continue to level threats, but I tune them out, rocking from side to side to keep them from waking the baby. There’s no point in arguing with them. Not right now. Once a MacLaine has lost their temper, there’s nothing you can do but wait for them to cool down again. And then there’s Ginny. I can’t bring myself to look at her.
We had never really addressed what happened at the wedding. She’d gone off on her honeymoon, returning to their place in D.C. after so Malcolm could continue his position. I’d only heard from her when she called to tell me she was pregnant. She hadn’t even been the one to tell me when they lost the baby. I’d gotten the bad news from my father by text. Most of the arrangements regarding the planned adoption had come through my father during his visits. This is the first time I’ve actually been in the same room with her since her wedding.
Like most brides, she’d dieted obsessively leading up to the big day. That day, she’d glowed like someone had turned on a lightbulb inside her. She’s as thin today as she was then, maybe even skinnier. But there’s no rosy cheeks or happiness radiating from her. Instead, there are dark circles under her eyes and her high cheekbones don’t look sharp and elegant, they look sunken and gaunt. It’s like all the bits under her skin that make her up are deteriorating. She’s tried to cover it up with make-up: thick, camouflaging concealer and bright, pink lipstick. Is all this from losing her own baby? What is losing the chance to adopt Ellie going to do to her?
“Ginny, I’m sorry,” I begin.
“No, you aren’t,” Malcolm snaps.
But Ginny takes a deep breath. “Can I hold her?”
“Is that a good idea?” Malcolm asks, his eyes darting between us. He reaches for her arm as if to stop her if she decides to anyway. “I don’t want you to get attached.”
“I’m already attached.” She yanks her arm free. “And, regardless, Elodie is family.”
“Yes,” I speak up before the guilt eats me alive. Even agreeing to it, each step she takes toward me increases my sense of dread. When she reaches for my daughter, I hesitate.
“I’m not going to steal her,” she says gently. Our eyes meet and I see something I thought we’d lost there: understanding.
“Watch her head,” I advise, passing the baby to her, my hand hovering protectively under her. “She’s still floppy.”
“Floppy?” Ginny repeats with a smile. “Is that a technical term?”
“I can’t think of a better way to describe it.”
The rest of the room is quiet until my brother clears his throat. “We’ll give you a moment.”
I breathe a sigh of relief when the men leave, and it’s just me and her and the baby. Ginny studies Ellie’s sleeping face, then she inspects her fingers and toes. It’s not like earlier when Malcolm was upset over me changing my mind. She’s not checking out a potential acquisition. She’s trying on the role of mother. I know because it’s the first thing I did when they handed Ellie to me in the hospital.
“She’s perfect,” she says softly.
Ginny wants to be a mother. I know that. It’s why she’s looking at her that way. The oddest wave of jealousy roles over me. She’s everything I won’t ever be now. A college graduate. A wife. Wealthy. But somehow I still have the one thing she wants.
“I’m sorry,” I say again. “I can’t explain why. I just know I can’t live without her.”
“She’s your baby. You love her.” She looks up and gives me a brittle smile. “I just wish I hadn’t fallen in love with the idea.”
“You and Malcolm will get another chance. You two just got married. I know losing the pregnancy was rough. I’m so sorry you went through that. I can’t imagine how much that hurts, but you can’t give up.” I want to reach out and take Ellie back, but I can’t bring myself to take her away from Ginny.
Ginny swallows, returning to stare at Ellie who’s smiling in her sleep again. “I can actually. Or, rather, I should. We had some tests done. I can’t have children.”
“But…” I don’t know what to say to this.
“I can get pregnant, but I’ll probably never carry to term,” she continues. “Cruel, isn’t it? But you’re right, there will be other babies. We can adopt. It will take time.”
“I didn’t know.” Why hadn’t my father told me? Would it have changed