Jennifer was thrilled and tired. Oliver felt a
new kind of pang when he saw Emma. She had dark hair and seemed to be
clutching part of his heart with her tiny hands, as though she had
moved from one support system to another.
Deweys was barely open when he got there. "One for me and one more for
my baby," he said to Sam. "Jenn had a little girl."
"No shit! Congratulations. Hey, the Guinness is on the house, man;
you're going to need your strength."
Oliver drank and relaxed. The winter had passed in a blur. Each day had
been filled with work and things to do at home; the months had slipped
past scarcely noticed. Jennifer's growing weight had defined the season
that mattered.
"I have responsibilities," he announced after his second pint. "I must
call the grandparents."
He walked home and talked to his mother and to Jennifer's father. Gene
was particularly pleased. "I had my order in," he said. "Does she look
like Jenny?"
"More like me, actually."
Gene was quick. "Sweet thing! You're a lucky man, Oliver."
Oliver was supposed to say, "Thank you, Sir," or some such. "It was an
easy birth," he said. "I'm going to pick them up tomorrow.
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