Page 89 of Knocked Up in Alaska

“Mom, I’m fine. Perfectly healthy.”

“Too skinny,” she repeated. “Skinny legs. Skinny arms. Big nursing breasts. You don’t fill out some, you’re going to fall over every time you stand up. Here”—she held the plate of cookies out to Lilah—“eat. You always liked my ginger cookies.”

Unwilling to get into an argument, and because she did like the cookies, she took one. After a bite and a swallow, she added, “You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”

Rose brushed the comment aside with a wave of her hand. “This is not trouble. Is she done?”

“Yes.” She swallowed the rest of the cookie, eased the groggy baby to her shoulder, and adjusted her shirt.

“I can hold her while you…” She waved a hand in front of her own chest.

“I need to burp her.”

“What? I don’t know how to burb a baby?” She reached over, whipped a towel out of the open diaper bag, slung it over her shoulder, and then held out her hands, expectantly.

Lilah mentally sighed and handed the now-tranquil Shayla to her grandmother, then quickly closed her bra and shirt while Rose used her quietest voice to tell Shayla what a smart, strong, and helpful baby she was to know exactly when she needed to be fed and changed, and not afraid to speak up and say so. In reply, Shayla let out an audible burp.

With her clothing restored to order, she turned toward her mother and reached out. “Thanks. I can take her now.”

Rose shifted Shayla to her other shoulder. “I’ve got her. Here.” She pushed the gift bag toward Lilah with her foot. “Open that.”

She looked down at the bag. “What is it?”

“That is why you open it. To find out.”

Oh-kay. To prevent herself from rolling her eyes, she reached into the bag, grabbed onto something soft, and pulled out an intricately knit pink baby blanket. “Oh, Mom, this is—” She unfurled it to see the giant heart worked into the pattern, surrounding the phrase, “You are loved.” Pink-and-white ribbons wove through the finely stitched edging. She switched her attention to her mother. “It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t want this baby to think Trace and Archer are the only relatives who know how to knit a blanket.”

“I know you helped them. Helped all of them.”

She nodded. “They needed help. Maybe not Wing. He has nimble fingers and attention to detail. Good skills for an airplane mechanic and a knitter. Trace and Archer did okay. Their blankets are decent. Ford is slow—he has less time now, with Mia—but he does well. Mad…” She smiled and shook her head. “Lost cause. Bring me what he gives you. I will fix it.”

She smiled but shook her head. “That might insult him.”

“It should insult you to receive an ugly gift for this beautiful girl.”

“She is beautiful,” Lilah agreed.

“Looks like her grannie,” Rose opined with a sharp smile.

“Yes. Some.”

“And her mother,” Rose conceded. She took Shayla off her shoulder and reclined the nearly sleeping baby on her lap. “Her father, also. You might have told me it was Shay.”

The tension returned to her shoulders and neck. “You didn’t give me much of a chance.”

Her mother nodded, frowning. “That is true. I lost my temper—a failing on my part. I was very shocked. Hurt and angry for so many reasons they just…overran me.”

“I betrayed your wishes and disappointed you,” Lilah acknowledged, staring a hole through the polished wood floor. “Would knowing Shay was the father have made a difference?”

“Maybe. Shay was a friend, not some stranger passing through. You were fond of him, and he, you. It was not just”—she lifted her hands in a restless gesture—“‘Mean, stupid mother. I can do what I want.’ I think there were real feelings there, yes?”

“Yes. We cared for each other. But also”—she winced—“a little bit of ‘mean, stupid mother,’ too. I felt held back. Held down. I did it, in part, to prove to…someone…myself, I guess, that I was an adult. I’m sorry,” she went on quickly. “I don’t regret it because I wouldn’t have Shayla if I hadn’t rebelled the way I did, but I’m sorry I did something I knew you wouldn’t approve of, and then I kept it from you for months because I didn’t want to face your hurt, anger, and disappointment. I put it all off as long as I could.” Twisting her hands together in her lap, she looked down and blinked fast. “That was dishonest and…deceitful of me, to live under your roof, take from you, under those circumstances. I hope someday you can forgive me.”

Rose’s only reply was a long, slow exhale. Then she kicked the gift bag with the toe of her flat, black loafer and resumed stroking Shayla’s sleep-limp palms. “You have not finished opening the gifts.”

“Mom…” Her heart sank, but what had she expected? Forgiveness? Maybe even an apology of her own, for reacting so angrily, so devoid of any compassion or understanding? No. Of course not. Not her mother.

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