She could not wait for her and Caleb to escape the claustrophobia of the hospital. People hovered as if they expected her to slit her stomach in half and smear the floor with her entrails. Plus her breasts throbbed. The pain was persistent, ever-present. Her son, this child who burst from her, was greedy. He needed to go home. Oliver showed up, and Celia stifled a grimace. Great. As if Janet, Richard, Shirley and Mom crowding the room aren’t enough. Oliver chatted with his grandparents before making his way over to Celia. “On your way out?” Oliver asked her. He smelled faintly of beer, and his hair didn’t look much better than it had yesterday. His face was pinched, and lines of exhaustion were etched under his eyes—which were green today. Made sense; his shirt was green. “Going home,” Celia said. Oliver nodded. “Well.” He proffered a gift certificate to Chili’s.
