“Oh. OK.” I sipped the hot liquid slowly. It had been a really long time since I’d enjoyed good coffee, as I’d been too paranoid to even drink decaf during the past nine months.

“Can I pick him up?” John asked timidly. “I’m afraid to wake him up.”

I gazed over at John, standing hesitantly by the bassinet. His glasses had slipped down his nose till they hovered at the very edge, and his light scarf dangled unevenly around his neck. Suddenly, I felt a surge of affection for him, and the intensity of it shocked me. I forced myself to remember that this was the same man who’d left me while I was pregnant and that he deserved only my scorn.

“He won’t wake up. He sleeps like a rock,” I said matter-of-factly, enjoying a feeling of superiority, of knowing more than he did already about our infant son. The feeling only lasted fleetingly, however, and I was soon submerged in an unfamiliar emotional current as I watched John hold Michael, carefully cradling Michael’s head in his left elbow. Sadness, perhaps, that we were not a single unit, that I’d testily responded “He’s not in the picture” when the girl at the registration desk asked me about the baby’s father at check-in. Other fathers in the rooms down the hall had spent the night. I couldn’t help but feel that I’d been cheated.

Michael and I went home the next day. Aliyah picked us up and took care of getting the car seat installed in my car. When we pulled up to the house, I saw the mailbox wrapped in blue streamers and a dozen blue balloons flapping in the breeze.

“Aliyah! Did you do this for me?”

“Nope. We did it for Michael.”

I carried him carefully out of the car and walked slowly up the steps, still sore, while Aliyah carried my suitcase. The front door was flung open by Reema, yelling “Welcome home!”

Inside, Reema, Nadia, and Auntie Siham had prepared a lunch for us—a tray of grape leaves, chicken with sumac, and fattoush salad. They had draped more blue streamers around the living room, making the scene festive. I put Michael’s car seat down and burst into tears, stunned by my own reaction.

“It’s just my hormones,” I mumbled unconvincingly as my friends surrounded me, hugging me and wiping their own tears. “Really, I’m OK. I’ll be fine.”

My days after Michael’s birth flowed together, lapping gently against the shore of my mind. Aliyah, Reema, and Nadia had pooled their money and purchased a light blue jogging stroller for me, which I used almost every day.