Papá and Mamá slowly nudged through the crowd, their smiling faces bobbing through the hugging, hand-shaking, photo-taking throng. I pushed toward them in the vain hope of meeting in the middle, smiling my own silly smile. Papá waved his fist in the air as he approached and shouted for joy. Mamá's face hovered over his shoulder, her cheeks shiny from freshly-wiped tears. A gap suddenly opened between us, and in the moment of our surprised hesitation I saw Papá's cheap, ancient blazer framing his faded white dress-shirt and Mamá's new flower-print dress, so undoubtedly a consignment purchase that it exuded the aged essence of Goodwill. Their clothes had embarrassed me so many times before, and the recollection of that embarrassment embarrassed me.
"Mi hija," Papá cried as we rushed together, "is a Summa Cum Laude graduate of Harvard University! Harvard University! When I see the boys, I'm telling them my hija is a Hahvahd girl."
"And she did it all on her own, too!" Mamá added. "No help from us." Her voice quivered slightly.
"Aw, Mamá, you and Papá were always supportive." I hugged her before she could go on feeling guilty. Well, mostly. I wish the hug had been fully altruistic, but in truth, I was hoping to avoid thinking about how I'd paid for school. It almost worked.
"It's time."
I looked up from Eli's button nose. I'd studied it for the last several minutes, preceded by intense scrutiny of his smooth curving cheeks, the indention in his tiny chin, the delicate lines of his thin red lips, the dark, velvet hair sticking up in every direction. I'd spent a solid twenty minutes staring into his reddish eyelids, imagining what his eyes might look like.
"Already? Can't I have just a few more minutes?"
The corners of Maria's mouth turned up slightly, not quite a smile but not entirely unkind either. The kind of expression that says, "I'm sorry, but I can't help you." Except that we both knew she could help me.
"I've already given you an extra ten minutes. It's gotta be sometime."
Eli's cheek looked so soft. I stroked it with the pad of my thumb. I gently unbundled him and pulled his arm out of the blanket. Holding my breath, feeling the burning heat of tears collecting at the back of my eyes, I wiggled my pinky into his clenched fist.
Maria's heels clicked loudly on the tile floor. "It's gotta be sometime." Her voice was softer than before but also closer, and that made it frightening.
"I don't know why you did this to yourself. It was so much easier the first time," she continued, as though discussing the best way to drive to the grocery store. The clicking of her heels moved even closer. She stood over us for a long, awkward moment. I couldn't speak. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't look. I extended the cradle of my left arm toward Maria while simultaneously turning my face to the right, away from Maria and Eli. I clenched my eyes.
I felt Eli's weight lighten. Then his hand began sliding off my pinky. I reached across my body, just to feel his hand a little longer. His weight disappeared, his hand slipped away. The sensation of his touch lingered.
As did Maria. She took her time placing Eli in a baby-carrier and re-swaddling his freed arm. She cooed to him incessantly, even though he was asleep. She took long enough for me to finally inhale a massive, steadying breath. I gasped, then inhaled again. I felt my face, my body, shaking to a stop as I got myself together.
I heard Maria walking to the door, and I called out, "What are you going to call him?"
Her clicking heels stopped near the doorway. "James."
And that was it.
