“I’m not,” I reply—a little too fast.
“Is it that baby?” she asks. “It’s past time you popped that little guy out, huh?”
She’s circling her own stomach with soft hands. I wonder if she even realizes she’s doing it. “Way past time,” I agree. “But apparently, he’s comfortable in here.”
Gabby gives me a little wink. “Don’t make it too comfortable for him,” she says. “You want to meet him at some point. Or her.”
“Or her.” I still haven’t found out what the sex of the baby is. I’ve had chances, but every time, I decline.
“Oh, that reminds me,” Gabby says with a snap of her fingers. “I have an extra baby blanket you can have if you want.”
“An extra one?” I ask. “Won’t you need it for your little guy?”
“I’m stitching a new one for her,” Gabby tells me.
“Her?”
Gabby nods and rings. “We found out yesterday. Another girl.”
“Wow!” I smile. “Congratulations.”
“I hate saying it, but it does make things easier in terms of hand-me-downs,” she admits.
“Are you sure? You could probably still use it,” I point out, knowing that there is no way Gabby would ever just discard a perfectly good blanket.
“I’d rather you have it.”
I feel my heart swell as she gives me a kind smile. It’s amazing how many little kindnesses have gotten me through the last few months.
“Thank you, Gabby.”
“Of course. Stay right there. I’ll go grab it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
But she’s already gone, shuffling through the cracked-open door of her apartment a few units down.
I sigh and lean against the wall. She’s back a moment later, sans laundry basket but with the blanket in her hands.
It’s a soft yellow fabric that would have been a bright, sunshiny yellow in its heyday. The years have robbed it of its thickness and most of its color, but the worn-down love spots just make me smile. There’s even a little bee embroidered into one corner.
“Aw, Gabby, it’s beautiful,” I purr. “Did you stitch it yourself?”
She nods. “When Juanita was born. So it’s over eight years old now. I wish I could give you something a little more fresh.”
I put my hand on her arm. “I love it,” I insist. “It’s beautiful and sentimental. I’ll always keep it.”
She beams. I have to resist the urge to give her a hug. I don’t want this to seem like a goodbye. Gabby is already plenty suspicious.
And the fewer people who know I’m leaving, the better.
“See you tomorrow,” I say. Then I slip into my apartment.
The moment I’m inside, I start making a list of what few possessions I have to my name. It’s depressingly short.
First, I grab the large duffel bag that I’ve stored underneath the sofa. I wrench it open and move around the apartment, assessing what I can take with me and what needs to be left behind.
I had been preparing to bring my baby back to this apartment, so I’ve been buying little things over the last couple of months whenever I had a little cash to spare.