up for the pictures.”
When Walt shook her hand, she knew right away he was good people. He also reminded her a little bit of Arnie—or how Arnie might look in twenty years. It was his coloring. Walt had the presence of an aging cover model. His hair was light brown shot with gray. He had twinkling gray-blue eyes and an easy smile. He was tall too but much thinner than the golden Adonis who stole her heart.
An hour flew by. And then another. Ari not only woke up but she had a full-on diva moment and performed like a pro. Walt had the time of his life—shooting pictures from every angle, including from a stepladder. He even persuaded her to allow him to pose them for mommy and me shots.
Did she have a handy change of clothing for the baby? Of course. The sunflower suit was cute, but so was a pink and white romper outfit with headband and matching swaddle.
Ari was a swaddle baby. Summer found the baby’s blissful response when wrapped to be absolutely enchanting. The same was true for the adorable way Ari stretched and grunted when the swaddle was removed.
“You’re a natural,” Walt told her.
Natural? Good grief. The chorus of naysaying voices in her head could not disagree more. What pregnancy did to her overall body was nothing compared to the slap in the face realities every new mother tackled.
Without any free time to devote to skincare and hairstyling, Summer’s look was definitely natural. Too natural. Her skin was shit. Same for her hair. She hadn’t had a mani-pedi in months, and for Pete’s sake, don’t get her started on how none of her pre-pregnancy clothes fit. She was still wearing stretchy maternity stuff and hadn’t worn anything but Skechers or house slippers in months.
In short, she felt like a mess, whether anyone else saw it or not.
But she sucked it up and let Walt do his photographer thing. Someday, every picture would have meaning to Arianne, and that was enough for her.
While Walt and Lynda pored over the pictures on his laptop, she excused herself and sat with her back to them so she could nurse the baby. Some days, she loved every suckle, and others, when her boobs hurt and her nipples were sore, she silently cursed the man who should have been by her side through all this.
Today was a little of both. Nursing her baby came with an industrial-strength sense of female empowerment. Men might control the world, but they couldn’t carry new life or nourish the baby from their body. Empowerment is nice and all, but Ari’s fierce sucking had similarities to her daddy’s—similarities her boobs enjoyed and suffered from. She had half a dozen balms handy, all promising relief from sore nursing nipples. They helped, sorta.
What would help beyond measure was a partner to share with. Loneliness dogged her morning, noon, and night and chipped away at her mental health. Waitressing wasn’t just a way to make money. She was a people person and genuinely enjoyed most of her customer interactions. An interest in people was the reason behind the career she wanted. People management and human resources might sound like torture to some, but to her, taking care of people’s needs, mentoring new talent, and helping out when times are tough were where she could do good work. Being cut off from the life she had worked so hard to create was taking a toll.
With the baby nursed, changed, and content, she joined Walt and Lynda for a tall ice-filled glass of tangy lemonade made with lemons from Walt’s backyard tree.
A ripple of tension caught her attention. She looked back and forth between Walt and Lynda. “What’s wrong?”
Lynda pinned her with a meaningful look and in a voice intended to convey more than words said, “Walt was just saying how you could be sweeping money into trash bags if you got a modeling agent for Arianne and put her pictures out there.”
Summer carefully molded her expression to let Lynda know she understood. Then with a smile, she gently explained to Walt why it was never going to happen. The only thing was, there wasn’t an ounce of truth to what she said.
“A lovely thought, but alas,” she announced half teasingly, “impossible. I’m, I mean, we’re, uh, only in LA for a short time.”
“You’re moving?” Walt asked.
“Um, yes,” she boldly lied. “Heading to the other coast. The, uh, East Coast.”
She noted Lynda nodding with approval. Telling people she was moving