“Ah, thanks.”
There’s a hint of something behind her smile, looking a little too forced. Is that sarcasm? Or just guilt playing tricks on me?
Not that I care about bouncing back. But it’s hard not to compare myself toher. She doesn’t have dark circles under her eyes or stretch marks across her stomach. Today, in her cigarette pants and silk blouse, she looks effortlessly put together, while I have spit-up and dried milk on my sweater.
Fuck. It’s going to be a long week.
Her voice dips to a conspiratorial whisper, loud enough for those nearest to hear, and says, “Damn, your boobs are out of this world.”
Heat flashes up my neck, pooling in my cheeks. I don’t have to look up to know both men heard her. I can feel it. One of them is absolutely staring while the other is doing everything he can to look anywhere else.
“Well… nursing will do that.”
“Guess that’s one thing I can’t complain about,” Mason snickers, like he’s landed the joke of the century. He bumps his elbow against James. “Perks of fatherhood, right?”
James says nothing. I’m not even sure he’s breathing.
“Well,thishas been fun. Come on, let’s get some coffee.” Jules wraps her arm around mine. “You’ve earned yours spiked.”
“I’m going for a run.” James jumps at the escape. He’s already halfway up the stairs before anyone responds.
I let Jules pull me into the kitchen, away from the awkwardness. This cabin has always been a refuge, where laughter echoes and fires burn low into the night, while snow blankets the world in something soft and safe. The first place I truly belonged.
But now? Everything feels… off.
“You look tired.” Jules, not known for subtlety, gets right to the point.
“Yeah, I know. I’m sore, still leaking from everywhere, and haven’t slept in months.”
“Has anything gotten better with him?” She watches me, reading between every breath.
At first, Mason was in awe of our daughter. I remember the way he’d trace her fingers and listen to the tiny sounds she made in her sleep. But reality set in, and with each passing day, Mason pulled further away.
He wanted the version of parenthood that can be posted, filtered, admired.
Not the one that required patience, persistence, and selflessness.
“We’re here this week. Let us help you.” She fills my mug with coffee, then asks, “Want some Bailey’s?”
But Margaret enters with a crying Anna, gently bouncing her in her arms. “I think she might be hungry. Mason said to find you. Do you have any bottles so we can help with feedings?”
“I’ll pump when I can.” I wince, already feeling the telltale letdown as I take Anna.
“Come on, feed her on the sectional, and we can keep catching up.” Jules snatches my mug, already on the move.
Anna’s tiny fists flail against my chest. Even in her rage, she’s all softness and certainty. The one thing in my life that feels entirely, unquestionably right. We settle into the chair and she calms immediately. My sweater falls gracefully around us, hiding my breasts.
“It feels so good to have everyone here,” Margaret says, squeezing Jules’s arm. “I was worried it might not happen.”
“Mom, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Not even a pandemic.” Jules pulls her mom into a hug. “The house looks incredible.”
Margaret has always decorated beautifully, but this year she’s gone all out. Holly hangs over every doorway. The windows glow. A Christmas tree nearly touches the ceiling. Her signature simmer pot of cinnamon, cloves, and orange rinds fills every room. The scent is at once comforting, and I finally feel my shoulders relax. I sink into the chair, closing my eyes and resting while Anna nurses. Their chatter a soft backdrop of gossip and news.
Twenty minutes pass in this comfortable haze before I hear Gary's voice from the entryway. “Sydney, I found the crib we used for the twins and set it up in your room. Want me to put the pack-and-play in the sunroom?”
“That’d be perfect. Thank you.”
“Mom, have you seen—” Mason’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. “What are you doing? You can’t do that in the middle of the family room.”
