Hooked (17 page)

“Okay,” I said. Ian stirred, sticking his hand up out of the blanket he was tightly swaddled in. I reached over to pick him up. “He should eat again.”

“He’s a furball,” Mom said, looking at him and forcing a
smile, folding her hands in her lap. “Where did he get all that fur?”

“He’s a baby, Mom,” I said, my shoulders stiffening. “Not a monkey.”

Will flipped his feet onto the floor, facing us from the other bed. “Did I ever tell you that my name is not short for William?” he asked, looking at both of us. I thought about where I’d seen his name in print: on a list of AP physics tutor volunteers, in the yearbook, on his gray high school sweatshirt, which was suddenly okay to wear now that he’d graduated. The name was always Will.

“It’s not?” I asked, pushing Ian’s face onto my nipple, which was already sore. He squirmed and butted at me, not latching on.

“My name is actually Willbraham,” he said.

“What the hell is that?” I asked. “It’s like Baberaham. Baberaham Lincoln. What were your parents thinking?”

“I’m named after a town they rode through on a bike trip,” he said, fiddling with the crank at the end of the bed. “They biked through Switzerland on their honeymoon. Can you imagine my mother on a bike?”

Mom crossed her legs and sucked her lips in, which made her lipstick smudge over her lip line.

“Yeah, so …” Will stood up and touched Ian’s head, looking over his shoulder as someone came in to change the wastebasket. “It was this little town where, they said, everything was very plain, very workhorse, but then the houses all had tulips growing around their doorways and it was really simple and beautiful and … crisp. That’s the word they used to describe it.”

“Like crispy tofu,” I said stupidly, looking at Mom. Both of her elbows rested stiffly on the arms of the chair.

“And they spent the night there,” Will said. “In some pensione or whatever.”

“Some
dieflockerhaus
,” I said, my neck starting to hurt from craning down at Ian.

“Yeah, some
dieflockerhaus
, and they woke up and sat at the café and they saw all these people riding by on their bikes and they all had kids, little babies riding in seats behind them or in sacks or whatever, and they thought it was very cute. And my mom said that’s when she decided she wanted to have children.”

“That’s kind of sweet,” I said.

“They were such hippies, in a way,” Will said. “What the hell is wrong with William?”

“Why didn’t they name you after your dad?” I asked.

“Mom didn’t want to,” he said, winking at me with his good eye.

As if on cue, Mr. and Mrs. Weston walked into the room in matching Dalai Lama–style jackets with silk cord fasteners. Mr. Weston was carrying a basket from Zabar’s. “I figured you could use food more than flowers,” he said, placing it on the windowsill. “So I believe congratulations are in order.”

Mom stood up. “Lynne, Philip,” she said tightly.

They all stood there until Will went over to hug his parents. Ian’s face was buried behind my nipple and I desperately wanted to cover up, but my hospital gown was stuck underneath me. All of a sudden the room felt too warm and too crowded.

Mrs. Weston searched out Ian’s face, Mr. Weston thankfully hanging back. “He’s beautiful,” she said matter-of-factly, her switch on–switch off smile in action. I hadn’t seen them since that day in Will’s dorm. “What’s his name?”

“We’re going with Ian,” Will said.

“Ian,” Mrs. Weston repeated. “Lovely. Can I hold him?”

“I think he’s finished.” I yanked my gown across my chest and handed him up to her. “He’s supposedly not getting much now, anyway.”

“She didn’t wash,” Mom said accusingly.

“Oh,” Mrs. Weston said. She looked at Mom and handed the baby back to me. “I guess I’ll go wash, then.”

“Thea, can I get you anything before I head out?” Mom asked, gathering her coat from the chair.

“I’m good,” I said. “You’re leaving?” She was inches away from me, but it felt like miles. I looked at her, trying to draw her in closer. “When are you coming back?”

“Are you sure?” she asked, not hearing me. “Just call me if you do.”

Mrs. Weston lifted Ian out of my arms and Mr. Weston was behind her in an instant. “Look at that,” he said, jingling the change in his khaki pockets. They looked like your average, over-the-moon grandparents.

“He’s got Will’s face, from the nose up,” Mrs. Weston murmured. She divided Ian’s face in half with her hand.

“Definitely his eyes,” I said. They carried on gazing as if no one else were there.

“Well, it’s a big day,” Mom said on her way out. “Thea, I’ll ring you later.”

I sat back, shrugging my stiff shoulders. Will moved next to his dad. Both were swaying lightly with Mrs. Weston as she rocked Ian.

“I’m just so happy he’s out and safe and healthy,” I said.

“You should have seen her,” Will said. “I had no idea it was going to be like that.”

Mr. Weston looked at me, then inspected his watch. I wondered just how greasy and limp my hair was, whether my
face was still puffy and if my nose still had red dots on it. Mrs. Weston moved to sit down with Ian, laying him on his back on top of her legs. “Will used to love to lie like this,” she said without looking up.

“Did the money land in your account, Will?” Mr. Weston asked, leaning against the windowsill.

Will nodded. “It did, thank you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Weston,” I said, feeling unbelievably tired all of a sudden. The adrenaline rush I’d had since I woke up was quickly evaporating, but I felt an odd relief I couldn’t pinpoint. I opened my eyes and looked at Mrs. Weston, who was still gazing at Ian’s sleeping face. She looked up and smiled at me and it was a completely different expression from the borderline-patronizing looks she shot me that day at Columbia, when she called me forth to face my future as a strong, independent woman. Now she pitied me.

After they left, I called Vanessa. She was with her parents in Maine, and then they were driving her to Vassar toward the end of August. “It’s a boy,” I said. “I was right. I’m glad I didn’t find out, but I had a feeling it was a boy the whole time.”

“Oh my God, I’m shocked. I was so vibing girl. Tell me everything. How bad was it?”

“It hurt like hell,” I said, pulling at a loose thread on Ian’s flannel blanket.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“What did you do when you first saw him?”

“I don’t think I could ever describe it,” I said.

“Listen to you,” she said. “How was Will?”

“He was amazing. I’m on a cloud. So crampy. They put me on Percocet.”

“La, la,” she said.

“I know. I’m flying. He’s so beautiful, Ness. Not pruny at all. He’s the most beautiful baby.”

“I know he is, Thee. I’m so proud of you. Will you
please
email me a pic? Or send me one from your phone.”

“You know my phone is messed up and can only send texts, no pics.”

“Have Will figure it out. Is it weird yet?”

I looked over and smiled at Will, who was sucking on a chocolate milk shake, watching CNN. “Not yet.”

“Maybe it won’t be.”

“Maybe.”

I hung up and dropped my head back on my pillow, watching Ian sleep. I wanted to ask the doctor about Ian’s head, which seemed squishy and too big for his body. I wanted to ask her about his neck. How he didn’t seem to have one. A few hours later my phone buzzed. It was Dad.

“I’d like to meet him. Are you exhausted?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, it’s getting late. When are you leaving?”

“Tomorrow,” I said.

“How about I pick you guys up and take you home?”

“Okay, if you want,” I said.

“I’ll bring the camcorder.”

I hung up and drifted off to sleep. Will had gone home for the night with instructions to bring the car seat back in the morning. I woke up after a while, feeling acutely sore and spongy, waiting for Ian to wake up, not knowing what to do with myself until he did. Whenever I looked over at him, I got a feeling of déjà vu, like he’d always been there next to me, my little prince, asleep in his plastic throne.

I was bending Ian’s ears when the pediatrician arrived the next morning. She woke him up and pulled at his legs, uncurling him.

“He looks great,” she said. “You’re nursing?”

“Yes,” I said.

“How’s it going?”

“I’m a little sore.”

“That will pass in a few days, just stick with it,” she said, passing him from the rolling cot to me. “I don’t need to tell you how good it is for him. Is he latching on?”

I nodded.

“Great,” she said, watching as he started his butting, squirming, sucking routine. “Looks like you’re both doing just fine.” She scribbled on her board. “Things you want to look out for—projectile vomiting. Spitting up, even in large quantities, is normal, but projectile vomiting, or vomit that looks greenish in color, is cause for concern. Are you circumcising?”

“No,” I said. I blurted it out without thinking about it, but after I did, I realized I’d blurted out the right answer.

She grinned, her thin, lipsticked lips reminding me of Glenda the good witch. “I have my own opinions about circumcision for nonreligious reasons,” she said. “I’m glad we’ll both be spared that little chat this morning.” She glanced at me and looked around the room, and the bluster left her voice. “Who’s picking you up?”

“My boyfriend. He’ll be here any minute,” I said. I would have liked to stay longer. It was safe and orderly there, the
nurses with their thermometers and paper cups of Percocet pills and Jell-O.

“Here’s my card,” she said, brushing my arm with her smooth cotton coat. “Call me anytime, day or night. No question too dumb, and I’ll be happy to do the follow-up with you in two weeks’ time.”

She and Will passed each other in the doorway without saying anything.

“When can you leave?” He stood over me, patting Ian’s sleeping, furry, black-haired head.

“Not sure,” I said. “I think she has to give the okay and then we sign out.” My phone buzzed.

“I’ll go see about signing out,” Will said, walking out purposefully.

“I just have to finish up something,” Dad said. “I can be there soon.”

“Okay, but I think we’re leaving,” I said.

“Call me if I’m not there when you need to go,” he said. “But I’ll be there.”

I hung up, annoyed that I’d have to manage him again. Will didn’t come back for a long time and I thought for sure Dad would get there first. I pictured Will hitching a ride to Montana on a Mr. Softee truck, getting a job on a dude ranch. When he finally showed up, he looked sweaty and I wondered if it was too hot outside for Ian. “There was a shitload of paperwork at the desk,” he said, setting his jacket on the swinging bed table. “I’ve been out there forever. This kid is like a minute old. Unbelievable.”

I passed Ian to Will and he tensed up a little, the crook of his arm almost swallowing Ian’s head. Will looked up at me and for a moment it was like someone had zapped an unbreakable
blue force field around the three of us. I collected stuff at the sink and threw them into my bag.

“You think he’s eating enough?” Will asked anxiously. “He’s sleeping so much.”

“The doc said every three hours,” I said. “I don’t think they eat much the first few days. They said my milk won’t come in for a while anyway. Whatever that means.”

“What
does
it mean?” he asked. “What does it mean, ‘come in’? Why don’t you have it yet?”

“I read in the book that I’ll know when it comes in because my boobs will get ‘engorged.’ ”

“Sounds scary,” he murmured, his face turned back to Ian.

“I know. Engorged. So sexual,” I said, untying my gown in the corner so Will wouldn’t see my deflated pooch of a stomach. “But the doc said they sleep eighteen hours a day in the beginning.”

“You’d think he’d be a little curious, after being cooped up in there for so long,” he said. “Can you imagine how boring it must have been? Just sitting there, endlessly in the dark?”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

We pushed out of the revolving doors toward the street, and everything outside—the low roof of the atrium, the blowing trees—felt menacing. I saw Dad at the end of the driveway and my heart sank: How were we all supposed to fit in that tiny car? How were we going to get the car seat in? I realized I’d forgotten to call him, and couldn’t believe he was actually there. He was pointing a video camera at us through the driver’s-side window.

“Glad I caught you.”

We walked to the car and Will tried to hoist the car seat up a little higher so Dad could get a look at Ian. It was a weird
scene: us standing frozen in front of the car while Dad filmed Ian asleep in the seat. It was like he couldn’t take the camera away from his face and just look at him.

“Hey there, little man,” Dad finally said, getting out of the car. He paused the camera and turned to study me. “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” I said. “Glad we’re going home. How are we going to do this?”

“Well …” Dad opened his door again and pushed the tan bucket seat as far forward as it would go. I crouched into the back, snagging a hole in the cellophane of the Westons’ Zabar’s bag, and waited for someone to hand me the car seat. Will was the first to try, angling the square plastic base away from the top of Dad’s headrest, but it was too wide for the car seat to get through.

“Easy!” Dad said, pushing the seat-back down, clearly worried about tearing. As I leaned forward, a jar of Bonne Maman jam somehow rolled out of the car and smashed on the curb. Ian’s head was dangling in a way I did not like at all.

“Watch his head!” I said.

“He’s okay, Thee,” Will said, huffing, kicking the jam glass out of their way. The car seat was now completely stuck between the ceiling and the seat.

“Let me have at it,” Dad said. He reached in and now there were men’s arms and hands groping and grabbing in front of me. I was surprised at how similarly tanned and hairy they were. Eventually Dad nudged Will aside and extracted the car seat back out into the blazing sun, Ian still sound asleep.

They wound up squeezing the car seat, with Ian still in it, through the space between the two front seats.