Baby Blizzard

The world on the other side of the glass was white. Pure, unbroken white, growing thicker and heavier with every inch of snow that fell from the sky. Cara knew she should not have come to the supermarket today. The snowstorm – more accurately, a blizzard – had come out of the blue, leaving weather forecasters were a baffled. There had only been a flew flurries when she had gotten into her car, and, despite a pull in her gut, she pulled out of my driveway and headed down the road.

Idiot, she chastised herself.

She should have just told Sam to wait. We could have our ‘Italian carbonara bowl’ special anniversary dinner tomorrow, she had tried to reason. But no, Sam insisted that it must be tonight, and that they didn’t have the right type of pasta. Cara rubbed my face in frustration and continued to shove her cart down isle after isle. Endless rows of canned and fresh food. She scanned the pasta names, keeping in mind that she didn’t even know how to cook. Was one type of pasta better than the other? Did Samantha prefer a specific brand over the other? Sam was gluten intolerant so that narrowed down the options some but there were still seven different kinds, and in her haste to get to the store before they closed, Cara had forgot to ask which type she wanted. She tugged her phone out of her purse, clicking on the contact labelled ‘Wifey.’ Creative, yes, she knew. At least it wasn’t as bad as Cara’s contact name in Sam’s phone – ‘Baby Mama.’

Shoving the screen up to her ear, Cara looked back at the shelves, idly glancing at the dozens of jars of red sauces and several pound packs of rice. The call went to voicemail. She didn’t think too much of it – the WiFi and cellular were not particularly great around that area – and dialed the number manually. It disconnected again. A third attempt yielded no results. Cara frowned, pulled the cart around, and headed towards the front desk. The cart stopped short as she surveyed the area. It was vacant. There was just the whistling of the wind that seeped through cracks underneath the doors and the rattling of windows as the snow continued to pelt down. Surely, the lights wouldn’t be on if there was no one else here. Surely, the closing employee wouldn’t have locked her in here during a blizzard. Surely.

“Hello?” Her voice bounded and rebounded against the ceiling and shelves. There was no responding call.

She pulled the cart near one of the self-checkout machines and walked to a window. The pane was sheer ice under her fingertips. Double checking around her, Cara hit the window lightly, trying to knock some of the snow off. The white powder stuck with a stubborn determination even as the hits got harder. Cara tried the doors next, but she couldn’t even get them to budge under her full weight.

“Hello?!” There was a tinge of nervousness in her question this time, and her palms began to sweat. Three more phone calls revealed just how poor the signal was as each was disconnected. Cara’s foot began to tap as her nails dug lightly into her arm over and over as she tried to calm a steadily crescendoing heart rate. She didn’t like to be alone for very long and, right now, it seemed like she was very, very alone.

Her eyes prickled as she tried to find the employee’s exit, but every door she met in those back, winding halls was locked. Her breathing grew rapid and shallow as she slid against a door in the frozen section, hands in her hair, head between her knees.

Her heart was so loud in her ears that she almost didn’t hear the cries. High-pitched wails, like sirens, flooded the supermarket. Cara sniffed and raised her head. She weakly pushed herself to her feet as she followed the sound. Her sigh was caught in her throat she turned a corner of the alcohol section of the store because, there, hidden amidst the dark glass bottles, was a baby carrier. Cara said several words that she later was thankful could not be understood by the baby as she stared at it. No, not it, she corrected herself. He. It was a he.

With all the caution someone approaching a viper would use, she stepped towards the baby even as its—his—even as his cries grew louder. Wails turned into ear-splitting screeches. She crouched awkwardly next to the carrier.

“Shhhh. Hush little baby. Um…uh…rock-a-bye baby in the treetops, when the wind blows, the cradle will—” The screaming, somehow possible, raised in pitch and loudness. Cara winced as a headache started to form. “I never liked that one either,” she muttered. “I mean, it is about infanticide anyways so… Do you, uh, do you want to be rocked?”

She tried to gently push the carrier back and forth and, while the screamed dropped a few decibels, the baby hadn’t stopped crying. He was squirming in his seat, hands and feet outstretched. She hovered her hands over him tentatively. Unsure, she tried to tuck his feet and arms under the blankets when he reached out, lightning quick, and grabbed onto a finger. Cara instinctively yanked her hand away, and the baby began his high-pitched bawling again.

“Okay, okay.” Cara shoved her hand back towards the carrier, and the baby snapped onto it again. He quietened and drew her finger towards his toothless mouth. “Hey, hey, no. Don’t put the finger in your mouth.” She swerved her hand at the last moment and bopped the baby on the nose. He went cross-eyed trying to follow the movement, and she laughed accidentally.

The sound shocked the baby who finally looked at her, mouth hanging open in a small ‘o’. Cara’s own eyes widened as she frantically waved her free hand. Please don’t cry again, please don’t cry again, she silently pleaded. Thankfully, the baby just blinked and began to giggle. Hesitantly, she laughed again, and the baby let out a gleeful squeal like it hadn’t just been crying out his tiny lungs earlier. Were all babies temperamental?

Cara, make absolute care to not remove her finger from the baby’s tiny, pudgy hand, shifted onto her butt with her back against the wine rack. She bounced her finger up and down to occupy the boy while she pulled out her phone again. It was half past nine already. She’d arrive half before eight. There were no new messages, and the upper left corner was blank. Cara rubbed her eyes as they threatened to slip shut. Pressing the back of a wrist to her mouth to cover a yawn, her head rolled to look at the baby.

“Why are you here, little guy? Where’s your mom? Or your dad?” she asked. The baby didn’t glance at her, preoccupied with slamming her finger up and down on the belts that secured him in the carrier.

She sighed and gently coaxed her hand out of his grasp. There was something almost cute about the way his entire hand was smaller than her index finger, she noted, as her began to lightly brush her fingers over his head. She was careful to avoid that soft spot where his skull wasn’t fully formed.

Like cooking, she knew next to nothing about babies or children. Samantha always wanted to have children – adopt or surrogacy – but Cara was less certain. Being an adoptee herself, she always felt like she never quite fit. All of her adopted parent’s biological children were at least seven years older than her, so she was practically an only child growing up. They were loving parents, they helped her through college and helped pay for her wedding, but the feeling was still there. Maybe it was because her mother voluntarily gave her up – she’d been a teen mom and wasn’t ready for the responsibilities that came with having a child yet.

A few years back, when Cara and Samantha had been engaged, she reached out. It was weird to think that her biological mom was only three years younger than her oldest adopted sibling. The brunch had been awkward in general, but her mom had apologized. Said she was sorry for giving her up but that she was glad Cara had a stable job and fiancé. But there was only one thought in Cara’s mind during their entire conversation.

What if I mess up, too?

Samantha knew Cara was hesitant, scared if she was honest, so she never pushed the idea of children too hard. A few mentions here or there but there was never any pressure. Cara bit her cheek as she glanced at the baby boy, finding him dozing softly. Samantha would know what to do right now. Cara withdrew her hand completely and studied the baby’s sleeping face. Those lump, red cheeks – Samantha would coo and aww at him nonstop. Her eyes always lit up when they were around friends who had children.

“You’re not so bad, you know? When you’re not a screaming demon,” Cara said affectionately. The baby kicked in his sleep, leg retracting slowly after its extension. She muffled her laugh with her hand as she checked her phone one last time before shifting on the floor.

Her eyes flew open as voices flooded the supermarket. She blinked sleep out of them as she groggily processed the noises around her. The baby had woken up and was, once more, screaming loudly. She picked up the carrier with one hand and gave him the other. His cries softened and were replaced with giggles as she headed towards the front.

The previously empty store front almost seemed crowded with two policemen, an employee, a unfamiliar woman, and Samantha. The woman was sobbing hysterically as she rushed towards the baby. Cara handed her the carrier effortlessly, watching the reunion with a strange sort of bittersweetness. Maybe not bittersweetness, maybe longing. She didn’t have time to think about the emotion before long arms were thrown around her. Samantha hugged her tightly.

“I’m so sorry.” She sniffed.

Cara returned the hug, inhaling Samantha’s familiar strawberry shampoo. “I’m alright. What time is it?”

“It’s midnight. I tried calling you when the storm started to get bad, but I couldn’t reach you. I was so scared.”

“I’m okay,” Cara reassured. Together, they headed towards the abandoned cart.

“Were you all alone?”

“Yeah.” She smiled as Samantha, trying to cheer her wife up. “I promise. I’m okay. He—” she nodded to the baby, finally free of his seat “—kept me company.”

Sam’s retort was interrupted as the employee finally rang up the pasta. He apologized profusely for locking the supermarket. Cara waved it off, and, after a quick talk with the police, they headed towards the car. The snow had been shoveled into path leading from the store to the parking lot. It was at least three feet deep. Cara glanced at Sam, who shrugged and picked up a shovel next to the door.

“You shoveled your way in?”

“Nothing was stopping me from getting to my wife,” Sam proclaimed passionately. Cara rolled her eyes.

“Get in the car.”

While the doors had almost been frozen shut, they were able to wrangle them open. It was so cold inside that each little puff produced a white cloud. The car, by some miracle, started up on the second try and they were on the way home. The ride was silent until Cara mustered up some courage.

“So, do you, uh, still want a kid?”