Ruth (Matt Shorts, v.4)

Thursday, April 30, 2009

Matt called me at work. “Well, you’re an uncle,” he said. Her name was Bridget and she was “perfect.” In the hospital he was all happiness, and if anyone expressed happiness to him, he reflected it back one-hundred-fold. When she was brought to New York for the first time, the flight attendants cooed over her, and when we exited the plane, one, who happened to be Irish, slipped a bottle of champagne into the diaper bag, “for the little one.” Matt beamed in that way that made you happy but also made you want to crack him across the head. At home, we brought Grandma Meade over for dinner to meet the baby. She was frail in body but not in mind and spirit. Matt couldn’t contain himself, and we had barely situated Grandma on the couch before Matt plopped Bridget on her lap. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said in her way, but then she held her and Matt put his arm around them both and though Grandma couldn’t really see, her eyes looked out over the room and they were a little misty.