The Truths Behind the Life of Maeve Sun Lively

119

IT WAS CHRISTMAS EVE AND Mason and I declined a great invitation party at the special Oscars Award only that year.

What we did instead was stay home to look after the baby while he continued to search for possible traces of where the mother of this child had gone.

It's been about a week or two since she had come and ditched her child at our front door.

Mason wanted some Christmas vibes this year after all, so we set up a fake tree in the living room and lit the fireplace to enhance the feeling. A few presents piled under the tree.

"This thing won't sleep." I complained over my shoulder as I carried her in my arms, the deviant little devil scratching at me and crying like the world would fall apart. I've spent at least five restless nights waking up to try to get her to sleep, my mind occupied on nothing but her. It's like she was angry at the world, perhaps knowing what has happened to her already.

Mason laughed at his seat on the couch, his glasses over his face that reflected the blue screen of his laptop. "She can sense that you don't like her."

I rolled my eyes, then went back to speaking in soft voices to try to get her to calm down at the very least. Her hazel little eyes are crinkled together, crying and crying. I sighed, looking back over at Mason. "Why does she cry so much? She's in a warm house, she has nutritious formula milk, a change of diapers every few hours, and plus, it's Christmas Eve!"

He sets his laptop aside and gives me a long smiley look like all of this is really funny to him. He wasn't the one waking up every night to calm this thing after all. "She's a baby, Maeve. Babies don't know stuff like that."

"When I was a kid, I did not have any of these luxuries." I duck my face one direction just in time as she sends a jabbing kick. She was strong for how small she was.

Mason sighed, more softly now. "I know. Here, hand her to me. I'll cut you some slack."

"Finally," I murmur and quickly hand off the crying monster into his arms. I sit next to him, peering at his laptop. "Any news on the mother?"

"No, not yet. It's quite impossible if you think about it, so I've put up some flyers online instead." He makes a few soothing noises and somehow, with miracles and wonders, she slows to a halt from crying. Her mouth that has been opened from screaming slows.

My eyes widened. "Wow. I swear she just hates me at this point. See! She's falling asleep when you hold her."

He turned toward me and put a finger against his lips. "Shh, let her sleep now."

When she's fast gone and quiet, her breathing relaxed, Mason settles her back in my arms.

"What you don't have is patience, and all babies need that." He said as I waited for her to wake up. But she doesn't. She lays in my hold peacefully.

I smiled, glancing at Mason and then back at her. I talk in a low and hushed voice; excited: "You know, she's actually kind of cute when she's not wailing and trying to kick me. I guess the dirty diapers are worth it."

He chuckles next to me and wraps one arm around my shoulder. We stare at her red soft hair that draped over her sleeping face in curtains of hope.

Christmas Eve felt a little enchanted that year.

MASON NEVER FOUND THE baby's mother.

I actually found her.

It was through a "friend" of mine in my social network of acting. She had sent me this headline news, complaining about how crazy our society was becoming. She always found ways to talk to me I supposed, and that day as I tiredly cooed the baby to sleep while she kicked and screamed, I read what she sent for a distraction.