"Thank you," she said. "Ivy, thank you."
I told her to stop because I was going to ruin my mascara.
They came to every appointment.
They'd bought toys when they found out it was a girl. And two months before the birth, they had me over for dinner and walked me down the hall to show me the nursery.
It had pale green walls and a white crib with a mobile of tiny felt stars.
Melissa opened the top drawer of the changing table. It was full of folded dresses, so small they looked like doll clothes.
"I know it's silly," she said, laughing and crying at the same time. "I just couldn't stop."
It had pale green walls.
Ryan leaned in the doorway and smiled, but he didn't come into the room. I remember thinking that was odd, and then I forgot about it.
***
If I'm being honest, there were small things. Little snags in the fabric.
Melissa was warm, but she'd text me at 11 at night to ask if I'd felt the baby move that day. Ryan started checking his phone during ultrasounds, tilting the screen away from his wife.
I remember thinking that was odd.
Once, I asked him if everything was okay at work. He said, "Yeah, just busy," and changed the subject so fast I felt it.
I told myself that he was nervous. New dads get nervous.
At the last ultrasound before the birth, the technician was moving the wand slowly along the baby's spine, humming under her breath. Then she stopped.
She held the wand still on the baby's lower back for one beat too long.
I told myself that he was nervous.
Then she smiled, moved on, and said everything looked good.
I watched Melissa's face. She hadn't noticed a thing.
But when I looked at Ryan, he was staring at the screen as if he'd seen something none of us were supposed to see.
He didn't say a word the whole ride home.
She hadn't noticed a thing.
***
"One more push, Ivy. You've got this."
I gripped Nurse Bianca's hand so tight I thought I might snap her fingers. The contraction crested, and I pushed through it with everything I had left.
And then, all at once, the room filled with that impossible sound. A baby crying. My niece crying.
"She's perfect," I whispered, out of breath. "Ryan, go hold your daughter."
