I was sitting on a bench, the kind with a plush velvet seat covering like you might find tucked away in an old chapel. White paint was chipping off the corner of the window frame, set deep into a pale blue wall. I noticed these things the way you might notice any familiar space, taking in your surroundings but not really seeing them. I'd been here before, I supposed.
There was a child in the arms of the woman walking towards me. Dark, slender arms cradling her like a newborn infant, though she wasn't. She placed the child gingerly in my lap, I must have looked nervous to her. I thought she might reach for me, but she didn't. Instead, her dark gray eyes held my gaze, the trust in them as deep as they were wide. It was cold and so I took a blanket from my bag to wrap around her. It was maternal of me, I thought, to have carried a blanket along with me to this outing.
My husband rested his hand lightly on her hair. "She doesn't have much hair yet" he commented. I passed her to him and she snuggled into his chest and someone handed us a bottle. I watched as he fed her, all tiny and beautiful and ours.
I think I dreamed about my daughter last night.
