Coda (Songs of Submission #9)(54)

“You’re not supposed to be around her while she’s sick.”

He ignored me and nuzzled the baby. “Can you say good morning to Mommy?” he cooed.

Gabby snorted then sneezed.

“Jonathan, I’m serious. At least wear a mask. You’re immunosup—”

“I’m sterile enough for an operating room, and she’s not contagious anymore.”

He wielded an ear thermometer. I took it and crouched on the side of the tub. The little screen said 99.1.

“Oh,” I said, “that’s good. Do you think it’s over?”

“I don’t know.” He dotted the baby’s nose. “Are you going to let Mommy sleep, little girl?” She made an ahhh sound, and Jonathan turned to me. “She says yes, but she’s reserving the right to change her mind.”

“When did you learn to speak baby?” I ran my finger over his cheek, stripping away the water droplets.

“I live in Los Angeles.”

We’d had a trying few days, with Gabby posting a 104.5 fever. Her pediatrician had come over late in the night, gotten it down to 101, and gone home. We could call him any time, but he said the ER wasn’t necessary just yet. A few hours later, we were woken by the night nurse. The baby was spiking again.

It wasn’t the nurse’s fault, but we dismissed her anyway. The worry and responsibility were ours, and though we had the resources to hire out the exhaustion, we decided to own it. These were our moments of aggravation and pain; we wouldn’t pay someone else to stand in for being together as a family. So we stayed up all night and cared for Gabby in shifts that didn’t happen, because neither of us rested. I did the night nursing, or Jonathan gave her a bottle, grumbling about wearing gloves and a mask. We were still working out a routine that my body would accept, but those moments with her were so precious, I didn’t care what time of day they were.

Gabby wiggled, still not knowing what her arms were for, grabbing at air with her tiny fingers. She had a full head of black hair, and though her eyes had the blue cast of a newborn’s, they’d turn a shade of brown.

I submerged a big yellow sponge in the warm water and squeezed it over my daughter. Water fell over her chest and round belly, shining as if she’d been lacquered.

“I want redheaded babies,” I said.

“We can try again, but unless both parents have red hair, it skips a generation.”

“Why?”

“Dominance. It’s in your genes.”

“You’re a jerk.”

Gabby opened her mouth and turned her head, squeaking. She was just learning to cry. She could scream, squeak, sneeze, and smile, but we hadn’t gotten to full-blown crying without a full-blown fever.

“Uh oh,” Jonathan said. “She’s calling Mommy.”

I peeled off my shirt and underpants. My body was still misshapen from the pregnancy, but my husband eyeballed me as if I were the only woman in the world. Slowly, my figure was returning as if his kind attention was teasing it out.

I picked up the baby under her arms. She loved the water and jerked her tiny legs angrily when I took her out.

“Patience, little girl,” I said.

Jonathan held his arms out for me. He was still magnificent, wearing nothing more than a scar and an erection that would go unattended until the baby was down. I got into the tub, sitting between my husband’s legs. He wrapped his arms around me, and I positioned baby Gabrielle at my breast.

Jonathan rubbed my back, kissing my neck as I nursed. I was in some heavenly place where I was cared for physically and emotionally, turning this warm tub into a slice of well-being.

“Mister Gevers called,” Jonathan said.

“Oh, did you thank him for the bunny and flowers?”

“Yes. He wants us to come out there. He wants to meet the little girl.”

“I’m not travelling with a newborn.”

“It’s not that hard. I did it for ten minutes once.”

“He and his wife can come here again. I’m not going anywhere yet.” I leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around us. “Not until I’m good and ready.”

“Yes, mistress.” He kissed my shoulder.

Little Gabby nursed her little heart out. I was so in love with her, more in love than I’d ever thought possible. I leaned my head against my husband’s chest, letting the soft warmth of the water envelope me, and somewhere in my half-sleep, I became a part of it, growing into a universe where I was loved and where I loved. Where I was needed and where I was allowed to need. In our tight realm of three, I dreamed myself expanding into this tiny, infinite universe, perfect in its balance and stability.

I opened my eyes when Jonathan tucked my hair behind my ear and kissed my neck. So perfect was the silence, and our baby, sated and sleeping in my arms, mouth cocked open, the edges pointed in a smile.

Flesh of my flesh, love of my love, broken and tied back together with the strings of my heart, these are mine. And whatever life may bring, whatever tests and tortures, I am complete, and competent, and ready to go to battle in their defense.

But for now, there is only peace.

THE END