Two Quiet Hours[]
For almost two hours, Theo slept.
I held him against me while the plane crossed the mountains, staring through the window at endless white clouds.
I should have been enjoying the silence.
Instead, my mind went back to Gavin.
The empty chair at breakfast.
The first evening Hadley stopped asking when he was coming home.
The unopened bottle of barbecue sauce he had bought because it was “supposed to change our lives.”
Grief was strange that way.
You expected the big memories to hurt.
Sometimes it was the ridiculous little ones that caught you without warning.
Theo shifted against my chest.
His eyes opened.
For several minutes, he was content.
Then he started fussing.
I checked his diaper.
I gave him his pacifier.
I rocked him gently.
Nothing helped.
Then I realized the obvious.
He was hungry.
I reached into my bag for the light nursing cover I had brought.
The moment Marianne saw it, her expression changed.
“You’re not going to do that here, are you?”
I froze.
“He needs to eat.”
She looked around the cabin as if I had announced something outrageous.
“There are other people sitting here.”
I kept my voice calm.
“I’ll be covered.”
“That isn’t the point.”
My face grew warm.
I had barely slept the night before.
I had spent the morning getting two children through airport security while trying not to cry when an employee casually asked whether their father was traveling with us.
I did not have energy left for an argument.
So I simply said, “My son is hungry. I’m going to feed him quietly.”
Marianne shook her head.
“Some things should be done privately.”
I looked toward the narrow airplane restroom.
“I’m not feeding my baby in a bathroom.”[]
Her lips tightened.
“People with very young babies should consider whether a long flight is appropriate in the first place.”
That sentence hurt more than it should have.
Maybe because somewhere inside me, I was already questioning every decision I made without Gavin.
Had I traveled too soon?
Was I asking too much of Hadley?
Was Theo sensing how anxious I was?
Was I failing at a job that had once belonged to two people?
Marianne did not know any of that.
Still, she had managed to press directly on the bruise.
Hadley Changes Seats
Before I could answer, a small hand touched my shoulder.
Hadley was standing in the aisle.
“Mom, take my seat.”[]
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