Page 23 of Unplanned
When we drive back to the apartment, I’m looking forward to a quiet bedroom, with no nurses coming in and out to check on the baby and me.
I’m jolted fully awake when we pull into the parking lot to find none other than my parents’ BMW idling in the visitor’s spot.
“Don’t worry. I got this,” Nico says.
I rest my hand on his forearm. “It’s fine. Let me handle it.”
They step out of the car as we park, both of them watching us with some kind of look on their faces. Cautiously optimistic?
“Mama. Daddy,” I say.
My mother is the first to speak. Obviously.
“Your daddy and I went to see someone, and they told us…”
My father, Christopher Warren Wright III, who I don’t think has ever apologized for anything in his life, steps in. “We’re sorry for the way we handled things. And if it’s okay with you, we’d like to meet our granddaughter.”
My father has a way of getting straight to the point. What I’m gathering here is that my parents spoke to someone, a professional, it sounds like, to counsel them on things.Maybe on lots of things.
“Of course,” I say, not quite ready to accept their apology. I may never forget how my mother acted leading up to the non-wedding, but now that Valentina is here, something has shifted with all of us. This is what matters. This baby girl needs to grow up in a stable, loving home. That’s been Nico’s number one thought, remembering how he grew up with so few adults he could rely on. As for me, well, my mother and I may never be best friends. I may always be envious of other mothers and daughters who seem to be on the same wavelength, or who at least understand each other.
No, we’ll never have that. But Valentina does not deserve to be collateral damage.
Nico, carefully keeping an eye on us, removes the car seat holding Valentina and brings her over to where we’re standing. He has the energy of someone carrying the crown jewels.
I hold my breath as my mother leans over the baby, reaching for her.
My father gently places a hand on Mama’s arm. “Not yet. I read somewhere about how you have to be careful until the baby gets vaccinated.”
Mama clucks, “Oh come on, now. I’ve got all my shots.”
Daddy lowers his chin and looks at her over his glasses. “Big picture, Mary Pat.”
I have never in my life heard my father say the phrase “big picture.” Nor cite any type of article about child rearing. But then again, I never expected my parents to seek out professional help.
Mama catches the look on Daddy’s face, and she pulls back. The fuse is snuffed. She recenters herself, clasps her hands together, and smiles at Valentina, whose big eyes are watching her, gathering data.
“She’s beautiful. She looks just like you, Nico.”
I nod. “Her hair might change color, they said. Her eyes, too.”
Mom pats my arm, the first affectionate touch from her I’ve had in a while. Maybe since Nico and I got engaged. “I always said you two would make cute babies.”
Did she? I look over at Nico, whose head is tilted. He catches my glance and smiles. We share a silent conversation. Did she say that? Sure, sure. We’ll let her have that.
I think about inviting them inside to talk. I think about asking Daddy to elaborate on what he meant. What he and Mama had been working on together.
“I got an invitation to the baby shower,” Mama says. “I’ve never been to one that was hosted after the baby was born. Never even heard of such a thing.”
“It’s pretty common nowadays,” I say, trying not to sound like a correction, just a fact.
“And I never in my life have I seen a baby registry for a store like that.”
I’m so tired that my blood pressure doesn’t even go up at my mother’s mild prodding about my choice of baby gift registry at an all-handmade store online. I’m so tired I could fall asleep standing up.
I study the way my mother’s face softens when she looks at Valentina.
“Maybe in a few weeks, before the baby shower, we’ll bring Valentina over for some grandparent time,” I say.
