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‘Oh…’
‘I meant the baby.’
‘Oh.’ Should I be the one to see Milly and Matt’s baby first, even before they do? But I can’t exactly say no, can I? And I don’t want to. ‘Yes,’ I tell the nurse. ‘Thank you.’
I follow her down a brightly lit corridor to the nursery. ‘She’s a good weight for thirty-four weeks,’ she tells me, talking over her shoulder as she walks briskly along. ‘Five pounds three ounces.’
‘That’s great.’ I don’t know what a good weight is, but five pounds sounds tiny.
‘And healthy, too. Screaming her lungs off when she first came out. Here she is.’ She stands in front of the nursery and taps the window. ‘She’s the one on the left, with the striped hat.’
I lean forward so my nose is nearly touching the glass and drink in the sight of the tiny baby swaddled in white, her little pink and blue striped hat nearly covering her eyes, her mitted fists up by her face.
She is tiny, her skin a peachy yellow, which the nurse tells me is due to jaundice. ‘But she’ll be fine after a few sessions under the heat lamp.’ She pats my shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then.’
I stare and stare at those navy eyes, the plump cheeks, the tiny rosebud lips that make perfect cupid’s bow. I don’t mean to, but I look for recognisable features, something that will tell me she comes from my genes, but there’s nothing I can see yet.
And then she smiles, or perhaps grimaces, and I let out a gasp because she has dimples, one in each cheek. Just like me. Neither Matt or Milly have dimples; Jack doesn’t either. They come from me. Just me.
‘Anna!’
I turn, startled, feeling a bit guilty as I see Matt hurrying down the hall.
‘Thank God I found you. They’re telling me I can’t see Milly, she’s still in recovery…’
‘She’s okay, Matt, and so is your daughter.’
Matt turns to the nursery, scanning the plastic bassinets and their tiny occupants eagerly. ‘Which one is she?’
And it strikes me as so odd, so unbearable, that I know who his daughter is and he doesn’t. And Milly hasn’t even seen her yet. Everything is the wrong way round, and yet something about it feels right, which is also jarring.
‘She’s on the left,’ I say softly. ‘With the striped hat.’
‘Oh…’ His breath comes out in a rush as he stares at his daughter. His daughter. I need to remember that, now more than ever, when my own emotions are so raw and exposed, when memories and longings keep resurfacing and grabbing me by the throat.
I watch as Matt places his palm flat on the glass, transfixed by the sight of his child. ‘Can I see her?’ he asks me, as if I am the authority. ‘Can I hold her?’
‘I don’t know.’ The nurse didn’t invite me to, and I don’t know what I would have done if she had.
‘I should wait for Milly,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s just so amazing… she’s right there.’ He lets out a laugh of pure joy.
‘Did the doctors tell you when Milly might wake up?’
‘They said soon, and that they’d get me… but I suppose I should go back.’ Reluctantly he turns away from the nursery window. ‘She’s going to be so excited.’ He grabs my arm, his face lit up like a firework. ‘Isn’t this amazing, Anna? That’s my daughter!’
I laugh, because I can’t help it, because his joy is so infectious. ‘It is amazing, Matt.’
His expression suddenly turns serious, his eyes bright with emotion. ‘This couldn’t have been possible without you, Anna…’
I can’t bear to hear his heartfelt thanks just now. So I merely smile and nod, gently removing my arm from his enthusiastic grip. ‘You should check on Milly, Matt.’
Sure enough, a nurse intercepts us on the way back to the visitors’ room to tell Matt that Milly is waking up and has been moved to a private room. He gives me an apologetic look and I wave him away.
‘Go. Go.’
‘I’m sure she’ll want to see you soon…’
‘You both need some time together. I’ll be fine. I could use something to eat, anyway.’
