She smiled reassuringly. "It's really just an excuse to get everyone together. He's so little—it won't be convenient. Besides, your father's relatives all smoke like chimneys. We don't want Baby breathing that in."
She had a point there.
The first year of our marriage, Irvin and I had gone back to his hometown for a banquet. His relatives had smoked so heavily the entire room was thick with it. I could barely breathe.
"Alright then."
Seeing me relent, she added, "Oh, and your parents must be dying to see Baby. Tell them not to bother going to the hotel—they can come straight here to keep you and the little one company."
I'd been thinking the same thing. Since she'd offered, I didn't refuse.
But then Baby suddenly got an upset stomach, and I was so busy changing his diaper that I forgot to message my parents.
By the time I remembered, it was already noon. I called immediately.
"Hello? Mom, Dad—are you at the hotel? Don't bother going. Just come straight to the house to see me and Baby."
But my mother's voice was strange. "You and Baby are at home? Then who's that child I'm looking at in your mother-in-law's arms? And the one Irvin is holding?"
I froze.
I looked down at the baby in my arms.