The Boss was expecting a sister named Tallulah. Though we did not find out the sex of the impending arrival and did not have a name lined up, The Boss's conviction was firm. There was a Tullalah in mommy's tummy.
When we pulled into our driveway after the short stay in the hospital, our first born was waiting on the front lawn. I powered down my window and waved at the girl who had seemed to have aged at least two years in the two days we'd been gone. Her hair was carefully plaited by nana; her long legs were showcased in shorts that had been taken out of the attic in a box of clothing I had, until now, been unable to conceptualize her fitting into.
"Is Topher with you?" The Boss asked. I couldn't tell from her tone what answer she was hoping for.
"Yes!" I enthused, in reinforcement of the positive. I gestured in exaggerated sweeps to her brother in the back seat. "He's right here waiting for you!"
"Oh," said The Boss. She was perched on a slope of grass that was mostly green and dotted in places with the detritus of pre-winter foliage. She rocked back on her heels. This time I saw concern in the midst of slow-growing enlightenment.
Her eyes were huge and blue. Her chin was square where it lowered with the weight of words about to emerge from shining lips.
The truck was still moving up the driveway. I craned my neck out my window, waiting.
"Where's Tallulah?" The Boss asked.