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“I won’t be heartbroken. That’s what I hope will happen.”
“Mm-hmm,” she says with a nod. “Sure it is.”
“What’s the worst that can happen? I get used to having children around, and then the noise and the confusion and the whining will go away.”
“And so will the hugs and the midnight snuggles and the love that only a child can give you. I never knew love until I met the five of you. I’d known the love of a good man, and I’d known the love of a family, but I’d never known a love that I would kill for. I’d never known any kind of true, wholesome, soul-stealing love until the first time you looked at me like I was your mother, rather than just someone who fed and clothed you. My life changed when you started looking at me with love and hope shining in your eyes. It grew and it changed. And I grew and changed too. I went from being a woman with five girls to a mom of five girls. And that was when my life began.”
“I’m not waiting for my life to begin, though, Marta. I’m very happy.”
“Where is Mick going to sleep?” Marta asks suddenly.
The thought hadn’t even occurred to me. “In one of the spare bedrooms, I assume.”
She gives me a sly grin. “Yeah, sure he is.”
“Marta,” I whine, like I used to do when I was a teenager. “Seriously.”
Marta laughs. “Don’t Marta me. A girl has to be prepared.” She stands up and fiddles with the blanket on my bed, smoothing it. “So, how do you feel about him?”
“About who?”
“About Mick. Who else?”
“He’s nice.”
“He was with you that night.”
He was with me the night I lost my baby. He fought almost as hard as I did when I held my legs together tightly, trying to keep it within me. “Yes.”
“Let him be with you now.”
I jerk my thumb toward the door. “He’s right in the living room.”
“No, mija. I mean let him be with you. Let him in.”
“Marta, would you cut it out?”
“No, mija, I will not. I’m your mother. Your happiness is my number one concern.”
“Well, happiness isn’t my number one concern right now.”
“It should be.” She comes over and presses her lips to my forehead. I scrunch up my face and pretend to hate it. “I have to go. I’m taking your sisters with me. We’re going to lunch. I’m not going to let your sisters come back for a few days.”
My heart settles a little. I love my family, but sometimes their help can also be labeled as interference. “Thank you.”
Marta opens the bedroom door and steps into the living room. “Girls, it’s time to go!” she calls, clapping her hands.
Within moments, the house is almost empty, except for four children, Mick, and me. Mick sits at the kitchen table helping fill plates with chicken nuggets and macaroni, as he feeds Roxy in her high chair, and holds the baby in the crook of his arm while the baby drinks a bottle. I stop and stare at them.
“Have you eaten yet?” I ask.
“Not yet. My hands are kind of full.” He grins at me.
“Here,” I say, holding out my arms. “Give me that one. I’ll give him his bottle.”
“Are you sure?”
I take him from Mick, and he’s soft as loose jelly in my arms, almost asleep. He nuzzles his bottle, his mouth open, but not really drinking, so I go to the nursery, open the door, and walk inside. I don’t even hesitate as I lay him down to nap in the crib that has never been used. Then I reach up and start the mobile over the crib. The tune that’s so familiar to me and still so far away begins to play.
