She handed the child back to me, then gestured me to leave.
Webber and I left, but she stopped Webber. “You want me to do that one, too?”
“This one isn’t crying.”
“Doesn’t mean that he’s not misaligned. Everyone feels better aligned.”
Webber hesitated.
The woman swooped in, walked back to the room, and started cooing to Webber’s kid before she got him adjusted as well.
It took all of five minutes, mostly because the woman kept talking to the baby.
“Baby fever is real, even when you’re fifty,” she said. “I can’t wait for grandchildren, but my kids are all in college, and show no signs of having kids any time soon.” She walked us toward the door. “You can call me Stacy.”
Then she closed the door in our faces.
“I can’t believe that just happened.” Webber shook his head. “And she forgot to show us how to paralyze someone.”
“Next time!” Stacy called through the closed door just as she slammed the lock home. “I’m tired.”
Webber walked with me toward the open front door of my apartment, and my eyes instantly went to that white sheet again.
The white sheet was no longer moving, so I was hoping that she was asleep, and no longer crying like I suspected she was doing earlier.
I was so focused on that white sheet that when the elevator dinged, it caused me to jump.
It didn’t make Webber jump, though.
Instead, his head turned and he glared hard at the elevator like it’d personally slighted him.
It was only when Silver stepped out that I understood his near instant reaction, and I nearly choked.
Silver stepped out of the elevator with a huge box of something in her arms.
She smiled wide when she saw us standing there, then her eyes went huge as saucers when she said, “Oh. My. God. Look how cute!”
I jerked my head for her to come inside and said, “Come in. Whatcha got there?”
Silver brought by food from my brother’s at least once a week.
She lived just down the road from me now and had dinner with her twin sister multiple times a week. But on Thursdays, when both of them had the day off, Aella and Silver would spend the day planning an elaborate meal and then eat it with only themselves.
There were always leftovers, and I never complained when I got them.
Apparently, Silver and Aella thought that I couldn’t feed myself, because I was always the only one to get the leftovers.
Not even Cutter or Chevy got them.
“Today it was butter chicken, naan, and rice,” she said. “Not as elaborate as we usually do it, but we ran out of time because we were binging Grey’s Anatomy, and what the fuck did they have to kill off Derek for? I’m going to choose to believe that he didn’t die. Fuckin’ Shondra.”
“Who’s Shondra?” Webber reluctantly asked.
“Shondra is the writer of Grey’s Anatomy.” Silver smiled at him. “Hi, Webber. Is that your baby?”
The way she said it, though it sounded upbeat and happy, sounded slightly off.
Her smile looked a little bit forced, too.
