[cont.]
From the front room came the sounds of a baby whimpering, and then a second baby whimpering slightly louder.
“It’s getting close to feeding time and I think we’re done here.”
“How can you afford to be a stay-at-home mom?”
“I have to feed them.”
“I have one more…” interjected Barbara, partially blocking Lori’s exit route.
“It’s time for you to leave, unless you want to help with the feeding. My finances are none of your business.”
The babies began wailing in unison showing off their healthy lungs, and both of the young women working with Barbara pulled her out of Lori’s way. It took some pulling and Barbara responded by pushing one of them into the counter.
Lori went out to comfort the babies until the milk warmed. Barbara followed behind her, “You really think this is the best use of your time?” Her crew stayed in the kitchen, dismantling the equipment.
Lori started laughing. “You really don’t have any clue, do you?”
Outside, her crew hauled the equipment to the back seat of the old car they had come in. Barbara didn’t thank them for their efforts; she didn’t help with the loading. She stood next to them texting notes to herself, totally ignoring them. The two young women looked pretty disgusted with her. Barbara, when she finished her texting, drove home alone in her brand new electric car.
She shouldn’t have gotten snippy, Lori chided herself as she propped the babies up against her to feed them. Usually she only had to deal with one at a time. It seemed like they timed themselves. It was hard feeding two at once, one leaning against her belly, the other wedged between her side and a pillow, both of her arms holding bottles. Look at how much larger their fingers were now. They were growing like proverbial weeds. Her mother-in-law was undoubtedly right when she insisted every mother misses this phase when it’s over. She really should enjoy this as much as she could. And as she watched them greedily sucking away, she thought about how to mix a color as soft and creamy as their skin. As she thought about pale pinks and the pale red of their hair, the blue of their veins shining through that pale skin, both babies began regurgitating lunch all over her and the couch. Forget about pink. Make that a fluid zinc white mixed with a touch of muted yellow ocher or naples yellow with something like lint or chopped feathers added into the mix to replicate a globby consistency. She laughed as she mopped up the vomit. That actually wasn’t a bad idea.
Return on Friday for the next chapters of Just Like Suicide.
