Stone eventually leaves. Not the several times I ask him to, but sometime in the night, while I’m fast asleep.
No goodbyes. I wake up in the early morning to the sight of an empty couch.
I don’t want to be surprised, but I am.
I’m not leaving your side. The memory of his words floats through my mind as I gingerly get out of bed to pick up the baby. But I guess he’d only meant during the birth.
Good. I’m glad he’s gone. At least that’s what I tell myself as I put a lot more mental power than I currently have in reserve into trying to coax the baby to latch on to one of my breasts.
It’s not until she’s drank her small fill and nodded back off that I see the item now resting on my nightstand.
A phone. My phone!
Oh my God, yes! I snatch it up, to see a screen full of notifications. From work colleagues, cousins and aunts. They all seemed to know I had a baby girl. And a few of them even mention the pictures being “so cute.”
Apparently, Stone contacted my boss and Aunt Mari, who then let everybody else know I had given birth. I shake my head at the phone, not sure how to take that. Normally I’d feel grateful. But this isn’t a normal situation. And Stone for sure isn’t a neighborhood saint.
I think about the marriage documents on the breakfast table. Who does that? Who breaks into his brother’s ex-girlfriend’s apartment with a marriage license form to fill out, then makes sure everyone on her phone tree knows she’s given birth?
Before I can come anywhere close to answering those questions for myself, the pediatrician comes into the room to check the baby over.
“Looks good,” he says after taking several measurements. “Have you decided on a name?”
“Garnet,” I answer, a sad pang squeezing my heart.
I’d named my daughter after my favorite character from the animated series, Steven Universe. But in that moment, a memory hits me. Hugging my then client Amber after she told me she’d been accepted into Columbia Law.
I’d believed in her and encouraged her to apply, and I couldn’t have been prouder of her for getting into New York’s world-famous law school.
“If I ever have a little girl, I’m going to name her after you,” I’d told her in that moment. “Because I want her to be fierce and bold and brave. Just like you.”
But I’d found another gem to name my little girl after. And my friendship with Amber feels done now. For reasons I still can’t fully explain—to myself or Amber.
The pediatrician’s visit, small as it is, takes a lot out of me. I snooze some more, until my doctor wakes me up. She looks over my charts on a tablet, tells me both the baby and me look great. “Would you like to be discharged tomorrow morning or stay on for a couple more days to recover?”
I frown surprised, since my insurance paperwork clearly stated that, barring any complications, I’d only be allowed to stay for 48 hours in the hospital after giving birth. “I can stay longer? I didn’t think my insurance would be good with that.”
The nurse and the doctor exchange looks before the nurse says, “You can stay as long as you want, hon.”
Wow… But no, I decide. I want to go home the next morning. As homey as they’ve made this birthing suite look, I’m already dreaming about my own bed and maybe even a bath. In hot, not lukewarm water as all the books I read insisted. Ooh, maybe I’d even order some sushi. It’s been so long!
“I’d like to go home tomorrow morning. Thanks though.”
The staff actually looks disappointed. I guess they don’t get people in the birthing suite as often as they’d like, and they were hoping for a few extra nights.
The next morning, I eat some breakfast, then call Aunt Mari while I’m waiting for the discharge paperwork.
“Mi amor, why didn’t you call on the Facetime,” she demands as soon as she picks up. “I want to see the baby.”
It’s funny how little I use Facetime after growing up with visually impaired parents and then taking on a former best friend who had also no need of it. “You can see her in person when you come pick me up,” I answer with a laugh. “I just got discharged.”
“When I pick you up? But I’m already setting up at the casa,” she says. “That boyfriend of yours said he’d get you home. By the way, mija, why didn’t you tell me there was a new man in the picture. He’s so guapo. Quiet and a little scary. But guapo. Like my movie boyfriend, Vin Diesel, just without the pointy head.”
Usually I’m only slightly chagrinned by Aunt Mari’s beauty over everything value system—and her inappropriate obsession with Vin Diesel—but today, I can’t even.
“Okay, I’m not sure what Stone told you. But I definitely need a ride home. Do you mind coming to get me?”
“Yes, I mind. I still have cleaning to do before you get here. Why can’t you just let your boyfriend bring you? You see, this is why you young girls stay so single. You can’t let a man be a man.”
“I’m single by choice, Aunt Mari,” I remind her.
“I wouldn’t be single by anything if I had a man looked like that in my bed.”
“He’s not in my bed. And he’s not my boyfriend…”
“Hey, you ready to go?” a now familiar voice interrupts our argument.
I look up to see Stone at the suite’s door, wearing a white linen suit and black everything else.