“Sorry,” she said. “I got your address from Tyler. I know that sounds strange. I told him not to if you’d mind.”
“I mind less when there’s a baby involved,” I said.
That got me the tiniest smile.
“Come in,” I told her. “It’s cold.”
She hesitated on the mat.
“I don’t want to impose.”
“You already drove here.”
That made the smile a little bigger.
She stepped inside.
The baby looked at me like he was deciding whether I was trustworthy.
Animals and babies usually know before adults do.
“This is Eli,” she said.
I nodded to him.
“Arthur.”
He blinked once.
Fair enough.
I hung up her coat while she bounced him on her shoulder.
“My name’s Marissa,” she said. “Marissa Cole.”
I remembered the way she had stood at the register.
Back curved in.
Shoulders braced for impact.
Today she looked steadier.
Not fine.
Nobody gets fine that fast.
But steadier.
“What brings you out here?” I asked.
She held up a reusable bag.
Inside were four cans of formula, a box of diapers, baby wipes, and two envelopes.
“I got paid,” she said.
I looked at the bag.
Then at her.
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“I know.”
She swallowed.
“That’s not why I brought it.”
I took the bag from her and set it on the table.
She kept talking before I could answer.
“I went back yesterday to leave some of this at the shelf, and it was locked.”
“I saw.”
Her face changed.
Not surprise.
Something heavier.
“I figured that happened because of me.”
“No,” I said. “It happened because too many people mistake discomfort for principle.”
She blew out a shaky breath.
“I hate that video.”
“So do I.”
She looked at me then.
Really looked.
Like maybe that was the first thing she’d heard all week that made her feel less alone.
“I’ve had strangers telling me what kind of mother I am,” she said. “Some say I’m brave. Some say I’m irresponsible. Some say if I can’t afford a child I shouldn’t have had one. Some say I should be grateful people care enough to talk. As if being discussed by strangers is a gift.”
I pulled out a chair for her.
“Sit down.”
She sat.
Eli grabbed one of her hoodie strings and tried to eat it.
She gently tugged it away.
“I wasn’t even going to buy the formula that day,” she said. “Not all three cans. I was going to buy one. My deposit was late and I thought maybe if it hit while I was in line the card would clear. But then the milk and cereal were there too and I got stupid for a second and thought maybe we could make the whole week work.”
“That’s not stupidity.”
She gave a little shrug.
“It feels like it when a machine says no in front of twelve people.”
I sat across from her.
The kitchen ticked with the old wall clock Ellen used to wind.
I still wound it.
Mostly because the sound made the house feel less empty.
Marissa ran her thumb over Eli’s back.
“He’s on a sensitive formula,” she said. “He throws up most others. I work nights at a care home about twenty minutes over. Sometimes I pick up extra shifts cleaning rooms too. My mom watches him when she can, but she’s got rheumatoid arthritis so some mornings she can barely hold a coffee cup.”
