skulked back to my bed. In the next room, Mom was already snoring. My daughter was asleep in the living room. And, with my dad watching over us all, my eyelids fluttered closed.

*   *   *

The next week passed in a blur, and I didn’t go out of the house once. Mom and Dad went home. I had mixed feelings about them leaving, and it was hard watching them go, but once they left and it was just me and Mietta, I felt a strange sort of content. Patrick called, a couple of times, but he had a knack for calling when I was asleep or in the shower. Once, he left a voice message, saying he hoped we were doing okay and was looking forward to seeing us soon. Another time, he texted, asking to see a photo. I thought these were good signs, but I didn’t want to read too much into them. I was in self-preservation mode.

Mietta and I camped out on my bed: sleeping, breast-feeding, and snuggling. The hormones must have buoyed my mood, because although I still thought about Patrick, and I still desperately hoped that we might have a chance together, I knew my world wouldn’t fall apart if things didn’t work out. No, I held my world—my tiny, pink world—next to my heart, virtually at all times. I’d always thought the idea of being attached to your baby at all times, as Mom advocated, was a little much. Sleeping in the same room, carrying them strapped to your chest—I thought it was her hippie mumbo jumbo on crack. But during the week that my daughter had been in the world, I’d realized both of us were happier that way. Turned out Mom knew more than I gave her credit for. About a lot of things.

Dad, who was unemployed, came by every day—even more than Mom—to see his granddaughter. Gran and Lil had visited twice, once with roast chicken. I wanted to enjoy living in my bubble for a little longer, but I knew I would have to go outside soon. Anne had called and said everyone at the birthing center was champing at the bit to meet Mietta. And it hadn’t escaped me that it might be a chance to run into Patrick. Even if things could never be as they were, I missed him. I had the feeling that glimpsing him—in the real world—would give me a good indication of how the land lay.

On the eighth day, I pushed Mietta to the birthing center in her new stroller. It felt good to be outside. It was a brilliant, blue-skied day. The snow had turned to mush at our feet, but my heavy-duty stroller made easy work of it. The week indoors had done nothing for my complexion. I’d slapped some pink on my cheeks and brushed my hair and squeezed into jeans and a bright blue knitted poncho. It was amazing the lift dressing up gave me. Even Mietta seemed happier to see me. I hoped she wasn’t going to be the only one.

I decided to head to the birthing center through the hospital, even though it had a street entrance. I told myself it was to get out of the slush, but I wasn’t kidding anyone, even myself. I knew whom I was hoping to see. The halls were pretty quiet. I passed a few familiar faces, I even waved to a few folks, but no Patrick. Then, as I turned the final corner, I heard my name.

Sean beamed at me. “Wow! You look fantastic.” He hugged me. “And look at this. A beautiful baby girl.”

Sean and I smiled into the stroller, and though it was probably gas, Mietta smiled back.

“There you go, she’s got good taste. Already recognizes a handsome man when she sees one.”

“She just thinks you’re funny-looking, Sean.”

“By the way,” he said, his selective hearing as good as ever. “I heard about the birth. Your mom is an absolute hero.”

I couldn’t hide my smile. “She sure is.”

“What a coup for midwifery, eh? Dr. Hargreaves is really excited about it—she wants your mom to come and speak to the Obstetrics department.”

“Really? I’m sure she’d be happy to do that.” It was the understatement of the century. Grace telling doctors how to suck eggs? It would be the highlight of her life.

“I bet her business is booming. It was all over the newspapers: ‘Breech Baby Delivered Amid Conanicut Island Blizzard.’ What a headline.”

“I don’t know if her business is booming. We haven’t talked about it. All we’ve talked about is the baby since she was born.”

He smiled. I smiled.

A doctor across the foyer caught Sean’s eye, and he held up one finger. “Well look, I have to run. Glad I got to meet your darling daughter.” Offhandedly, he pecked my cheek. “You girls take care of each other.”

“We will. Bye, Sean.”

*   *   *

I hadn’t expected all the fanfare at the birthing center. Anne had made chocolate-chip muffins, and a few of the midwives who weren’t even on shift had come in. Only one woman was in labor, and it was the early stages, so we managed to have a little party in the foyer.

“Tell us about the birth,” Anne said between fielding calls. “We’re dying to hear!”

I retold the story of Mietta’s birth several times to gasps and covered mouths, and funnily, quite enjoyed being the center of attention. Particularly on this subject, which I found quite interesting. Since Mietta’s birth, I’d read everything I could find on vaginal footing births and was constantly on YouTube, watching it happen. If I could have a successful safe vaginal footing delivery, I was determined to find out if others could too.

Mietta was passed around from person to person. It was quite nice having my arms free for a while. Talking to adults was also a nice change of pace. I chatted happily but kept my eyes trained on the door.

Susan sat by my side the whole time, and every now and again, I reached out and gave her hand a squeeze.

The party crumbled when two clients arrived in progressed labor.

“We must do this again soon,” Anne said when the phone rang for the fifteenth time. She scrambled back to her desk. I took my cue, bundling Mietta back into her winter suit. While I waited for her to hang up so I could say good-bye, I felt—actually felt—Patrick arrive.