Chapter 7 - Milo
Sunday dinner stayed canceled. Coleman brought the babies over later that afternoon, only after Naomi asked him to. That was the first time I ever held either of them. The girl slept through almost everything. The boy was awake, the silver bracelet tiny around his wrist.
Naomi finally said, "His name is Milo."
I laughed through the tears. "I know his name."
"I know. I just wanted to say it out loud."
Mom held him last. I watched her face while she looked down at him, and for one second I understood exactly why Naomi had banned resemblance comments — because Mom looked like she could see Everett somewhere in his face.
A week later, Naomi called and apologized for the list. Mom said, "Don't apologize for being scared."
"I can be scared without making everyone sign a treaty to see my own babies," Naomi shot back — and that was the first time any of us actually laughed about it.
Coleman told us later that Naomi had barely slept since Milo's surgery. She checked his breathing constantly, reread his discharge instructions over and over, panicked at every strange sound he made. Her obstetrician referred her to a therapist who specialized in postpartum anxiety. Naomi actually went.
Mom apologized so many times that Naomi eventually told her she wasn't allowed to anymore. So instead, she just started answering our questions.
"What did Everett weigh?"
"Seven pounds, two ounces."
"What color were his eyes?"
May you like
"Blue at first. Then gray."
I finally asked the question I actually needed answered. "Where is he buried?"
