Free After Birth by Elisa Albert

almost exactly the same. Inspires quiet. I worship babies, it occurs to me. This is what worship does: fucks you all kinds of up.
    She gestures at the space heater. Sort of bad timing .
    How are you? Redundant; I have eyes.
    Um . I’ve been better. I’m okay? She’s asking: am I? Her hair is wild.
    Will and the guy are standing at attention, like they’re at a funeral for someone they barely knew, no idea what’s required of them.
    Then the guy remembers to introduce himself.
    I’m Bryan , he says.
    Baby daddy? Boyfriend? Relative?
    Ari.
    Will.
    Hi. Cool.
    Will leads the way to the basement. Their footfalls thud on the stairs.
    Midwife went home the other night, a few hours after. Said she’d stop by again, see how we’re doing. Haven’t heard from her, though. Left a message. She picks up her device and sets it back down.
    You had him here?
    Yeah , she says, like duh.
    Where’s your family? Or whatever. Are they coming? I feel faint, standing over her. A hundred feet tall. And claustrophobic, like when I was a kid, with the panic attacks. A war zone, this: life and death doing a maddening polka on your soul.
    She laughs. Laughs and laughs, shakes laughing, tears up, downright glittery. My family. My family! This is the funniest, oddest idea she’s ever heard. My family! She sighs gratefully, happy for the laugh. Laughter the great transfusion.
    Ah , she says, calmer now. My family . A bit less crazy-eyed, a pinch more present. She stares at her animate bundle. Shakes her head, grins, bugs out her eyes like a soap actor’s interpretation of nuts.
    My family!
    I sit.

2
    DECEMBER
    One night, late, almost morning, maybe counted as morning, couldn’t say for sure, my mother was next to me on the couch while I nursed.
    How do you know if he’s getting enough?
    He’s getting enough.
    How do you know?
    You just know.
    Well. We always knew. We used to microwave your formula.
    I sighed, closed my eyes, hoped she might not be there when I opened them again.
    What? We didn’t know. It fills them up better! He’ll sleep longer. Oh my God, you know what else we used to do? Benadryl. What a gift that was. Knocked you out for hours.
    She giggled and glanced around at the chaotic mess: was the basket full of clean laundry, or was it dirty? The bowl in which I’d eaten that morning’s oatmeal, getting crusty. Dirty dishes stacked in the sink. She raised her brows.
    Kill you to tidy up a little?
    Don’t start with me, Demerol bitch.
    What? You might feel better if it wasn’t such a pigsty around here.
    I stared out the big window, arms tense around Walker. Didn’t want to be that way around him, no flash of anger.
    Sorry, monkey , I whispered. It’s okay. How much of the rest of my life would I spend thusly assuring this poor moppet that “it” was “okay”?
    Incidentally, you have no right to speak to me that way.
    That’s how she was: hard and mean until you responded in kind, then wounded, self-righteous.
    Soon he was finished on the left side, big boy. I lifted him up, held him close, delicious soft hilarious drunk face, patted his back, and put him to work on the right. We passed weeks this way, he and I, submerged, disoriented, in a twisted sort of contentment. Now I yearn for that time, want to lie with him connected and safe. Memory’s a ridiculous bastard.
    This is my son , I said, gazing at him to be spared her. This is Walker. Isn’t he beautiful? The big eyes, so liquid and good. You couldn’t help but smile, be filled with the presence of whatever the hell we can all agree on.
    That’s an idiotic name. Where did you even come up with a name like that? What does that even mean?
    It’s Old English. It’s a great name. Hello? Walker Percy? Walker Evans? She was a lover of books and culture, at least.
    You should have named him for me.
    I said nothing.
    I mean, really.
    I wanted this to be a good thing , I hissed. A fresh start. A new thing . My heart raced. Walker started to cry. I put him up over my