Nameless (34 page)

“You’ve got a
mountain of laundry in here.”

Erin exhaled,
hating to be reminded of it. “I know. I was trying to hide it in the closet,
but it won’t all fit in there anymore.” She glanced down. Saw that the little
mouth was still sucking steadily, making the wet noises that had become somehow
comforting to Erin over the last three months.

“How do you
have enough underwear?”

“I didn’t,” she
admitted. “I had to buy some more.”

She heard Liz laughing
from the bedroom and wondered what she was doing in there.

“How long has
it been since you did laundry last?”

“I don’t know.
Three weeks. Maybe longer. I just don’t have the time or energy, and now it
seems like such an exhausting ordeal.”

Stella, the
middle-aged woman who worked as her nanny during the week, did chores that
revolved around childcare—the baby’s laundry and cleaning the nursery or
kitchen after she’d used them. Sometimes, Erin suspected that Stella was
secretly cleaning up while she was at work, but she hadn't yet been able to
confirm her suspicions. For the most part, the apartment was livable, but piles
of junk had collected that Erin just didn’t have energy to sort through.

Her laundry had
suffered the most.

Liz came back
through the living room with a load of laundry in her arms.

Erin blinked.
“Thanks, Liz. But you don’t have to—”

“Don’t worry about
it. I’m just putting it in the washing machine. You’re the one who’s going to
have to fold or hang it up.”

Erin groaned.
That was the worst part.

While Liz put
her laundry in the washing machine—which was part of a stacked unit just off the
kitchen—Erin finished nursing.

Then she picked
up her daughter, holding her upright to burp her. After just a minute of
rubbing and patting her back, she was rewarded by spit-up on her shirt.

Erin wiped it
up and then cleaned up her daughter’s mouth. The big blue eyes were open and
staring at her, so Erin grinned and made smacking noises until she got a
response—babbling sounds that resembled little baby giggles.

“Lunchtime
over?” Liz asked, coming into the living room to join them.

“Yep,” Erin
replied, leaning over to kiss the tiny, warm forehead, and then putting her bra
back together and straightening her shirt. “I need to change her diaper, so bring
the t-shirt into the nursery and we’ll try it on.”

They walked
together into the nursery, which Erin still was inordinately proud of. After
changing the diaper, Erin pulled off the pumpkin dress. Gently tickled the soft
belly to get her to giggle again.

So far, she was
a very good-natured baby. She cried when she was hungry or tired, but—except
when she was sick—it never took much to settle her down.

Erin didn’t deserve
such a perfect daughter.

Liz snorted at
her besotted expression and handed her the tiny t-shirt. Erin put it on and
then picked her up to show her off to Liz.

Laughing, she
said, “There. It's just a little short."

It actually
looked adorable, so Erin couldn't help but gush a little. She carried her over
to the rocker, where she sat down and held her upright in her lap. Her daughter
pushed her feet against Erin's thighs, putting some of her weight on her own
legs, as if she were trying to stand.

Erin took this
as an obvious sign that her three-month-old was some kind of protégé.

Liz laughed.
“She looks great. She should wear that for her weekly picture today.”

 “No. She
finally fits into that beautiful white, smocked dress. You know, the one Gina
gave me at the baby shower? I was going to put her in that.”

Erin made a
playful kissing noise, which caused her daughter to stare at her curiously. Erin
kept making the noise, leaning forward until she reached the baby's stomach,
just below the t-shirt. Then she blew gently against the smooth skin,
increasing the pressure and sound with her lips.

Her daughter
babbled happily at this game.

Erin laughed.
Did it again. Prompted even more babbling.

She’d never
imagined she could love anyone this much. Never imagined she was even capable
of it.

When she saw an
unexpected flash, she turned her head sharply in the direction of Liz.

Her sister had clicked
a picture of them without warning, using the camera she’d brought over for
their weekly picture.

Erin frowned.
“What do you think you’re doing?”

 “It was too
irresistible. You were in full mommy mode. It had to be documented so you
couldn’t deny it later.” Glancing down, she checked the camera. Her face
changed. “Wow. It’s really good. Look.”

When Liz
brought the camera over, Erin looked obediently, not expecting to be impressed,
since she always hated how she looked in pictures.

It was good.

It was a
profile shot of both of them and was one of the best pictures of the pumpkin
she could remember—smiling, natural, waving her hands excitedly. The reddish
hair was mussed, and the tummy was sticking out between the short t-shirt and
the diaper, but she looked vibrant and adorable.

Erin actually
looked good too. Also smiling, holding up her baby with an uncharacteristically
tender expression. Her hair was tousled around her face kind of messily and her
upper body looked a little too curvy, but she looked good.

Not sexy, but
something else. Something Erin had never associated with herself before.

It made her
feel kind of weird. She'd always been quite confident that all things maternal
were completely foreign to her, and she couldn’t help but wonder how she had
become this person, instead of the person she’d always thought she was.

Liz was looking
ridiculously pleased with herself. “I’m going to frame this one for Dad. He’ll
love it.”

“Yeah,” Erin
mumbled, feeling irrationally embarrassed—as if she’d been caught doing
something that should have remained secret. “Thanks. Since you think you’re so
talented, you better do a good job with the weekly picture, once I put her in
her pretty dress.”

Liz frowned
thoughtfully. “No. I think this should be the picture.”

“No. It
shouldn't.”

“But it’s
perfect. You both look great in it. This is the best picture of the two of you
I’ve seen.”

 “No. I
shouldn’t be in it, and she’s going to wear her pretty dress.”

“Why are you
being so stubborn? I’m telling you that this is the picture you should send
him. He needs to see it.”

“I don’t want
him to see it,” Erin mumbled.

Every Saturday,
Erin sent Seth an email. She briefly outlined anything noteworthy about their
daughter and attached a new picture. After the first two weeks of trying to
explain and get a response from him, she’d stopped hoping he'd reply. But she
emailed him once a week, keeping the notes brief and impersonal.

She’d already composed
the one for this week:
She’s almost thirteen pounds now. She was slightly
sick at the beginning of the week, but she was feeling better by Wednesday. She
likes to wave her arms around, and she can almost clap sometimes. Her new
favorite thing is to rock in her swing.

That was it.

The emails were
always painful to write and to send, but she still sent them every week with a
picture. She’d told him from the beginning that she’d keep him informed, so she
was committed to doing so, even if he’d decided he didn’t want anything to do
with them.

She didn’t want
Seth to forget he had a daughter.

“Give me one
good reason why you shouldn’t send Seth this picture,” Liz demanded.

“I’ll give you
three.
I’m
in this one, and the picture is supposed to just be of her.
Plus, her hair is kind of messy, and her diaper is droopy. I was going to fix
her up before I took the picture.”

She’d been
planning to put their daughter in the delicate, smocked dress with embroidered
flowers that Seth had unconsciously picked out when he’d been looking at the
nursery four months ago. She’d just been waiting for it to fit, and now it
finally did.

“Who cares
about that? She looks really cute in the t-shirt. Why can’t she look natural?
Why do you always dress her up for the pictures?”

Erin clenched
her jaw, turning her daughter around until she was lying against her chest and
shoulder.

“Erin?”

Finally, she
sighed. “I want him to think she’s pretty.”

“She
is
pretty. She’s beautiful.”

“I know. But...but
I just want him to
see
how beautiful she is.” She added in a whisper,
almost to herself. “I want him to be proud of her.”

Liz contorted
her face. “Oh, shit, Erin. You know I hate when you make me cry.” Before Erin
could object to both the sentiment and the language, Liz added, “If only I
could knee that selfish bastard in the balls.”

Erin had
quickly recovered from her descent into poignancy. She cleared her throat and then
said with exaggerated primness, “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t pollute my
innocent daughter’s ears with such vulgarity.”

 “Sorry. I’m
trying to be good.”

“I know. All in
all, you’re doing pretty well.”

Evidently
relieved that the emotional part of the afternoon was over, Liz resumed her
badgering. “Anyway, she does look beautiful in this picture, and she looks happy
and natural. So do you.”

“It doesn’t
matter about me.”

“Well,
I
think it does. He should see that you’re happy. He should be reminded of what
he’s missing out on.”

Erin felt
awkward and just shrugged. “I’m not sending it.” Then she stood up and carried
her wriggling daughter to set her up in the infant swing in the living room.

The blue eyes
stared mesmerized at the turning animals on the mobile that moved with the music
and the rocking of the swing.

Liz had
followed Erin. “If you don’t send it, then I’ll send it to him myself. With a
nasty, scathing note.”

Erin groaned
and collapsed on the couch. “He probably just deletes the emails without
reading them anyway. Obviously they don’t mean anything to him.”

“Then it won’t
matter which picture you send.”

“Fine.” Erin
hauled herself up and got her laptop from the dining room table. Found the
draft of the email she’d composed yesterday. Then attached the picture from the
camera.

Hit "send"
before she changed her mind.

She had a sick,
heavy feeling in her gut, but she forced herself to ignore it. He probably
wouldn’t ever see the picture anyway. If he was trying to close himself off
from them completely, then he wouldn’t want any reminders.

He wouldn’t
ever see the picture. Erin shouldn’t worry about it.

“Erin?” Liz
asked, after several minutes of silence. “Are you
sure
you’re all
right?”

Erin smiled. It
wasn’t bright and cheerful, but it wasn’t fake either. Just kind of tired.
“Yeah. We’re good. This is my life. I have her. And you. And Dad. And plenty of
friends—I don’t hang out with them much anymore, but they’re still there. And I
have a decent job. Maybe eventually I’ll try to date again.” She sighed and
felt that stupid lump again that she couldn’t rid herself of completely. “Yes,
I wanted her to have a daddy, but we’re not going to fall apart without one.
We’re good.”

“Are
you
good?” Liz asked, very softly, very carefully.

 “I’m good. I
really am. Eventually, you get over things. Eventually, I won’t miss him so
much.”

Erin was having a miserable
Friday.

She’d woken up
just after five o’clock that morning to the sound of anguished squalling, only
to discover that her daughter had produced the poop from hell, which had leaked
out of her diaper and all over the bedding.

She’d ended up
a half-hour late for work and had a headache all morning.

Then she’d been
so exhausted that she’d actually nodded off during a staff meeting, to be
awakened by an annoying colleague poking her in the arm and everyone else laughing
at her.

She’d been so
busy that she hadn’t had time for lunch—just swallowing down a little bag of
peanuts from the vending machine. The lack of food hadn't improved either her
headache or her mood.

Then she’d
needed to go to the store after work, and—as she’d been standing in the endless
line at the checkout counter—she’d discovered that she’d never put her wallet
back in her bag, after pulling it out to get change for the vending machine
that afternoon.

So she’d had to
leave all her stuff in the cart and go back to work. Find her wallet—which was naturally
right on top of her desk—and then return to the store and stand in line again.

This time,
there was a woman with a baby behind her, and the baby was crying at the top of
his lungs.

Erin tried to
shut the sound out. Tried to think of anything else. But her breasts were full,
and the crying triggered their letdown reflex.

She started
leaking. A lot. More than she'd leaked since the first month after giving
birth.

Erin crossed
her arms over her chest and prayed for the baby to stop crying. Squeezed her
breasts, trying to use pressure to get it to stop.

It didn’t
really work. Despite the pads in her bra, she could feel the milk spreading out
over the fabric of her shirt.

She was just
about ready to cry when she left the store and made her way home, finally
stumbling into her apartment an hour later than Stella had been expecting her.

She apologized
profusely to the nanny, who shrugged it off and said that Erin looked like she’d
had a horrible day.

“I was just
about to give her a bottle, since she’s getting hungry. Why don’t you nurse her
first?” Stella suggested. “Then I can stick around while you change clothes.”