Chapter 1 - Her Hand on Her Belly in My Living Room
The candles were still lit when it happened. I'd left the pink peonies on the sideboard and the wine glasses half full, and the lamplight made everything in my living room look soft and safe. Vanessa stood in the middle of it with her hand curved over her belly, her blonde updo catching the light, her beige satin dress pulling smooth. Mark was right beside her in his navy suit, his shirt open at the collar. She was smiling when she said it, looking straight at us like she'd been waiting all night for the quiet.
"I'm caring your baby."
Lily shifted on my hip. My arm was around her, her little floral dress with the bow in back bunched under my hand. I could feel her go still in that way kids do right before they speak.
My name is Maya, and I was holding my three-year-old when our evening broke open.
It was just after eight. We'd eaten, the music was low, the other guests were clustered near the kitchen doorway with their drinks. I remembered the pink clip in Lily's light brown hair because I'd fixed it twice that evening. Vanessa kept her hand on her belly, fingers spread, and Mark didn't move. He just stared with his eyes wide, like he hadn't known she was going to say it out loud.
Then Lily lifted her hand and pointed straight at Vanessa's stomach. She didn't wave it or play. She pointed.
"Mommy, she hit it."
Every adult head turned at once. Mark blinked. I felt the shift in Lily's weight as she leaned forward, serious. Vanessa's smile snapped shut.
"What did you say?"
Her voice was sharp enough that Lily pressed closer into my shoulder. I tightened my arm around her without thinking. Lily looked past Vanessa, toward the hallway, toward the white paneled closet door with the black lever handle that had been closed all evening.
"In the closet," she said.
Vanessa laughed once, hard. She dropped one hand from her belly and then put it right back, like she needed to hold the shape in place. Mark stayed beside her, shocked and silent, his hands at his sides.
"That child is lying," Vanessa said. "She doesn't know anything."
I could smell candle wax and wine. I could hear someone set a glass down too carefully behind me. Lily wasn't looking at Vanessa anymore. She was staring at that closed white door, her mouth set in a flat line that didn't belong on a three-year-old at a party.
"She's three, Vanessa," I said.
I said it quiet. I kept holding Lily. I didn't step forward and I didn't step back. Vanessa's eyes flicked from me to Lily to Mark, who still hadn't spoken, and then to the door. Sweat stood at her hairline under the updo. My living room felt too warm all of a sudden, the lamplight too close.
Lily turned her face up toward me, then back toward the adults. Her voice went small, almost a whisper, but in that silence everyone heard it.
"The little thing has flowers."
My eyes went to the door handle. Black lever, white panels, shut tight. Then to Vanessa's face. The anger drained out of it and left something wide-eyed and scared. Her hand pressed harder into her belly. Mark finally looked at her, then at me, then at the door.
May you like
I didn't want to say it. Lily was in my arms, and I could feel her breathing fast against my collarbone. But someone had to ask, because no one else would.
"What little thing?" I said. "What did you hide?"
