38. Mallory
Mallory
The apartment is too quiet.
It’s not usually quiet with a newborn, I’ve read that online. But right now Lola is asleep in her bassinet, making those soft puffing sounds through her nose, and the silence makes everything louder—my thoughts, my heartbeat, my doubts.
Jaymie left early this morning. His shoes are still by the door, his hoodie draped over the back of the couch like he’ll be right back. But he’s not. He’s in Colorado by now, probably gearing up for Game Two of the second round.
Four days.
He was home for a few. Just long enough for us to establish a tentative rhythm…me half-healed and leaking, him always near, holding Lola with that reverent look on his face like she was forged from light. Just long enough for me to start leaning on him like a crutch.
Now he’s gone and it’s just me.
I sink onto the couch, careful not to jostle my stitches, and lift Lola from the bassinet to rest on my chest. Her little mouth twitches in her sleep. There’s a faint smirk there—content, cheeky, almost smug.
“You’re mocking me, aren’t you?” I whisper. “You’re like a two-week-old evil genius.”
She doesn’t respond. Which feels rude, honestly.
I reach for my phone and FaceTime Dakota before I spiral further into whatever postpartum emotional soup I’m brewing in my chest.
She answers immediately. “You’re alive. That’s good. Is the baby alive?”
“She’s smug and asleep. So yes,” I say, voice cracking.
Dakota blinks. “You’re crying.”
“I’m overwhelmed.”
“You’re wearing Jaymie’s hoodie.”
“It smells like him,” I say miserably, wiping my nose. “And I haven’t showered yet today.”
Dakota peers through the screen. “Okay, okay, let’s take inventory. Is Lola fed?”
“Yep.”
“ Changed?”
“Twenty minutes ago.”
“Breathing?”
“Obviously!”
“Then you’re doing great. Mal, she’s sleeping and smiling. That’s like the newborn jackpot.”
“She looks like she has dirt on me.”
“She does have dirt on you. She watched you give birth.”
I laugh through my tears. “Why are you like this?”
“Because I love you,” Dakota says simply. “And because I know this stage is hell and you need someone to remind you you’re not screwing it up.”
There’s a buzz at the intercom panel by the door. I sniff, pushing up slowly to check the screen.
“It’s Ava,” I tell Dakota.
“Perfect. Tagging in the closer.”
I buzz her up and leave the door unlocked. A few minutes later, the apartment door clicks open and Ava breezes in, sunglasses on top of her head, both arms full—iced coffees in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other.
“Helloooo, postpartum goddess!” she calls. “I brought croissants and caffeine. If that’s not enough, I’m also prepared to lie to you and tell you you look amazing.”
“You don’t have to lie,” I murmur, hugging her one-armed as she carefully sets everything on the kitchen counter. “But I’ll take the coffee.”
Dak ota’s voice pipes up from the phone on the coffee table. “Ava!”
“Hey, chaos goblin!” Ava grins, kicking off her sneakers and flopping onto the couch beside me. “How’s school? Are your cohorts still terrified of you?”
“Only the smart ones.”
Ava nods appreciatively, passing me a cold brew and settling into the couch cushions. “So. How are you feeling today?”
I gesture at my face. “Tears. Anxiety. Emotional instability.”
“Yay, motherhood!”
“I was sitting here earlier and suddenly couldn’t remember the last time I peed. Or if I’d eaten. I texted Jaymie at three a.m. just to say ‘why is she grunting like a goat?’”
Ava tilts her head and looks at Lola. “She’s kinda smug.”
“Right? Dakota said the same thing.”
"Alright, I'll talk to you later Dakota, love you,"
"Love you too! Remember your amazing!" the screen quickly went black. Turning my attention back towards Ava, I grabbed the iced coffee she brought and plopped down on the couch next to her.
“Classic Prescott,” Ava mutters, sipping her drink. “She’s already channeling her stepdad.”
“She’s not even his,” I whisper, then feel that ache swell in my chest. “But he’s hers. In every way that matters.”
Ava leans her head on mine. “You’re doing amazing, Mal. For real. I couldn’t do what you’re doing.”
“You could. But you don’t want to.”
“Exactly.” She grins. “I’ll take the role of fun, child-free aunt any day.”
“You and Logan still solid on that?”
“Like concrete. He held our friend’s toddler last month and literally got peed on. I laughed so hard I had to lie down. It was… clarifying.”
I snort. “Thanks for reminding me why I’m constantly damp.”
We both look at the TV as the HellBlades game streams in silence. Jaymie’s on the screen, cutting across the ice with that fierce focus I’ve come to recognize even from a distance. I feel another wave of emotion rise.
“I miss him.”
“I know.”
“He was here for a few days. I already forgot how to function without him.”
“You haven’t,” Ava says. “You just haven’t had to do this part alone yet. You’re adjusting. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. ”
I blink back fresh tears. “You’re going to make me cry again.”
“Totally the hormones,” she says quickly, reaching for a tissue and handing it to me like a pro. “No way it’s my incredible empathy and dazzli ng charisma.”
I laugh and dab at my cheeks. “It’s both.”
"But seriously, if you need help or just a friend, call when he's gone. I don't mind coming over and all." she reassured me.
Lola lets out a soft sigh, her face still smug, her fists twitching in her sleep.
“She’s ridiculous,” Ava murmurs. “And adorable. Like, it almost makes me question things.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She lifts both hands. “I said almost.”