I need pictures! Now! What size would you say she is?

Tears fill my eyes. Pictures. My daughter. Her granddaughter.

And only Charlotte would lead with her dress size.

A baby squawks in the distance. Someone’s shopping here with their baby. With their child. Soon I’ll go out in public with my baby, the one back at the hospital, the one who’s been abandoned by Li and entrusted into my care forever.

And ever.

Through the blur of tears, I see another text, this one from Nick.

Hah. Until a few hours ago, all I could think about was receiving this text. I tap.

What’s new? is all it says.

Hysterical laughter pours out of me, right there in the aisle next to the baby gates and the window shades for cars.

“Chloe?” Jem asks softly.

I fold in half, hands on my knees, the phone sliding to the ground. Henry picks it up while Jemma says small, soothing words to me that don’t make sense.

Henry looks at my phone and starts to laugh, too, a friendly sound of understanding.

And then my giggles tighten in my throat and turn into a stinging pain that shoots up my nose, into my eyes, and I’m sobbing in their arms, half-collapsed on the floor, a bundle of joy and fear and excitement and most of all—something new.

I am a mother.

“How—” I wail, “—do I answer that?”

Henry closes the screen and tucks the phone in the back pocket of his pants. “You don’t. Not now. Nick can wait. Little Holliday Browne can’t.”

Chapter 12

Chloe

For all those years, in my dreams and daydreams of having a child, I always knew exactly what I was doing. And it was easy. Relaxed. Natural.

I imagined rides on the Swan Boats in the Public Gardens on sunny Saturday afternoons, reading bedtime stories and drinking cocoa in our pajamas, solving for x in algebra homework. (That’s algebra, right? Or is it calculus? Damn.)

Oh, sure, I knew it wouldn’t all be bliss and birthday cake. Tantrums happen in crowded stores, broken arms ruin ski trips. Teenagers make poor choices.

But through it all, I would be calm, capable, and maybe even wise. I would be A Mom.

So is there a certain time when all that maternal wisdom is going to kick in? Because it’s two a.m., and I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do next.

Henry and Jemma brought us home an hour ago, and got us safely into the apartment. I am now sitting on my bed, watching Holly breathe in her bassinet. Occasionally there is the faint sound of a car passing on the street. Once I hear a siren in the distance.

I can’t go to sleep, because who will watch her?

What if she wakes up? What if she doesn’t wake up? Am I supposed to wake her up?

I could call my mother for advice, but waking her up is never a good idea.

Only one other expert comes to mind. I pick up my cell phone and type whattoexpect, which informs me that “For a newborn, three hours is about as long as you can expect him to sleep.”

Okay. I’ll wait.

Carefully, I gather up my sleeping baby. I settle back against the bed pillows, holding her in my arms.

“I’m here with you,” I whisper. “I’ll always be here with you. No matter what.”

Except, when do I sleep?

When did my mother, Charlotte, sleep? My mother adopted me, all by herself, when I was just this small, and it wasn’t such a common thing back then. What did she think about on her first night all alone with me? Was she scared, thrilled, awed, exhausted but wide awake? All of the above? Like me?

And my birth mother, who had to let me go so that I could have the blessed and secure life that I’ve had – was she like Li, young and alone? Does she ever wonder about me?

I’ve registered (secretly – Charlotte would be devastated if she knew) for every adoption registry out there. I’d love to meet my birth mother. Somewhere out there, people who look like me walk the streets, working at jobs, raising children, living life. I’ve never looked into the face of a parent or sibling who looks like me.

I wonder what that would be like.

I look at Holly.

If we can’t find Li, my daughter will wonder, too.

Impulsively, I pick up my phone and dial Charlotte’s number. The worst she can do is hang up on me, right?

“Hello?” It’s a man’s voice. My mother’s boyfriend.

“Howard? It’s Chloe.” Without meaning to, I start to cry.

“Hi, darling, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, everything’s wonderful,” I sob. “I have the baby. Could I - is Charlotte there?”

“Of course sweetheart, hold on.”

“Chloe? What is it?” My mother’s voice is thick with sleep.

“Mom? I have the baby. She’s here.” Tears are streaming down my face. I haven’t called her Mom since I was eight years old.

“Oh, honey. Oh, Chloe. I know. Are you all right?” I can tell she’s waking up now.

“Mom, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do!”

“All you have to do is feed her and change her. You don’t need to worry about anything else right now. You don’t need to play Mozart or read Shakespeare aloud. Try to sleep when she sleeps. Keep a little bib on her in case she spits up, because formula stains.”

“But what if she cries and I don’t wake up?”

“You will. It’s instinctual. Don’t worry.”

“I was wondering…is this how you felt when you got me?”

There’s a short silence as she thinks.

“I remember you were like a kitten. I remember that I brought you home in a pink snowsuit, and I had a new white coat, and I wore pink gloves. We looked adorable.” She sighs with pleasure. “That was a really good day.”

“You mean because my adoption finally went through and I was yours?”

“I mean I was having a really good hair day, so the photos were wonderful. I’ll send you one. Howard, remind me to get out the pictures tomorrow.”

“But were you scared? Did you know how to be a mother?”

“Well, we didn’t worry so much about it then, you know. And my family was close by, in Newton. You remember going to Nana’s house, and playing with your cousins.”

“I do, but you weren’t married either. Did you ever think you couldn’t do it?”