Names. Applause. Speeches. The usual sound of people trying to hold onto a moment before it passed.
Then Adrian stepped out of line.
He walked straight toward me.
“Mom,” he whispered, holding out his arms, “give her to me.”
My body moved before my mind caught up.
I placed that tiny baby girl in his arms.
He tucked her carefully against his chest, mostly hidden beneath the graduation gown except for her little face wrapped in a soft pink blanket.
Then he turned and started toward the stage.
The whispers began immediately.
Then the laughter.
Quiet at first. Then spreading.
“Are you serious?”
“Wow…”
And then, from somewhere behind me, a woman said it just loud enough for me to hear.
“Just like his mother.”
