Page 30 of Dropping the Ball

Madison sighs. “You’re both idiots.”

“I’ll take her,” Oliver says, pushing up from his chair.

“Wait, no, I’ll do it,” I say. “She says you need to eat.”

“Thank you,” Madison says, already lifting the baby toward me. “Just support her head.”

Somehow I survive the handoff, settling the baby into my arm like Madison had. I hold my breath, and she gives a baby grunt, but she doesn’t wake up. I stare down at the tiny burrito in awe. This morning, she didn’t even exist in this world, and now here she is, a whole, actual human. It really is kind of beautiful.

“Can I go sit on the sofa with her?” I don’t think I’ll drop her, but just in case, it would be a much shorter fall.

“Of course, man.” Oliver is busy removing the covers from their hospital trays, and I’m glad now that I said I’d hold the baby. The man clearly needs to eat if he’s anxious to dive into the anemic-looking pork chops he reveals.

I walk carefully to the sofa, which means I have to go around the end of the bed and past Oliver, trying to keep my eye equally on the baby and the floor ahead of me. Kaitlyn scuttles out of my way, but when I settle onto the couch with a sigh of relief, she comes to sit beside me, leaning over to drop a kiss on her niece’s head. I’d bet she hasn’t been home since yesterday morning, but she still smells nice. I catch a whiff of something kind of herbal when she leans down, her hair close to tickling my nose.

“Thought you were scared of her,” I say.

She straightens, her soft eyes still on her niece. “I’m afraid ofdroppingher.”

“She was like this when she got her first kitten too,” Madison says around a bite of pork chop, “but she got over it fast.”

“I love Daisy Buchanan, but she is acat,” Kaitlyn protests. “Of course I’m even more nervous about a baby.”

“You named your cat Daisy Buchanan?” I ask, amused. We’d studiedThe Great Gatsbyin ninth grade, which is an interesting experience in a class full of filthy rich kids. I’m not sure any of them ever believed that it was a book of only villains. “Is she materialistic and amoral?”

“She was born at Gatsby’s when Madison worked there.”

“Ah.” I look down at Harper’s little face. “You’re missing out. This is the coolest thing ever.” Kaitlyn makes a grumpy sound, and I glance over at her. “I’m winning at baby holding.” If that doesn’t push her buttons, nothing will.

She squirms, frowning at me.

I look down at the baby and pretend to ignore her, until Kaitlyn grumbles, “Give me her.”

“Excuse me?” I say.

She leans back against the sofa and extends her arms like I’m about to plop a cord of kindling in it. “I want to hold her.”

I give her arms a narrow-eyed look. “She’s not firewood.”

Kaitlyn scowls. “She’smyniece.”

“But this ismyjob right now, and I don’t like your form.” I hear a smothered laugh from Oliver.

“Give me that baby,” Kaitlyn says, and this time I know I better obey. I’ve heard that same determination in her tone before when we worked on group projects in school. It means she’s tired of someone’s nonsense, and now we’re doing it her way.

I sigh. “Fine, but fix your arms. Make them like a cradle.” She hesitates, and I add, “Pretend you’re a Renaissance Madonna.”

She rearranges them to be more cradlelike, then tilts her head at a stiff angle and makes her eyes go blank. She speaks without moving her lips. “Am I giving Sistine Chapel?”

I roll my eyes and carefully shift toward her and complete a not-terrible transfer of the baby. This time, Harper doesn’t even grunt.

I sit back when the handoff is complete. The room has gone silent. Madison and Oliver are watching Kaitlyn. Madison’s eyes are welling slightly, and Oliver flicks a glance my way and gives me a smile and a nod. Kaitlyn is transfixed, staring down into her niece’s face like she’s proof that magic exists.

Madison clears her throat. “I think she loves her even more than the cat.”

“It’s a tie,” Kaitlyn says, not looking up.

“You’re not supposed to say that,” I tell her.

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