Page 126 of Paternal Instincts
Abraham took her with the ease and gentleness of a man who had practiced holding babies a thousand times. He held his first granddaughter with tears in his eyes, choking out, “Hello, Juniper. Don’t you have a beautiful name.”
Quaid leaned against his dad, and the pair cried silent tears as they absorbed this new breath of life.
Graham, seeming intrigued for the first time, leaned over and examined the baby, lips pursed as his fingers danced along his pant legs. At nearly ten, his awareness had grown. He was no longer as centrally focused as he’d once been. He still had tics and viewed the world through a different lens than others, but he had matured in the years he’d known Quaid, and the two had developed a unique relationship.
“Did you know it’s a Jewish tradition to name children after beloved relatives who have died? It’s a way of honoring the deceased and memorializing them. Are you Jewish?”
“No, but I think many cultures do that,” Quaid said.
Graham mashed his lips together, stealing a look at Quaid. My husband was one of the few people Graham was comfortable looking in the eye. It was always brief, but it was an indicator of how close they were.
“Are you going to teach her to play chess?” Graham asked, changing the subject.
“When she’s older. If she wants to learn.”
“Or I could teach her. I’m her cousin.”
“You are.”
Graham nodded. “That’s probably a better idea. I’m far better at chess than you.”
Abraham smothered a smile.
Quaid sneered playfully. “And this from the genius who only placed second at the last chess competition.”
Graham’s forehead gathered into creases. “I errored.”
“And he was competing against high school kids. Cut him some slack,” Abraham said to his son.
“Can we go back to admiring my daughter?” Quaid’s affronted tone was all in fun.
Graham admired the baby, shrugged, then sat back, using what I suspected was Chris’s phone, and opened a gaming app. “Juniper isn’t interesting right now. We’ll talk in a couple of years.”
Quaid gaped.
I chuckled and mussed Graham’s hair. He ignored me but shuffled over on the couch so I could sit on my father-in-law’s other side.
***
The following day, after filling out and filing a mountain of paperwork, sharing our joy with Bryn, thanking her for the hundredth time for all she’d done for us, and having baby Juniper assessed by a doctor, we were ready to leave the hospital.
Bringing a baby home for the first time was a terrifying experience, and my anxiety seemed as high as Quaid’s.
My husband fussed, choosing the perfect going-home outfit, ensuring the car seat was adjusted and readjusted to the manufacturer’s specifications and that Juniper was locked in correctly. Then, he questioned the nurse about absolutely everything under the sun, from jaundice to feeding to colic to bathing and possible allergic reactions she might experience and how we could recognize them. He’d readevery book, so he knew the answers already, but Quaid wouldn’t be Quaid if he left without worries.
By midafternoon, we were ready to go.
We stopped by Bryn’s room to say goodbye. She was being discharged as well, and her brother and Iggy were present. I expected the separation would be hard for her, but she’d assured us a hundred times that it was a good heartache, and they were happy tears.
“Send me pictures,” she said with a wistful smile, staring down at a sleeping Juniper tucked into her car seat.
“We will.”
She took the sleeping baby’s hand and gave it a small shake. “It was an honor to carry you for nine months. Thank you for keeping me company. You have the best daddies in the world. Take care of them because I know they’ll take great care of you.”
She bent, still visibly sore from delivery, and kissed her softly on her cap-covered head.
We took turns hugging Bryn. Quaid dissolved into tears, clinging longer and promising to keep her updated on Juniper’s life.
