She went dead still.
Nobody was laughing now.
She looked at the photo on her phone, then at me.
Finally, she nodded.
“Fine.”
Not an apology.
Not even close.
But she stayed.
***
Everyone gathered again.
Naturally, Layla moved straight toward the center.
Joe caught her gently by the elbow.
“Move over, sweetheart.”
Everyone gathered again.
She stiffened.
“Why?”
Joe pointed toward a chair.
“Anne needs to sit.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
Joe gave me a look. “You had a baby three weeks ago.”
Layla glanced at me.
For once, not at my stomach.
At my face.
Then she moved.
I sat.
That small shift stung.
“Anne needs to sit.”
Earlier, Layla had made me move because my body supposedly took up too much room.
Now she moved because that same body deserved somewhere comfortable to rest.
I adjusted Aria and tried to pull my cardigan behind me.
The fabric twisted.
Layla reached forward.
I immediately stiffened.
She noticed.
Layla had made me move because my body supposedly took up too much room.
Her hand paused.
Then she took the cardigan, folded it twice, and tucked it behind my lower back.
“Here.”
I looked at her.
She avoided my eyes.
“You look uncomfortable.”
That was all.
But it was the first time Layla had looked at my postpartum body and considered how it felt instead of how it looked.
“You look uncomfortable.”
The photographer lifted the camera.
“Everybody closer.”
People squeezed together.
Joe leaned in behind me.
Jesse crouched at my side.
Layla stood so close her sleeve brushed my arm.
The photographer smiled.
“Perfect. We’ve got plenty of room.”
There had always been room.
“Perfect. We’ve got plenty of room.”
Then Aria made a tiny choking sound.
I looked down.
Too late.
She spit up straight down the front of Jesse’s nice shirt.
He stared at the white streak.
“Oh, come on.”
I burst out laughing.
Joe bent over.
Someone behind us snorted.
Even the photographer started laughing.
I burst out laughing.
Layla tried desperately to hold herself together.
Then she lost it.
For one second, nobody posed.
Jesse was wiping his shirt with a burp cloth.
I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt.
Joe was nearly doubled over.
Layla had one hand over her mouth.
Click.
The photographer captured it.
Then she lost it.
***
Later, Jesse found me alone near the kitchen.
“Anne.”
I looked at him.
“I’m sorry I stood there.”
Not: Sorry about Mom.
Not: She didn’t mean it.
He owned it.
“I knew she was being cruel,” he added. “I froze because that’s what I’ve always done with her.”
“I’m sorry I stood there.”
I swallowed.
“I can handle your mother not liking me.”
He nodded.
“I can’t handle wondering whether you disappear when she does it, Jesse.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t promise.”
He looked at me.
“Show me.”
He nodded again.
“Okay.”
Before we left, the photographer called Layla over to choose the large print.
“Don’t promise.”
Two pictures sat side by side on the screen.
The first was polished.
Perfect smiles.
Perfect posture.
Layla looked flawless.
The second was chaos.
Baby spit-up.
Messy hair.
Joe bent sideways laughing.
Me with my cardigan slipping and my stomach completely unhidden.
Layla caught mid-laugh.
The photographer asked, “Which one?”
The first was polished.
Layla stared at the polished photo.
Her finger lifted toward it, then stopped.
She looked across the room at me feeding Aria while Jesse sat beside us.
Then she pointed to the other one.
“That one.”
“The candid?”
“That one.”
Layla nodded. “Make it the biggest one.”
And just like that, the woman who’d spent the afternoon trying to make her family look perfect chose the picture where nobody looked flawless.
Because everyone fit.
“Make it the biggest one.”
