Page 107 of The Lookback

Abby invited all the usual suspects, like Donna, Beth, and Mrs. Earl. A few of the people from town who aren’t terrified of Helen also came, as well as me, of course, and Mandy. But there are a few others that we might have wished didn’t come.

Abby’s mother, for one, and David’s mother, who still hasn’t gone back home. I don’t envy Helen all that mother-in-law time. I suppose that’s one of the perils of having a mother-in-law who usually lives a twenty-hour flight away. When she does come to visit, she camps out for an extended period.

It’s been a long run of weeks for her, surely.

And then there are also a few of Helen’s. . .friends seems like a strange word for the dean of Harvard’s business school, a famous talk show host, and CEOs of some of the biggest companies in America. Even so, we’re all stuck making small talk and decorating onesies in Abby’s family room with them. Thanks entirely to Abby, no one seems too very awkward about it.

When we start to open gifts, the difference between us becomes a little more obvious. “Here,” Helen says. “I’ll start with this one.” She grabs a beautifully wrapped box I saw Mrs. Earl carry in.

“That’s from me,” Will’s effusive mother says. “If you don’t like it, you don’t need to feel obligated to use it. I won’t be offended.”

After Helen unwraps the box, she pulls out a crocheted baby blanket featuring adorable fluffy white clouds on a blue background. It’s sure to look like crap almost as soon as the kid starts spitting up, but I can get some really cute photos with it before then, if I remember.

“That’ll go well with my gift,” I say.

Helen glances around. “I. . .” She frowns. “Which one is yours?”

“I didn’t wrap it,” I say. “I’m going to do a newborn photoshoot for you.”

“Oh, no,” Beth says. “I was going to give her a photoshoot.”

“Trust me,” Abby says. “One of you can take photos in the first week, and one can do them a month later, and she’ll love both.”

“Absolutely,” Helen says. “Thank you so much.”

“I have to leave soon,” the dean of Harvard says. “But I wanted to give you this.” She winks as she hands Helen an envelope.

“What’s that?” Beth asks. “I hear the best stuff comes in cards.”

I try not to cringe.

“Oh, it’s just a letter for a friend,” the dean says.

She’s almost out the door when Mrs. Earl presses. “Surely it’s more than a letter. What is it?”

“Oh, well,” Helen says. “I think?—”

“It’s an acceptance letter for little baby Fisher-Park,” the dean says. “Whenever that child is ready, Harvard Business School will be waiting for him.”

“Not until he’s graduated from Stanford undergrad,” Helen’s mother says.

The two women are glaring at one another, clearly upset over the school an unborn child will choose to attend. I’m definitely out of my element here, having only ever attended an unimpressive school haphazardly.

“Open mine,” Abby says, thrusting a box with little rabbits all over it at Helen. “You’ll like it.”

Helen opens the box, and I’m sort of praying, softly, that it’s not some epic gift. Abby’s already thrown her a baby shower with adorably cute decorations and food, and she’s been the perfect host, all while pulling double duty on legal work every time Helen feels lousy, and helping plan the wedding.

Plus, it’s a week and a half before Christmas.

Please, please, let her gift not make me feel even more inadequate.

“I didn’t have a lot of time,” Abby’s explaining.

As Helen pulls out the oversized, double-thick swaddling blankets, I’m a little annoyed. She only hadjustenough time to sew her little nephew not one, or even two, butthreeswaddling blankets? I suppose it could have been worse. It’s not the custom quilt she made for Donna—forbothof her babies.

“I did start a quilt, but I haven’t had time to finish it yet. It’ll be done before he’s born.” She winks. “You’ll have to tell me his name before then, though, or I’ll never be able to embroider it before he comes home from the hospital.”

There it is. An embroidered custom quilt, in process.

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