The Green Lace Corset, стр. 76
“And she’s my grandbaby.” Anne’s mom picked up Sylvie and carried her to the rocker.
“Yes, she is. And you are both welcome to visit whenever you wish, but I’m staying here.”
“It’s too small,” Sergio said.
“I don’t care. My life is here. Our life is here.” Anne took the baby from her mom and sat back on the bed.
“Can I at least get a bigger place for you and Sylvie?” Sergio asked. “Then I can stay with you when I come to visit.”
“That’s not appropriate. We’re not together anymore.”
“You seem to be together to me.” Her mom pursed her lips.
“I want to be independent. I’m staying here, and that’s that. I’ll have plenty of help.”
“Who?” her mother asked.
“Mrs. Landenheim has offered to watch her when I’m at the museum.”
“Mrs. Landenheim! That old bat.” Sergio raised his voice.
“Shh!” Anne put a finger to her lips and pointed at the baby. “I thought you liked her.”
“I do. Not to help raise my child, though. She’ll have the baby in curlers and lipstick before she even turns one.”
Anne couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s funny.”
“Your landlady? Is it fitting to mix renting with day care?”
“It’ll be convenient. It’ll be fine.” Anne shrugged. “Besides, Dottie’s coming in a few weeks and is considering moving out here to help.”
“Dottie?” Sergio stood. “A drug addict?”
“You know how undependable she’s always been.” Her mom raised her usually calm voice.
“She’s changed. I told you, she went to rehab and apologized.”
“That girl’s a piece of work.” Sergio shook his head.
“Also, Fay told me I can drop off Sylvie at Bay Breeze anytime, if need be.”
“Won’t she have her hands full with her own baby?” Sergio seemed to be looking for any reason to complain.
“She said the more the merrier. George helps out there too.” Anne didn’t want to tell them he was Mr. Mom when Fay was at the gallery. “Don’t worry—we’ll be fine.”
The baby was so sweet, it would be easy, she hoped.
52
Outside in the pitch darkness, a siren wailed, the dog in the building next door howled, and Sylvie started to bawl. Exhausted and bleary-eyed, Anne started crying as well. She pulled the baby into bed with her and tried to feed her. However, Sylvie continued to shriek. Anne changed her diaper and rocked her until the baby’s brown eyes, just like Sergio’s, blinked closed. Anne ran a hand over the soft, dark hair. Only a month old, Sylvia was starting to look like Sergio.
Anne couldn’t stop crying. She was in love more than ever with Sylvie. What was wrong with her, then? She should be happy. Could she be sleep deprived or have postpartum depression, or did she just miss her mom? She had slept on the futon for two weeks while Sergio had stayed at the Mark Hopkins, come down to the apartment every morning, and stayed into the evenings.
She had been relieved to see them go, eager to begin a life of motherhood on her own. Now, she would give anything to have them back. She missed her mom changing the baby and rocking her, trips to the Laundromat, and her mother’s cheery disposition. She missed Sergio’s help, especially his frittatas, mochas, and opera singing. If her mother hadn’t been there, Anne wondered if he would have tried to stay with her and how that might have worked out.
At times, though, he got on her nerves, constantly picking up after them, trying to keep the apartment neat and tidy. He didn’t say anything about it, but she could tell the mess drove him crazy. What would he be like when Sylvie threw toys all over the floor?
When he left, she’d been sure she’d made the right decision; now, she wondered whether she had. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer to get them a bigger place, and perhaps even a nanny. She really wanted to be independent. Before the baby was born, she’d thought her life was complicated. Now, it was just plain ridiculous—the stink of dirty diapers, laundry piled up, sleepless nights. She looked forward to going back to work next week and having Dottie come help.
Anne tried to set Sylvie back in the bassinet, but she screamed. The new guy in Val’s apartment below banged on his ceiling. “Knock it off up there.”
“Sorry!” Anne yelled down to him, and returned to the rocker. Many experts recommended letting an infant cry it out. Living in an apartment like this meant that didn’t work. A crying baby wasn’t fair to the neighbors; plus, Sylvia’s wails broke her heart.
“Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Papa’s gonna buy . . .” Anne sang to Sylvie through the screams until they both dozed off.
Anne woke when the sun began to fill the room. Where was Mrs. Landenheim? This wasn’t the first time she’d overslept. She was supposed to be here at six o’clock to watch the baby while Anne took a shower, ate breakfast, and did some chores.
She texted her: Where are you?
Anne waited a few minutes, but Mrs. Landenheim hadn’t replied. She couldn’t stand her grungy body any longer, so she put Sylvie in her bassinet and climbed into the shower with tears streaming down her face.
Out of the shower, Sylvie bawling again, Anne threw on sweats and pulled her wet hair into a scrunchie. Frantically, she checked her phone. Still no word from Mrs. Landenheim. Anne hoped she was okay.
With the baby in one arm, she opened the refrigerator with the other: a black banana, two olives in a jar, a cardboard piece of pizza. Sergio had stocked up before he’d left, but by now everything had run out. Old Mother Hubbard scrounged in her cupboard, but nothing was there. She climbed out onto the deck, but there weren’t any berries in the garden. She located the Chips Ahoy from the freezer, where she’d hidden them from herself, and ate a few. She’d go back to eating healthfully tomorrow and planned to