'Cause the Hardest Part of This is Leaving You.

Lindsey shoves her baby into my arms. " Her name’s Lauren. "
She’s fat and sticky and drooling milk. She smells good. She waves her arms at me, snatching at air. Her little fingers with their half-moon nails pluck at my nose.

" Hello, Lauren. "
I tell her how big and clever she is. I say all the silly things I imagine babies like to hear. And she looks back at me with fathomless eyes and gives a great big yawn. I can see right inside her little pink mouth.
" She likes you," Lindsey says. " She knows who you are. "
I put Lauren Ballato at my shoulder and swim my hand in circles over her back. I listen to her heart. She sounds careful, determined. She is ferociously warm.

*-----*

I wake up and I'm still in the backyard, shadows dance. Sunlight sifts through the branches. Lindsey's still reading her magazine, slaps it down when she sees I’m awake.

"You’ve been asleep for ages, " she tells me.

" I dreamed Lauren was born. "

" Was she gorgeous? "

" Of course. "

Frank looks up and smiles at me. " Hey, " he says.

Mom walks down the path filming us with his video camera.
" Stop it, " I tell her. " It’s morbid. "

She takes the camera back into the house and comes out again.
" Come and sit with us, Dad. "
But she can’t keep still. She goes back inside, returns minutes later with a bowl of grapes, an assortment of chocolate, glasses of juice.
" Anyone want a sandwich? "
Lindsey shakes her head. " I’m all right with these Maltesers thanks. " I like the way her mouth puckers as she sucks them.

Keep-death-away spells.

Ask your best friend to read out the juicy bits from her magazine – the fashion, the gossip. Encourage her to sit close enough for you to touch her tummy, the amazing expanse of it. And when she has to go home, take a deep breath and tell her you love her. Because it’s true. And when she leans over and whispers it back, hold onto her tight, because these are not words you would normally share.

Make your brother sit with you when he gets back from school and go through every detail of his day, every lesson, every conversation, even what he had for dinner, until he’s so bored he begs to be allowed to run off to his friends in the park.

Watch your Dad un-lace his shoes and massage his feet because his new job in the bookshop means he has to stand up all day and be polite to strangers. Laugh when he gives your Mom a book because he gets a discount and can afford to be generous.
Watch your dad kiss her cheek. Notice them smile. Know that whatever happens, they are your parents.

Listen to your neighbour pruning her roses as shadows lengthen across the lawn. She’s humming some old song and you’re under a blanket with your boyfriend. Tell him you’re proud of him, because he made that garden grow and encouraged his mother to care about it.

Study the moon. It’s close and has a pink flare around it. Your boyfriend tells you it’s an optical illusion, that it only seems big because of its angle to the earth.

Measure yourself against it.

And, at night, when you’re carried back upstairs and another day is over, refuse to let your boyfriend sleep in the camp bed. Tell him you want to be held and don’t be afraid that he might not want to, because if he says he will, then he loves you and that’s all that matters. Wrap your legs with his. Listen to him sleep, his gentle breathing.
And when you hear a sound, like the flapping of a kite getting closer, like the sails of a windmill slowly turning, say, " Not yet, not yet. "
Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It’s easy. In and out.