“If You Have a Baby, Maybe You Should Stay Home”

“You need to take that into the bathroom.”

The woman beside me said it loudly enough that three people across the aisle turned their heads.

I looked down at my five-month-old son, Noah, tucked beneath the light cotton nursing cover over my shoulder. He had been crying from hunger less than a minute earlier. Now he was finally quiet, one tiny fist resting against my shirt.

“I’m sorry?” I asked.

The woman pointed toward the back of the plane.

“The restroom. If you’re going to do that, you should do it privately.”

Her name was Evelyn. I knew because I had seen it on the boarding pass she kept sliding in and out of the pocket of her leather purse.

We had been sitting beside each other for maybe forty minutes.

Forty minutes was apparently enough time for her to decide how I should feed my child.

I tightened the nursing cover around Noah and looked toward the row behind us. My eight-year-old daughter, Louise, was sitting two rows back beside an older couple because our flight was completely full and we hadn’t been able to get three seats together.

She was watching me.

That bothered me more than the people staring.

“I’m staying here,” I told Evelyn quietly.

She gave a short sigh and turned toward the window.

“People used to have some consideration.”

I didn’t answer.

A month earlier, I had stood beside my husband’s grave.

Mark was thirty-seven.

For nine months, our lives had been appointments, medication schedules, hospital parking garages, casseroles left on the porch, and people telling me to call if I needed anything.

Then one morning there was nothing left to schedule.

I had a five-month-old baby, an eight-year-old daughter, and a closet full of my husband’s clothes that I still hadn’t touched.

My mother had finally called and said, “Come stay with me for a while. You don’t have to decide anything. Just come.”

So I bought three plane tickets.

I packed enough diapers for a week into a carry-on because my brain wasn’t working properly anymore. I forgot my phone charger, remembered Noah’s infant medicine twice, and cried in the airport parking garage because I found one of Mark’s old receipts in the cup holder of my car.

By the time we boarded the six-hour flight, I wanted exactly one thing.

Quiet.

Instead, I got Evelyn.

She had been irritated with Noah before we even left the gate. When he fussed during boarding, she closed her eyes and pressed two fingers against her temple. When I bounced him against my shoulder, she asked whether he was “always this unsettled.”

I apologized.

That had become a habit.

Sorry for the stroller.

Sorry for the diaper bag.

Sorry, could you let us through?

Sorry, my baby is crying.

Sorry, my husband died and I’m not particularly good at being a person right now.

I didn’t say that last one.

I just kept apologizing.

Then Noah got hungry.

And apparently that was where Evelyn drew the line.

She pressed her call button.

A flight attendant stopped beside us.

“Is there something I can help you with?”

Evelyn glanced at me.

“Yes. Is there somewhere more appropriate she can do that?”

The flight attendant looked at Noah, then at the nursing cover.

“She’s fine where she is, ma’am.”

Evelyn’s mouth tightened.

“I’m just saying there are other passengers.”

“And she’s allowed to feed her baby in her seat.”

The flight attendant gave me a small smile before moving down the aisle.

I should have felt relieved.

Instead, my face burned.

People were still looking.

I stared at Noah’s little sock sticking out beneath the cover and tried to focus on that.

Then I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Mom?”

Louise was standing in the aisle.

She had something in her hand.

A photograph.

“Honey, you need to sit down.”

“I know.” She looked at Evelyn, then back at me. “But I think you should switch seats with me.”

Evelyn finally turned around.

“The seat belt sign is on.”

Louise ignored her.

“Mom, you can sit with Noah back there. I’ll sit here.”

I almost said no. Louise was eight. She shouldn’t have been responsible for fixing a problem between two adults.

Then she leaned close to me.

“Please.”

Something in her face made me stop.

I waited until the seat belt sign went off. The older couple behind us agreed immediately, and within a few minutes I had moved into Louise’s seat with Noah.

Before Louise sat beside Evelyn, she handed me the photograph.

It showed a young woman holding a newborn baby.

On the back, written in blue ink, were three words.

Jenna and Sophie.

“I found it by her shoe,” Louise whispered.

I handed it back.

“Then give it to her.”

Louise nodded.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

The Photograph Under Her Seat

From my new seat, I could see the backs of Louise’s and Evelyn’s heads.

For the next twenty minutes, nothing happened.

Noah finished eating and fell asleep against my chest. I kept one hand behind his head and watched clouds move beneath the wing.

Then Evelyn opened her tablet.

I wasn’t trying to look, but Louise was.

A photograph filled the screen.

Evelyn stood beside the same young woman from the printed photograph.

The woman was younger in this picture and visibly pregnant.

Louise looked down at the photograph in her hand.

Then back at the tablet.

She turned toward Evelyn.

I couldn’t hear the first thing she said.

Evelyn answered without looking at her.

Then Louise held up the photograph.

Evelyn froze.

She took it from Louise quickly.

“Where did you get this?”

“It was on the floor.”

Evelyn stared at it for several seconds.

“Thank you.”

She started putting it into her purse.

Louise pointed toward the tablet.

“Is that the same lady?”

Evelyn hesitated.

“Yes.”

“Is she your daughter?”

Another pause.

“Yes.”

Louise glanced at the photograph.

“Is that her baby?”

Evelyn closed the cover over her tablet.

“Yes.”

I nearly called Louise back.

I could tell from her posture that she was heading somewhere, and Louise had inherited Mark’s unfortunate inability to leave a question alone.

But before I could say her name, she asked it.

“Would you want someone to treat your daughter the way you’re treating my mom?”

I heard every word.

So did the man across the aisle.

Evelyn didn’t move.

Louise wasn’t accusing her. That was the strange part.

She sounded genuinely curious.

Evelyn looked down at the photograph again.

For several seconds, the only sound between them was the engine.

Then she asked, “How old are you?”

“Eight.”

Evelyn nodded slowly.

“Of course you are.”

Louise frowned.

“What does that mean?”

For the first time since we boarded, Evelyn almost smiled.

“Nothing.”

She looked at the photograph again.

Then she turned around and found me.

Her face had changed.

Not dramatically. She wasn’t crying. She didn’t suddenly become warm or friendly.