Family Fiction: Birthday Wishes

T

he white lights of the hospital beam in the distance and Miriam smiles. She slows the car, looking for a space to wedge in her Sienna. Beyond those lights and bricks and mortar is a softly lit world where new mothers weep with joy and itty-bitty things yawn and stretch and kick little chicken feet.

At last, a parking spot. Miriam backs in. With clammy fingers, she smooths her wavy wig out of her eyes and tenderly gathers her packages — a thermos of chicken soup with vegetables, containers of rice and crispy schnitzel, blueberries and cubed mango, a box of chocolate, two magazines, and a creamy velour onesie nestled in a little carton. Three balloons dance in the wind, flashing pictures of bottles and booties. She clicks the car locked and strides in the direction of the lights. A new baby. Her Shira, another baby, a mother of two…

She blinks in the stark brightness of the lobby, tastes antiseptic mingled with strong brew, and she coughs. The receptionist cups a yawn in his thick hands and Miriam pities him.

“Visiting hours are over, ma’am.”

Miriam indicates her bags. “Please, sir, my daughter just gave birth and I’ve brought her something to eat.”