Edie kept her eyes shut. She tried to give him a smile but it probably looked like a wince.

“Have you checked my phone?” she asked.

“Claudia hasn’t called. But I looked at her Instagram.”

Edie opened her eyes. “What?”

“She went out last night.”

“Let me see.”

He handed her his phone. Claudia’s last post was a selfie (#staycation #springbreak #nyc) uploaded at 11:04 p.m. from a bar on Bleecker. An hour before Edie texted from the cab. Her sister looked drunk in the photo; her eyelids low, her mouth captured in a scream-smile. Yes! Look at me! I’m having so much fun! They’d talked about this exact thing two days ago. Two days! I could go at any time, Edie said. Make sure you have your phone. It was hard to wrap her mind around it: Claudia had missed the birth. All the arrangements, the fucking class they took together—and her sister just got wasted.

The nurses wheeled the baby back in a plastic bassinet, swaddled tight and sleeping.

“Has someone started you expressing yet?” asked the nurse. Edie shook her head. The nurse told her to squeeze her breast. “Like you’re trying to get frosting out of a tube.” She held a tiny plastic cup beneath Edie’s nipple, but nothing came out. “Keep trying,” said the nurse. “It can take some women a while. Kept switching breasts.”

A few minutes later, Edie’s father, Gabriel Castro, peeked in the door.

“Can I come in?”

Edie pulled her gown back up over her shoulder. Her dad’s hair was rumpled; he was wearing a Pavement T-shirt, jeans, and an old pair of Vans. Millions of dollars and half a dozen Grammys after leaving dusty Central California, her dad still dressed like a boy who’d just gotten off a cross-country bus. Six months ago, Edie’s mom, Michelle Whitehouse, had announced that after more than half a life together, she was leaving him. So that boy was now almost fifty, graying, and alone. As far as Edie could tell, her dad hadn’t left the family’s town house in a month. But when Nathan set the swaddled child in her father’s arms, he giggled. He couldn’t contain the happiness the little person she’d made gave him. That was something, thought Edie. Had she made the right decision keeping the baby? This was a check in the “yes” box.

“Does she have a name?” Gabe asked.

“I think Edie wanted to wait till you guys were all together to tell everybody,” said Nathan. He looked at Edie, who shrugged. What was the point of a big reveal? Claudia was probably passed out in some asshole’s bed, and her mom, well, she could go fuck herself.

“Lydia,” said Edie. “Lydia Castro McHugh.”