My mother sits down in the chair next to the bed, presses both hands over her face, and cries without making any sound, which is how my mother cries when she’s really crying—quiet, shoulders shaking.
Sydney stirs.
“Mm.” Her hand finds my arm. “What’d I miss?”
“My mother’s having a moment.”
“Why is your mother having a moment?” She rubs her eyes.
“I told her the middle name.”
Sydney’s eyes open all the way. She looks at my mom. My mom looks at her. My mom puts her hand on Sydney’s hand on my arm, and Sydney’s eyes fill up because Sydney has criedat approximately everything since Eden was born—her own mother on FaceTime, the wrong flavor of Jell-O, a commercial for car insurance—and she lets her head fall back against the pillow and laughs wetly at the ceiling.
“Margaret was going to be the surprise, Connie. Archer ruined the surprise.”
“I asked,” my mother says defensively.
“Sheasked, Syd.”
“And you folded immediately.”
“She’s my mother.”
“Unbelievable.”
Eden makes the chirp again, louder this time. Working up to a real one. Her mouth opens, and her eyes blink, and I recognize that scrunch that meansfood, please, immediately, do not make me ask twice.
I sit up carefully. Slide one hand under her head, the other under her bottom. I lift her like I used to lift the twins and rest her against my shoulder. Her head turns into my neck. She quiets for a second, deciding whether to forgive me.
“You’re so good at this.”
I look down. Sydney’s watching me from the pillow, her eyes still wet, a small smile pulling at one side of her mouth.
“I’ve had practice.”
“I know you have. I’m just saying.”
“What?”
“You’re really good at this, Arch.”
I don’t have anything to say to that because sayingI’ve been waiting my whole life to be good at this with youis the kind of line I can’t get through without losing it, and I’m trying to maintain in front of my mother. I bend down and kiss the top of Sydney’s head instead. Eden’s breathing goes warm and steady against my neck.
The door cracks open again.
“Daddy?”
It’s Lily.
She’s in the doorway in her good dress—the sparkly one Bree must have let her wear because Bree dropped them off a few minutes ago and stayed long enough to hug Sydney, meet Eden, and cry once in the hallway with my mother before leaving. Lily’s holding a card she made. Luke is behind her with a book because, of course, Luke brought a book.
“Come here, bug.”
She tiptoes in, climbs onto the bed next to Sydney, careful of the IV, and Luke follows, standing at the rail because he is a man who assesses before he commits.
“That’s Eden,” Lily whispers.
“That’s Eden.”
