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Show Motherlunge a novel 145 "Second-hand flowers?" Pavia asked as she walked reluctantly over the threshold, looking back into the room. "Keep going," I said behind her. I was carrying a duffle bag and the car seat, and Jack was right behind me holding another two bags. The nurse was last in line, pushing the baby in the wheeled bassinet. At the nurses station they checked Pavia's wristband against X.'s before letting us sign out. They gave Pavia her sawed off wedding band in a Ziploc bag. Jack tried to slip a baby sling over Pavia's head, but she put her arm up. "Batik?" Pavia asked him. "My parents brought it back from Jamaica." I shook my head at my brother-in-law, but he kept talking. "This is how they-" "Sorry." Pavia picked X. up and fit him into the car seat. She glanced pityingly at the wad of colorful fabric in Jack's hands. "It's ugly." The nurse looked at Jack and shrugged. She watched Pavia fasten the rigging of the car seat tight around the baby. Then she checked it-it was tight enough-nodded, and bade us goodbye in a satisfying, chapter-ending way: "Drive carefully now. Now it really matters." And off we went, Pavia first with the car seat, slowly, then Jack, then me-three grownups shuffling down the long, glaring hall with our burdens banging silently against our knees. I "Do you want me to carry that?" Jack caught up to Pavia. "Him? The baby? "Jesus Christ," Pavia murmured absently. "Who wants second-hand flowers?" |