Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
NOT YOUR BABY
I wake before Noah.
There’s a few seconds that pass and I forget about Paige.
When I remember, it settles onto my chest like wet concrete.
I stare at the ceiling, listening to Gavin in the shower.
It amazes me how ordinary betrayal sounds.
Running water.
Cabinet doors.
Electric toothbrush.
Coffee brewing.
Yet if someone walked through the front door right now, they’d think they were looking at a perfectly normal family.
Maybe that’s what Gavin has counted on all along.
Normal hides everything.
I spend the morning with Noah.
No laptop. No spreadsheets.
Vivian told me to document motherhood. But that doesn’t mean motherhood stops while I’m documenting it.
My morning is breakfast, stacking blocks, watching my son laugh when I pretend his stuffed dinosaur can roar.
I smile, not because life is okay, because Noah doesn’t know it isn’t.
And that matters.
Late morning, Paige makes her return.
One very large rolling suitcase. One very large duffel bag.
One reusable grocery tote.
I’m not sure if this is really for a couple of nights or her starting the relocation process.
I notice it and don’t comment.
Gavin notices too.
He also doesn’t comment.
I find that interesting.
Paige thanks me three different times.
That’s far too many.
People who are genuinely grateful usually say it once.
People who are performing gratitude repeat it until someone believes them.
I carry the grocery tote to the guest room.
Not because I’m nice.
I just want to see…
Not even a minute into her being in the guest room Paige has requests.
Can I move that lamp?
Can I move this chair?
Can I borrow a few extra hangers?
These are tiny things, but it feels like tiny ownership.
I agree to it all but take notes.
Later, when Noah begins to start fussing, I reach for my son.
Paige does too. At the same moment.
Our hands almost touch.
“Sorry,” Paige says, freezing.
“It’s okay,” I respond, smiling.
I pick up Noah and he settles against my shoulder.
Then comes lunchtime.
Three adults. One baby.
An awkward domestic scene.
Paige talks right to Noah. Constantly.
Look at us.
We’re eating peas for lunch.
We both hated peas as kids.
I don’t interrupt.
I watch.
“I’ve been thinking… maybe Noah should go to one nap.”
I look at Paige and she finally looks at me.
It’s silence.
Please tell me more…
“My pediatrician friend?—”
“He already has one nap,” I say. “I keep his schedule.”
Paige looks embarrassed.
I know my son. I don’t need suggestions.
Better yet, maybe I should find out just how many naps Noah is taking when I’m not here.
And… why…
Later in the afternoon, I walk into the living room and find Paige showing Gavin a video on her phone.
I hear Noah laughing.
Sounds like a video I’ve never seen.
Noah’s milestones being recorded without my knowledge.
When Gavin sees me, he stops smiling and takes a little bit of a step away from Paige.
“I was just… or Paige was…”
I let my husband stumble on his words as I glance toward Paige. “Can you send me that?”
“Of course,” Paige says with such a bright tone.
The video comes through to me. “When did you record this?”
“Tuesday,” Paige says.
I nod.
One of the days I was working.
One of the days the camera was disabled.
I consider that to be another receipt.
By dinner everything feels strained.
Paige keeps trying to help.
I keep thanking her.
Everything is tense, with big smiles.
Everything is polite and formal and none of us can release.
The night moves quickly enough for me.
Once Noah is asleep, I update the records as needed.
Not Paige is trying to replace me.
I prefer more details.
Paige referred to Noah using collective language (“we”) multiple times.
Paige proposed changing Noah’s routine without consulting me.
Video of Noah shown to Gavin and I had to ask for it.
Then, of course, the fact that the video was recorded on a Tuesday, when the camera was disabled.
Just some facts, no feelings, the kind of stuff that Vivian would approve of.
I close the laptop.
Motherhood isn’t being stolen in one dramatic moment.
It’s a thousand tiny assumptions.
Today I stopped the first few.
Tomorrow… I’ll stop more.