The Green Lace Corset, стр. 75

51

How could anything be so beautiful? Anne rocked her three-day-old baby, ran a finger over Sylvie’s soft cheeks, finished nursing, and moved her onto her shoulder.

Anne’s apartment felt even smaller than usual; besides the art materials, it was crammed with a secondhand rocking chair, the bassinet, and a futon rolled out on the floor, where her mom had slept last night after flying in on a red-eye.

She came out of the bathroom wearing Anne’s kimono and drying her hair with a towel. “I brought some more gifts. Do you want them now?”

The door buzzer rang.

“Later. That’s probably Sergio. Please buzz him up.” Anne couldn’t wait for him to see the baby.

“How?” her mom asked.

“Push that button by the door.”

“Well, I’ll be.” She pressed it, grabbed some clothes from her giant suitcase on the floor beside the futon, and headed toward the bathroom. “I’d better make myself decent.”

“Where is she?” Sergio bounded through the door, put his bags down, and tossed his fedora on the top of the fridge.

“Hello to you too.” Despite all their spats and separations, seeing him always made her heart full. No matter what, she’d love him forever.

He redid his ponytail and kissed her cheeks. She was a god-awful mess. In the mirror that morning, her hair had been a frizzy jumble, her unibrow had grown back in, and mascara had smeared her eyes. She had on sweatpants and a humungous SUPER MOTHER T-shirt her mom had given her that morning. She was so tired and happy that she didn’t care. The two people—no, three people—she loved most in the world were here with her.

Sergio stared at the baby and watched as Anne patted Sylvie on the back.

Her mother exited the bathroom in a pink velour sweatsuit, her wet hair up in a scrunchie, and full makeup. Sergio hugged and kissed her.

“Congratulations to us!” she said. “Want a pop?”

He didn’t understand her mom’s joke. “Want to hold her?” Anne offered.

He removed his leather coat, put it on the back of a kitchen chair, sat down, and reached out his arms. When Anne placed the baby in them, his face lit up, but then Sylvie howled.

He held the baby toward Anne again.

“Try jiggling her up and down.”

“Like this.” Her mom crossed her arms and wiggled them.

He jiggled Sylvie, but she kept crying.

“Sing to her.” Anne loved it when he sang.

“Alexa, play ‘’O sole mio,’” he commanded.

He started singing along with Pavarotti, and Sylvie quieted down.

He will be a good father after all. Anne moved to the daybed, picked up a scrunchie from the coffee table, and put her hair up. After the song, Sylvie howled again, this time with a high screech.

With a scared look, Sergio tried to hand her back to Anne, but her mom swooped in and expertly rocked the baby in the chair until she settled again. “Look at those long fingers and toes,” she said, bouncing Sylvie’s feet. “These are enormous for a baby’s. She’ll grow into them like a puppy. She’s going to be tall like you, Anne.”

“Maybe she’ll be a model,” Sergio said.

“Or a ballerina,” her mom offered.

“She’s got the wardrobe for it.” Anne found the pink tutu Sergio had sent after he’d found out the baby was a girl. Anne put it on her head and wiggled it. “She’ll wear pink but will be whatever she wants to be. I’ll make certain of that.”

Sergio walked over and pulled a box from his bag and gave it to her. “Speaking of pink . . . Open, amore mio.”

She tore into the wrapped box and held up a miniature hat with a scarf to match.

“There’s more; look under the tissue paper,” Sergio said.

She lifted a pair of booties in the air. “These are adorable.”

“I designed them myself.”

Anne handed them to her mom, who read the label: LITTLE FOOT BOOTIES.

Sergio and Anne laughed.

“What’s so funny?” her mom asked.

“It’s a private joke. Sergio calls me Bigfoot, so it’s a take-off on that.”

“You’ve always been so sensitive about your feet.”

“I know, but I’m over it now.” Anne and Sergio gazed at each other.

“That’s nice, dear. Do you want to hold her again, Sergio? Let’s lower our voices. She’s asleep.”

“Alexa, off,” Sergio said, and traded places with her mom, who gently put the baby in his arms. “Bellissima bambina,” he whispered.

Anne’s mother handed her wrapped items from her suitcase. Quietly, Anne opened each one individually. Everything was pink: onesies, bibs, socks, footed pajamas. There was also Avon’s Calming Lavender lotion and baby wash and shampoo. Anne opened the lotion, squirted some into her hand, and rubbed it in. Sylvia’s scent.

“I’m glad you wanted to name her Sylvia.” Sergio rocked the tiny baby, who fit snugly in his arms. “What about her middle name?”

Anne picked up her journal. “How about after your grandmother? Nonna.”

“Sylvia Nonna McFarland?” her mother asked.

“No, Mom, nonna means ‘grandmother’ in Italian.”

“Nonna’s name is Maria.”

Anne wrote, Sylvia Maria McFarland. “That’s beautiful, and visually appealing.”

“Like her.” He looked back at his daughter. “Oh, she’s smiling at me.”

Anne exchanged knowing glances with her mom.

Sergio’s nose wrinkled. “PU. I think she needs changing.” He held her toward Anne, and her mom came to the rescue again.

“I’ll do the honors. Come on, you cutie-patootie.” She spread a receiving blanket on the kitchenette table and laid Sylvie down.

“But that’s where we eat,” Sergio complained.

Her mom shrugged. “There’s no room in here for a changing table.”

“I’ll be so glad when you move to New York with me.” He sat on the bed next to Anne and put his arm around her.

“They’re not moving to New York; they’re coming to Michigan,” Anne’s mother said.

Anne froze for a moment and made a split-second decision. Even though she hated to break both their hearts, she announced, “I’ve decided to stay here.”

Sergio moved