Chapter 10 - The Toast She Cannot Drink To
The emcee said our names like we had already won something. "Please welcome our new-parent donors, Marcelo and Elena." The chandelier light seemed to get louder as we stepped toward the stage. I felt the edge of the riser under my shoe and counted it. One. Two. Three steps up.
Marcelo had his hand at the small of my back. Not guiding me, exactly. Holding me where he could feel if I tried to step away. Lily was in my arms, heavier than she should have been after a long night, her legs locked around my waist. Her navy bows caught the stage light and went almost black.
From up there the ballroom looked different. The cream walls went gold. The tables were a spread of white linen and lifted glasses. I could see Maya near the back wall with her silver tray tucked against her side. She wasn't moving.
Marcelo took the mic from the emcee. He thanked the hospital wing donors first. His voice was steady, the host voice he used when he wanted the room to settle.
"Thank you for being here for the families who will use that wing," he said. "For believing this city takes care of its own."
People clapped. Someone near the front raised a glass higher. The lights were warm on my face and I tried to smile the way the blush gown required. Lily shifted against me, her curls sticking to my neck. I adjusted my hold and felt the prosthetic shift with her weight. I stopped breathing for a second until it settled.
Then the emcee leaned back in, smiling wide for the crowd. "And we are all so excited for you two," she said. "A new baby joining a generous family."
More applause. Lily waved one small hand because she thought it was for her. A few people laughed.
A man at the center table stood with his champagne. He was older, one of the foundation regulars, the kind who donated a wing and expected a due date in return. "To the baby!" he called. "When do we get to meet him or her? What's the due date?"
The room tilted. I heard the question clearly but my mouth didn't open. I looked at the man's glass, at the bubbles, at Marcelo's hand tightening just slightly against my back. Lily's fingers curled into the lace at my shoulder.
I knew what I was supposed to say. March. We had said March for months. The word was there behind my teeth and it wouldn't come out. My chest felt too tight under the gown. The chandelier glow blurred at the edges.
"Elena?" the emcee said quietly, still smiling.
Lily whispered against my ear, too loud for a whisper, "Mommy?"
Marcelo looked at me. Not stern for the audience. Just watching. I could feel everyone watching the pause stretch. A woman in the second row lowered her glass without drinking. The older donor chuckled, uncertain, and glanced at his wife.
I tried to swallow. "We —" I started, and stopped.
That was enough. The applause that had been ready faded out table by table until the only sound was the mic humming in Marcelo's hand. He stepped closer to me, so our shoulders touched under the light.
He lifted the mic again. He didn't look at the donor. He looked out at the room the way he had looked at Lily downstairs, like he was deciding what kind of man to be in front of people.
"We need to pause the celebration for tonight," he said.
May you like
No one clapped. The emcee's smile froze. I felt Lily go still in my arms. Her navy bows brushed my cheek when she turned to look up at Marcelo.
The older donor slowly sat down. His wife put her hand on his arm. Behind them, chairs shifted. Someone coughed. The warm light stayed on us, too bright now, holding the three of us there while the room waited for an explanation we weren't giving yet.
