The Changeling. Victor LaValle

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      THE BABY CAME on Friday night. The EMTs arrived twenty-two minutes after Apollo and Emma met the kid. As Emma predicted, they took her directly to Harlem Hospital, where she and the baby were kept under observation for two days. Though they assured Apollo he could go home without them, he spent both nights upright in a chair in Emma’s room. By Monday morning, they were home in a taxi, and Apollo got them both into bed. He’d already given the boy his first name, and now he suggested a middle name.

      “His middle name is not going to be Cowboy,” Emma said as she prepared herself for the climb into their bed. Apollo held Brian as if the boy were made of Baccarat crystal. His eyes were open. He looked at nothing and everything.

      “Give him,” Emma said. She’d propped pillows behind her. Apollo handed her their child, and she leaned close to his face and blew gently on his head.

      Brian came out totally bald. He had a faint overbite and a small chin. He looked like a turtle. In the full light of the hospital room, they’d both seen it, laughed about it.

      “Brer Turtle,” Apollo said. “I’m going to get your mother some food.”

      Emma brought her breast to the baby’s face. She stroked his cheek, as she’d been taught to do, but when the baby opened his mouth, she stuffed so much of her breast inside that he coughed and turned away. Emma curled forward and stroked Brian’s cheek and tried again, but it was another failure to latch. Emma had been trying to get this since late Friday night. At the hospital every nurse, and both doctors, had offered differing opinions about what she was doing wrong.

      In the kitchen Apollo found the breakfast dishes they’d left before going out for work on Friday morning. He’d been expecting to wash them after dinner with Nichelle. They’d been a family of two just that recently. He already had a hard time remembering that ancient age, Before Brian.

      He washed the dishes. Lillian and Kim were both scheduled to arrive this morning. Maybe while they were here, he could make a supermarket run. Lillian and Kim had both come to the hospital, but the visits weren’t long. Even Nichelle made it on Sunday morning, though she had a flight back to Los Angeles in the afternoon. She’d entered the room horrified, as if Emma were still down in that subway car giving birth. She couldn’t stop asking what it smelled like down there. Neither of them remembered. The birth even made the news for a day. The Post, the Daily News, even a mention on NY1. It might’ve become more of a story if someone had been able to capture clean video of the birth, but Cowboy had been as good as his word. Cellphone footage from that night showed four black kids waving and smiling and looking gleeful, and generally speaking news outlets don’t find that sort of thing worth sharing.

      Apollo checked the back room. A couch and a television and four filled bookshelves were in here. So was the Moses basket they’d be using with Brian for the next few weeks as they slept him in their bedroom. Before Brian this had been their lounge; after Brian it would be his room. Apollo scanned the space, imagining what they’d need: a crib, plush toys, a dresser for the blankets and clothes, a Diaper Genie, a few crates of diapers, and much more stuff than he could currently guess. They should’ve made all these purchases long ago. In fact, Emma had created a list, but then her job went to half time, with the possibility of losing the work altogether, and with that they had to wait a little longer and plan a little better for exactly what they needed first. The Moses basket, newborn diapers, one-piece sleepers, baby wash and washcloths, those were the only things to make the initial cut. But now Apollo couldn’t help wanting to give his son more. He closed his eyes and kissed the doorframe.

      How long had he stood there before the buzzer rang? It’s entirely possible he’d fallen asleep upright. Kim and Lillian appeared in a cluster at the door. Both women carried large bags. Kim made a supermarket run for them, basic ingredients, and Lillian brought meals she’d prepared at home. Four cartons of red bean soup, meatloaf and mashed potatoes, lasagna and samosas, two quiches, and oxtail soup. He set all their things down in the kitchen, then led both women into the bedroom, where Emma tried to disguise the tears of frustration she’d been shedding as she still tried to get Brian to latch.

      Kim slipped Brian from Emma’s hands. A chance for the midwife to check the baby, for an aunt to hug her nephew. As Kim undressed the baby, Lillian moved close to Emma and kissed her head.

      “I had the same trouble with Apollo,” Lillian said softly. “I didn’t know what to do, and my mother wasn’t with me.”

      Emma nodded. She understood that problem.

      “I didn’t think I’d ever get it,” Lillian said. “But it just took time.”

      Now Emma leaned into Lillian and breathed deeply. Lillian held her close.

      Kim turned a now naked Brian onto his stomach. “I love that little blue butt!” she shouted.

      “Let me see what you’re doing,” Lillian said to Emma. “Maybe I can help.”

      Kim returned Brian to his mother. Emma brought him close and stroked his cheek. The baby’s eyes waggled and swam, and his mouth opened to pucker.

      “Wait,” Lillian said. Now she examined Emma’s breasts like a jeweler. She nodded gently, then sighed. “It’s too bad your breasts are the wrong shape,” she finally said.

      “Mom!” Apollo shouted. He yoked his own mother to get her out of the bedroom. Kim stepped in between Emma and Lillian, showing Lillian her back. Emma didn’t even cry out or sob at what Lillian had said. She just returned to lining her nipple up with the baby’s mouth.

      Apollo enlisted Lillian in unpacking the food and supplies, and once that was finished, he took her out to get coffee. She didn’t understand what she’d said wrong. Apollo tried to explain three times but gave up. Eventually he thanked her, sincerely, for the food and walked her back to the A train.

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