was so easily hurt.
Weezy had been surprised that Cleo didn’t want her mother in the room. Cleo didn’t know how to explain that they weren’t that kind of family. She and her mom didn’t talk about bodily functions the way that the Coffeys did, like Will’s constipation or heartburn was just another normal breakfast topic. They never walked out of a bathroom and warned people not to go in there for a while, like she’d seen Weezy do, or announce that their cramps were just unbearable this month, as Martha had done last week.
No, she and her mother didn’t talk about those things. When Cleo had gotten her period, she’d never even mentioned it, just put her underwear in the laundry and the next day there was a pack of pads and another of tampons. “Any questions?” her mom had asked. And Cleo hadn’t had one.
So she didn’t want her mom in here while her water was breaking. She didn’t want her here while the doctor explained that it was that color because the baby had just pooped inside of her. And she didn’t want her mom to be here if she pooped on the table, or bled, or did all of the stuff that you do when you have a baby.
And she hoped to God that Weezy knew that she’d never consider having her in the room. That would be absurd. She wasn’t even thrilled about having Max in the room, but she had to have someone and he was the dad so he was supposed to be there. He would probably never want to have sex with her again, she imagined. And who could blame him? This was why you were supposed to wait until you’d been together longer before you had a baby, because of all the gross and embarrassing stuff that happened along with it. They should advertise that when they tried to stop teen pregnancies.
The last thing that Lainie had said to her was this: “You’re going to be in the room, and you’re going to think, ‘I can’t do this, I take it back, what was I thinking, I changed my mind.’ And here’s the best part: You can’t change your mind. So there’s no use thinking about it. You’ll just have to do it. If there was any turning back, there’d be no babies in the world. So just remember, the decision is done and you’ll just have to get through it.”
AFTER SHE GOT THE EPIDURAL, Cleo said to Max, “I know why people are drug addicts.”
“Okay,” he said. He tried to smile, but he looked concerned.
Her labor went on and Cleo even managed to rest a little, to close her eyes, and even though she didn’t think she really slept, it made her feel better.
Afterward, it was hard to remember the pain. It wasn’t that she didn’t remember that it was awful—she knew that much. But if she tried to talk about it, tried to imagine it again, she couldn’t. It was like there were no words for it. Even saying that it was the most awful thing ever didn’t do it justice.
Someone took pictures, but she didn’t know who. When she looked at them later, she didn’t remember the actual moments that were captured, didn’t remember smiling and posing for anyone.
Elizabeth and Weezy were the first ones in the room, telling her she did a great job and marveling over the baby. They asked Cleo the name, but she let Max answer.
“Nina Grace,” he said.
“It’s perfect,” Elizabeth said, and Weezy agreed.
Will came in later, looking uncomfortable at being so close to Cleo in her ragged state. But he did hold Nina in the corner, smiling at her as she slept. Claire and Martha came in together, hugged her, and then took turns passing the baby back and forth.
“She’s perfect,” Claire said. “She’s so beautiful.”
“She really is,” Martha said. “Are you two going to send her to the nursery for the night? You should, just so you can get some rest.”
After everyone had gone, she and Max stared at the little red face. Cleo had told him that he could go home, but he’d insisted on staying and sleeping on the window seat that turned into a bed. She was grateful that he was there—even though they did send the baby to the nursery like Martha suggested—so that when she woke up in the middle of the night, there was someone else with her.
“I CAN’T BELIEVE THEY’RE LETTING US just leave with