My mother starts to clean up the table. “I think you should move back home,” she suggests. “It would be best for you and the baby to be here with us.”

“What?” I straighten in my chair. “No. I can’t do that. I love my apartment. I can’t raise a baby in the basement, Mom. Even the cat hated it down there.” Moving back home has to be an absolute, last resort when no other choices are available. I refuse to lose everything I’ve worked so hard for and let my life fall apart just because I’m pregnant. The counselor told me lots of single mothers go to college, have careers, and live happy, normal lives even though most of them thought they couldn’t do it all in the beginning. I just have to stay focused on my goals, be a good mother, and make decisions that are best for me and the baby.

“Before you say no, will you please think about this? How are you going to take care of a baby living alone? You work full time. Daycare costs a fortune and will take up most of your paycheck. If you live here, I can take care of the baby all day while you’re at work. It will be much easier for everyone involved.”

I can’t deny that most of what she’s saying is true. I’ve already started researching local daycare centers and the weekly fees are a shock.

“Do you really want to be a babysitter all day? You just retired last year. I thought you wanted to do crafts. Learn to golf with Dad. Enjoy life while you’re still young.”

She waves her hand at me. “I can still work on my craft projects, and golf on weekends, if I want to, which I really don’t, but don’t tell your father that.”

I hold my ground. “I can’t move back in here. I need my space, and independence. If you’re serious about wanting to help me, what if I just bring the baby over here every day on my way to work, and pick her up after? Then the baby won’t have to be with strangers all day, and I can keep my apartment. I’ll even pay you.”

She gives me the side-eye as she wipes down the kitchen table. “Absolutely not. You are not paying me to watch my own grandchild.”

“Okay, but do you think that’s really something you want to do? After my maternity leave?”

“Maternity leave,” she repeats, closing her eyes as if she’s trying to absorb the words. “I never thought we’d be talking about this. Not for a long, long time.”

Neither did I.

“The answer is yes, Piper. Of course I’d love to take care of my grandchild every day. We’ll do this together. I’m not going to let anything happen to you and this baby. Do you have a good doctor? I’d like to go to your next visit with you. Or I could take you to my doctor, the one who delivered you and your sisters…”

“Mom,” I warn. “Slow down. You’re making my head spin. I have a doctor, but you’re welcome to come with me and supervise if you want to.”

“I just want to be sure you’re getting the best care.” She puts her hands on her hips and lets out a deep sigh. “All right. We have lots of time to plan and get all the things you’re going to need. Don’t worry about your father, I’ll talk to him and he’ll calm down. Everything will be okay, I promise.”

I want to believe her, but deep inside, little voices are whispering otherwise, and they’re hard to ignore.

Chapter Seventeen

2002

“Come on, Lyric. We’re going to get lunch.” I reach out to her, but she doesn’t take my hand. She’s way too engrossed with an orange and black caterpillar that’s creeping along the edge of the sidewalk. “I’m sure Mr. Caterpillar has somewhere to be, too.” She stares up at me, her big blue eyes full of curiosity and… contemplation. Always thinking, debating, and wondering, this little one.

I wave my outstretched fingers. “Come on, sweetie. You can have a smoothie when we get there.”

“Storeberry?”

“Yes, strawberry.”

Bribery is usually my last tactic to motivate her, but my stomach is growling and I have a pile of work waiting for me at home that I need to review for a meeting scheduled on Monday. Lyric hums happily to herself for the remainder of the walk from the parking lot to the café. A breeze blows our hair across our faces and I breathe in the warm air, welcoming the first signs of spring. I enjoy all the seasons, but I’ve had enough of winter. I can only handle so much snow, sweater-weather, and slush.

The bell hanging on the café door chimes as we enter and I wave to Robbie, who’s worked here for as long as I can remember.