Chapter 1
Evie
My son. I was holding my son.
He was so tiny. And perfect.
Ten fingers and ten toes. Long eyelashes and tufts of curly black hair.
The nurse commented about it, asking if I’d been suffering from heartburn lately. It was a joke, but little did she know that I had, and I couldn’t explain why.
I felt like I’d been hit by a bus and then dropped off a cliff onto a field of cacti, Wile E. Coyote style. But as I looked at him, snuggled peacefully in my arms, a deep warmth bloomed inside me.
“Yesterday, I had no idea you existed,” I whispered, my lips brushing the top of his head, “and today, I can’t live without you.”
I’d never felt stranger than I did now. I was more exhausted and bloodied than I ever imagined possible, yet I was equal parts ecstatic and content.
When I looked at him, all the noise faded away.
When I stroked his tiny fingers, my anxiety eased.
And the guilt of not knowing faded. So did the fear and panic consuming me.
I was completely unprepared for the biggest responsibility of my life, and no, I didn’t have even the slightest clue that I’d become a mother today.
But he was here. And he was perfect. In the end, that’s what mattered.
I’d never dared to dream that this was possible. A baby. Motherhood.
Not only because I’d never been in a relationship even remotely serious enough to warrant discussing kids, but because I had been told my body couldn’t do it.
Having struggled with PCOS since puberty, I’d come to terms with my infertility. With the knowledge that my body, that had already betrayed me in so many small ways, couldn’t handle a challenge this big.
I had no idea what day it was or even the time. The shades in the sterile room were closed, though slivers of sunlight peeked in around them.
To say my life had been turned upside down today—yesterday?—was an understatement. More like it had been thrown into a cement mixer and smashed to bits, then rearranged.
But I had this little guy. And every time I looked at him, the panic briefly subsided.
I hummed the tune of “Ninna Nanna” softly, tears stinging my eyes. How was this even possible?
In the chair in the corner, Ruby was sleeping soundly.
She was six months pregnant herself, and she and Frankie had been with me every step of the way, taking shifts and fussing over me constantly.
When the baby cried, they’d jump into action, changing diapers and soothing him.
They refilled my water before it was empty and had brought me a variety of snacks.
Paul, Ruby’s husband, had come over several times and tried to persuade her to go home and rest, but she’d fought him off in her usual style.
I’d never had close friends. My sisters were preoccupied with their own lives, my parents couldn’t care less, and the various folks who’d floated in and out of my life had been friendly acquaintances at best. But here, in this weird yet charming small town in rural Vermont, I’d found my people.
In less than two years, I’d found a place where I could belong.
A place where I could make a home for myself, a life for myself.
I looked down at the sweet little face. And now a home for my son.
My son.
The nurses came in to do yet another vitals check, waking the baby and Ruby in the process. They urged me to try nursing again, which was not the intuitive, natural process everyone made it out to be.
“Flatten it,” Kate, the lactation consultant instructed. “Like a hamburger. Then shove it into his mouth.”
She hovered over me, dressed in yellow scrubs, and manhandled my not at all small breast, brushing my nipple over the baby’s little rosebud mouth. In response, he opened up and magically latched around it.
With her pinky, she pulled his bottom lip down. “There. That’s a strong latch.”
The sucking sensation was strange, but this time, it wasn’t painful.
“You know,” Ruby said, shuffling to the side of the bed and stroking my hair. “I’ve read at least a dozen pregnancy and birth books, and not one of them mentions how challenging nursing is.”
“Breastfeeding is a complicated dance where both partners have to learn their steps,” Kate explained, giving Ruby a pitying look. “And one partner is exhausted and experiencing raging postpartum hormones, while the other is only a few hours old and not yet strong enough to hold their head up.”
“So it’s not easy.” Ruby deflated. “I feel like I’ve been lied to, and I haven’t even started the third trimester.”
I winked at my friend. “This part, where you and Frankie and the nurses do the work for me and I sit here like a cow, is pretty easy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Overachiever.”
Kate smiled. “We work with every caregiver and baby to find the right fit. Fed is best, whether from breast or bottle. But this little champ is doing pretty well so far.”
He suckled, swallowing greedily, his eyes closed.
A wave of elation washed over me. For what felt like the first time in my life, my body was actually doing something right.
“It takes a few days for your supply to fully come in, and I’m here to help. But the most important thing is that you are both healthy.”
“Thank you,” I said, tears filling my eyes and spilling over. I’d been doing a lot of crying over the past twenty-four hours.
Ruby patted my shoulder. “Don’t mind her. Surprise pregnancy and childbirth can really do a number on a person.”
Kate smiled. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours to check, but you’ve got this so far.”
After several minutes, I burped him, then Ruby helped me get him latched on the other side.
I tried to hamburger my own boob, but I wasn’t coordinated enough to do it properly while also supporting my baby’s fragile neck and head.
So Ruby did it for me, and again, my hungry little guy got right in there.
“You’re a natural,” she murmured.
“No. But I have you, and you’re a natural. Plus you’ve spent the last six months reading up on the subject.”
She smiled. “I’m glad all my obsessing helps. And I’ve got you. We’re doing this together.”
In addition to being my first and closest friend in Maplewood, Ruby owned Stitch and Stone, the local clothing boutique.
She was bright and bold and stylish, basically my complete opposite.
Tiny, with red hair cut into a bob and a full sleeve of tattoos on her left arm, she exuded confident cool, even while she was heavily pregnant.
Her husband Paul was a straitlaced accountant who liked to cut loose by playing bass in one of Maplewood’s rock cover bands.
Dressed in a black and white checkered maternity dress paired with an oversized lime green cardigan, she smiled down at me, rubbing her belly. “Raising our little beans together. We both know my son will be the bad influence hellion and yours will be the one to keep him in check.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Nah. He’s half Paul. That quiet accountant DNA will balance him—”
The door to my room flew open, ending our debate.
“I’m here.”
Frankie pushed through the door, a large shopping bag hanging from one arm and a pizza box in the other. “And I brought pizza.”
“It’s ten a.m.,” Ruby drawled.
“Tony owed me. I’m constantly fixing up that old Alpha Romeo he’s so obsessed with. And besides, you gave birth in his shop.”
“I gave birth in this hospital,” I corrected.
“And he was in early to clean the amniotic fluid off the floor,” she countered.
A wave of guilt washed over me. Oh God, I’d surely made an unholy mess.
The thought was cut short, though, when the most amazing smell hit me. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until one of Tony’s pizzas was in my vicinity.
“Hospital food sucks,” Frankie said. “So I figured you could use this. You need sustenance to make all the milk this kid’s gonna drink.”
I looked down at the baby, who was slurping away, unbothered, my heart melting as I once again took in his tiny features.
“I stopped by your house. Picked up your shampoo and moisturizer and some decent comfy clothes.”
Confusion flitted through me. “I didn’t give you my keys.”
She smiled. “I found my way in. Don’t worry, I locked up when I was finished.”
I huffed a laugh. I shouldn’t be surprised. Frankie Dunne was terrifying. All five foot two of her. She was wiry and feisty and had won many fights against larger, stronger male opponents. To underestimate her was at one’s peril.
She was also one of the most loving, loyal, funny people I’d ever met. Not that she wanted that information to get out.
She had to maintain her reputation as Maplewood’s badass mechanic, after all.
She employed only women and was known for fair pricing, efficient service, and treating her employees well.
Despite the April chill, she was wearing her usual tank top, showing off her impressive biceps and a generous collection of ink. My friends were infinitely cooler than I was. Her honey hair was pulled into a ponytail, and she had her coveralls tied around her waist.
“You name him yet?” she asked, handing Ruby a slice of pizza.
Peering down at my son again, I shook my head. “I just need a minute.” I stroked his cheek. I’d just met him, and already, I knew exactly who he was. But it seemed weird to make this decision all on my own.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ruby asked, her expression full of empathy.
“Talk about my fucked-up body and how I didn’t know I was pregnant?” My eyes filled with tears again. “I hurt my baby because I was a clueless idiot who didn’t see the signs.”
“Stop that,” Frankie commanded, giving me a stern look. “The doctors said he’s perfectly healthy. You did not hurt him.”
“You’ve been obsessively googling every moment you can,” Ruby added. “And demanding he be examined by every health care provider in this hospital. I’m pretty sure the X-ray tech even gave him a once over to make you happy.”
The tears feel in earnest now. They weren’t wrong. I was paranoid. Terrified that without prenatal vitamins and the proper care, I’d done irreparable damage. But their kindness was just as heart-wrenching.
“You’re already a health nut. We know he was well nourished in there.”
“And he was eight pounds,” Ruby added with a huff.
We’d had this conversation already. But the guilt still wouldn’t go away.
I lowered my focus to him again, my tears dripping onto my hospital gown. Thank God I’d been so hung up on my health recently.
I’d felt off. I was exhausted, and I’d gained weight for inexplicable reasons. In general, I struggled to feel like myself.
Now it seemed so obvious. But I’d been to the doctor, and I’d gotten the usual “lose weight, eat healthy foods, and exercise” advice, so I’d done it.
I’d quit drinking, taken up yoga and hiking, and started taking all kinds of vitamins. I’d even started ordering the kale and kiwi smoothie at Bean There, Sipped That instead of my usual chocolate croissant.
And thank God I’d made so many changes. I shuddered at the thought of what could have happened had I not cleaned up my act.
Regardless, the guilt and shame ate at me.
I’d have to work really hard to make it up to this little guy.