The Crying Began
For the first two hours, Noah slept.
I watched the clouds and tried not to picture Mark’s empty hospital bed.
Then Noah woke crying.
I rocked him.
Offered his pacifier.
Checked his diaper.
Whispered the song Mark used to sing badly and loudly whenever Noah refused to sleep.
Nothing worked.
Noah was hungry.
I pulled the nursing cover from my bag and arranged it carefully.
Evelyn noticed.
“Oh, wonderful.”
I looked at her.
“I paid for this seat to listen to someone else’s baby scream, and now I have to watch you feed him?”
My cheeks became hot.
“He needs to eat.”
“How completely shameless.”
Noah latched, and the crying softened.
For several seconds, relief moved through me.
Then Evelyn continued.
“People with babies like that should stay home.”
I stared at her.
“What kind of mother takes an infant on a six-hour flight and cannot even calm him without creating a public display?”
“He is calm because I am feeding him.”
She recoiled as if my response offended her more than the nursing.
“Then go into the bathroom.”
“A bathroom is not where babies eat.”
“Why should everyone else have to look at this?”
“You cannot see anything.”
“That is not the point.”
“This is a six-hour flight. He cannot go without food because you are uncomfortable.”
Evelyn reached toward the call button.
Before she pressed it, Louise appeared beside us with her tablet held against her chest.
“Mom, take my seat.”
“Louise, no.”
“I can sit here.”
She looked at Evelyn.
“Then this lady will be more comfortable.”
The satisfaction on Evelyn’s face made my stomach tighten.
I should have refused.
But Noah stirred again beneath the cover.
The passenger beside Louise had already agreed to switch.
I stood carefully and moved into the row ahead.
Louise slid into my seat beside Evelyn.
As I passed, my daughter whispered:
“She dropped something.”
“What?”
“I’ll show you later.”
