PART 2

Patricia’s mouth fell open, but Daniel didn’t immediately explain. Instead, he looked toward the full-length mirror. My reflection was still there: exhausted face, messy hair, maternity clothes, one hand unconsciously gripping my cardigan across my stomach.

Daniel noticed.

“First, let go of that, Penny.”

“What?”

“Your sweater.”

Only then did I realize how tightly I was holding it closed. Slowly, I released the fabric.

Patricia sighed.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I wasn’t attacking her.”

Daniel turned toward his mother.

“You told my wife I’d be embarrassed to stand beside her.”

“I said she shouldn’t neglect herself.”

“She gave birth three weeks ago, Mom.”

“So did millions of women before her.”

The words came out effortlessly, as though what my body had just endured was ordinary enough to criticize but not extraordinary enough to respect.

Patricia pointed sharply toward the robe.

“And whatever dramatic performance you’re planning with that thing, I’m not interested.”

Daniel gave her a humorless smile.

“That’s unfortunate.”

He laid the robe across the couch.

Patricia immediately looked away.

That reaction made me examine it more carefully. Why would an old robe frighten her so much?

Daniel touched the sagging pocket.

“Penny, see this?”

I nodded.

“Apparently I did that.”

Patricia snapped her head toward him.

“Don’t.”

Daniel looked at her.

“Why not?”

“Because it happened forty years ago.”

“Exactly.”

Her face reddened.

I stepped closer.

“What happened forty years ago?”

Neither of them answered immediately. Then one of my daughters began crying, followed quickly by another. I instinctively turned toward the bassinets, but Daniel reached the first one before me.

“I’ve got her.”

Patricia moved toward the second.

“Let me.”

I stepped in first.

“No, I’ve got this one.”

For a moment she looked offended. Then her gaze dropped toward my hand, which had once again moved protectively across my stomach.

Her own words had put it there.

She looked away.

Daniel lifted our daughter against his shoulder and returned to the robe.

“Mom, do you remember what Dad used to tell you after I was born?”

Patricia became completely still.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Daniel.”

“Do you remember crying because none of your clothes fit?”

Her lips parted.

I stared at her. Patricia—the perfectly dressed woman who had just lectured me about appearance—had once stood exactly where I was standing.

“That was different,” she whispered.

“How?”

“It just was.”

Daniel picked up the robe.

“You wore this for months.”

Patricia looked toward the front door.

“You don’t know anything about that time.”

“Dad told me.”

The room fell quiet.

Daniel touched the bleach stain.

“He said you hated having your picture taken.”

Patricia’s eyes flicked toward me.

“He said there were days you cried because you looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize yourself.”

“Stop!”

But Daniel continued.

“He said this robe was one of the few things you could wear without feeling uncomfortable.”

Patricia swallowed hard. The woman who had arrived at my house judging my body suddenly couldn’t even look at me.

Daniel wasn’t finished.

He pushed his fingers into the badly stretched pocket.

“Dad told me how this happened too.”

Patricia’s eyes filled with tears.

“What happened?” I asked quietly.

She shook her head at Daniel, silently warning him not to continue.

He did anyway.

“I used to hold onto it.”

I looked at the pocket.

“Hold onto what?”

“This.”

He pinched the loose fabric.

“Apparently, when I was little, I followed Mom everywhere. If she cooked, I walked behind her holding this pocket. If she folded laundry, my hand was here. If she walked through the house, I grabbed onto it and followed.”

Patricia turned her face away.

Daniel’s voice softened.

“Dad said you once complained that I was going to ruin your robe.”

She closed her eyes.

“And do you remember what he told you?”

Patricia remained silent.

Daniel answered for her.

“He said, ‘One day you’ll miss the weight.’”

Just like that, Patricia sat down.

All the sharpness seemed to drain from her body. She reached toward the robe and ran her fingers along the stretched pocket. For several seconds, she said nothing.

One of my babies gave a tiny hiccup from the bassinet.

Patricia looked toward her granddaughter, then back at the robe.

I understood what Daniel had wanted his mother to remember. Once, long before the polished clothes and cruel advice, Patricia had been an exhausted mother too. She had struggled with her changing body. She had lived in an old robe because nothing else felt comfortable. And a little boy named Daniel had followed her everywhere, holding onto that pocket until he stretched it out of shape.

But Daniel still wasn’t finished.

He walked toward the full-length mirror Patricia had given me—the same mirror that had made me hide my stomach only minutes earlier—and grabbed both sides.

“Help me move this.”

I blinked.

“Where?”

“Nowhere.”

He turned it around.

The reflective surface faced the wall.

The plain wooden backing faced us.

Patricia stared.

“What are you doing?”

Daniel opened a drawer beside the couch and pulled out a black washable marker.

“Daniel, don’t.”

“Why?”

“That’s an expensive mirror.”

Daniel smiled.

“Good.”

He uncapped the marker and leaned toward the wooden backing.

“Because from now on, we’re going to use it to measure something that actually matters.”

He drew three tiny lines and wrote our daughters’ names beside them. Underneath, he added each baby’s birth weight, then drew three ridiculous little stick figures.

I laughed for the first time since Patricia had arrived.

Daniel capped the marker.

“There. Now it’s useful.”

Patricia stared at him.

“I bought that for Penny.”

“I know.”

“She was supposed to use it to track her progress.”

Daniel shook his head.

“No, Mom. You bought it so she could watch herself become smaller.”

Then he pointed toward the three bassinets.

“We’re going to use it to watch them become bigger.”

Patricia frowned.

“I was only trying to motivate her.”

Daniel opened his mouth to answer, but I touched his arm.

“I’ve got this, Dan.”

He immediately stepped back.

I faced Patricia. Three weeks of exhaustion seemed to sit inside every bone in my body. I was sore. None of my old clothes fit. There were mornings when brushing my teeth felt like a major accomplishment.

But suddenly, I didn’t feel ashamed.

“I don’t need motivation to become the woman I was before these babies.”

Patricia said nothing.

I looked toward my three daughters.

“I need time to discover the woman I am after them.”

Her eyes dropped toward the peach robe.

For once, Patricia had no advice to offer.

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