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I’ve learned that just because we won’t be at the airport long doesn’t mean we should leave the baby bag in the car, so I shoulder that too. At least it’s blue with little airplanes, so it’s sort of manly-ish.
My palms are sweaty as we walk from the parking garage to the arrivals area. Lainey slips her hand in mine and gives it a squeeze. “They’re going to love you as soon as they see how hard you’re trying.”
“Fingers crossed.” I squeeze her hand back. “Should I get you a wheelchair? Do you feel well enough for this? Maybe you should’ve stayed in the car.”
“I’m fine. Just a little tired, and this won’t take long.”
As soon as we’re at arrivals, I make Lainey sit down. Then I find the closest airport café and grab her a bottle of water, a mint tea, and a buttered bagel to nibble on while we wait.
I take the seat beside her, adjusting Kody’s legs so he’s comfortable. He’s also managed to pass out again. Lainey eats half the bagel before her parents arrive. Her mother and father pull her into a group hug, murmuring how much they missed her and how happy they are to be here.
I can see, in just that one hug, how much they truly do care, even if sometimes that love has been stifling for her. And I get it, because Lainey comes across as delicate at times, when in reality her innocence and sense of adventure are exactly the things that make her stronger and more resilient than people give her credit for. And if that’s not convincing enough, then the fact that she came to Chicago to raise a baby on her own should do it.
Having Kody strapped to my body functions a lot like a shield.
“Oh! Isn’t this a picture? All this handsomeness is almost too much to handle!” Lainey’s mom pinches Kody’s cheek with one hand and pats mine with the other. “And you’re not bad looking either.”
Her father stands behind her mother, mouth set in a grim line—at least until his gaze shifts from me to Kody, and then his eyes light right up. Lainey unstraps Kody from my body and passes him to her dad. He’s not allowed to hold him very long before her mom swoops in and steals him away.
I shake her dad’s hand and introduce myself, not at all surprised by his wary expression and the very tight grip.
“How was the flight?” I take both suitcases off their hands, and we head back to the parking garage.
“Well, it was just lovely. My doctor gave me something that was supposed to help with the anxiety, and it worked like magic! I wasn’t nervous much at all, and I slept most of the flight because the seats were so comfy. And they served us the nicest breakfast. If I’d known flying would be like that, I would’ve gotten on a plane a long time ago!”
“We flew first class, Elaine. For most people it’s not that nice,” Lainey’s dad, Simon, says.
“Well, then, I guess first class is the only way to go, then, isn’t it?”
Lainey and her mom sit in the back seat. Her mom fusses over her, telling her how she looks pale, and asks if she’s taking care of herself. Meanwhile, I try to drag conversation out of Simon. I would liken it to a tooth extraction, without freezing, done with a set of rusty pliers.
I ask him about his farm, which gets little more than grunts in response. I can feel the confrontation brewing.
My nerves ratchet up a few notches once we arrive at my house. I wonder if this is how Lainey often feels—and if it is, I’m even more amazed by her, because it’s exhausting to be this amped up.
My house isn’t ostentatious, but it’s big. I’ve seen pictures of Lainey’s family home, and while it’s bigger than average—to accommodate all her brothers and sisters when they were growing up—it’s a traditional farmhouse.
“Oh wow! This is just . . . a lot of house. Is it just you here?” Elaine asks as I show them through to the living room.
“For now, yes. I have a brother who lives in LA, and he often comes to visit with his wife and son during the holidays. My mom and sister will come visit as well.”
“You could lose a person in here!” I’m not sure if Elaine is joking or not.
I turn to Lainey, who’s propped herself up against the wall. I press my lips to her forehead. She’s not warm like she was yesterday, but we’ve had a lot of excitement for someone who was tossing her cookies less than twenty-four hours ago. “You should lie down—you must be wiped.”
“Maybe just for a bit.” She gives me a grateful smile.
“Why don’t I show you the bedrooms, and everyone can get settled?”
