Meant for You
She doesn't know how she ended up with it. She just knows that the clasp is fastened over her wrist. The bracelet feels limp tied around her hand. There's no meaning to it anymore. Riff is in the looking down at her or looking up from the afterlife as she carries around the last reminder he has of his ma. That bracelet didn't seem so lifeless when he wore it. Or maybe Grazie makes it feel lifeless. She feels that way, too.
Krupke handed it to her when she came in to identify the body. She didn't even really look at it when it appeared in the corner of her eye. She was too busy trying to figure out where the sheet ended and where Riff began. Grazie slipped it over her wrist as if it was hers all along. Krupke probably assumed it was. As if it never belonged to the mother Riff never talked about. She leaves it around her wrist. Who knows for how long.
It's there when she goes to Doc's and finds Velma there. As she waits for Tony to emerge from the basement the old lady kept him, Grazie looks at that bracelet like it might give her the words to say to him. Tony was on a good track. Then he killed a guy. He hadn't killed anyone before that wasn't who he was. Riff was drowning deeper and deeper into whatever ocean God chose to throw him in. Tony found a way to pull himself out, although his soaked clothes were too heavy and dragged him back under. What's she supposed to say to a guy who did that? Does she scold him like his mother would or yell like a cop? Does she try to console him? He, who's become a murderer ? She doesn't know why she's here. The Jets are using the store as a hiding place. Tony has a girl now, right? The one from the dance. She shouldn't be here. That girl should. Riff should.
There's a brief moment when she's begging and screaming through the glass of the door at the Jets when her gaze falls on the bracelet. Riff wasn't above hate. Maybe that was the ocean God threw him in. A never ending cycle of that hate. He hated himself so he hated other people. He was protective of his territory so he hated the Puerto Ricans. But Riff never let them hurt a woman or child. Didn't matter what race, where they were from or what gangs they were loosely associated with. Hurting a woman meant he would hurt you. It was something about his daddy hurting his ma, so he didn't want this found family of his to be like that either. The Jets were breaking their own rules. Even Riff wouldn't stoop this low. Abuse was the only thing he'd ever known, yet he made that rule. The Jets were a disgrace to their dead. How could they? In honor of the bracelet that she's wearing now from his ma, his ma who was hurt maybe similar to the way these animals hurt Bernardo's girl.
It's a long night. Grazie long gone from Doc's. She should go home, back to the place she shares with Velma. Yet she finds herself wandering in the opposite direction of their dinky place. Her ma was passed out on the sofa again, the smell of liquor more than potent in the air near her. Grazie sits herself by her, leaning against the sofa. Her ma used to care about her. Held her hand when she cried. Whispered comforting things. Smelled like roses. Her ma's arm dangles along the side of the couch so Grazie takes it, gently leaning her forehead against her fingers and letting out soft tears. There's no more energy left to wail not after tonight. She doesn't know why she came back to her old apartment. Maybe it's the stupid bracelet that she's wearing. Reminding her of mothers and all that. Making Grazie want her own, even if she doesn't matter anything to her anymore. Riff's ma meant something to him. Everything to him.
There's a loud knock at the door the next morning. The sun hasn't even risen yet, but Grazie rubbed at her eyes once she put her ma's hand back. Stupid neighbors. Ma was asleep . Don't they have any respect or general kindness for people? She groans loudly as if to shut up the pounding. Grazie doesn't need a mirror to know that she has dried mascara all over her face and how purple her eyes must look. Bringing herself to care requires too much energy that she doesn't have.
It's Velma, arms crossed over herself and shaking. What was she shaking for? Her boyfriend didn't die last night. He nearly assaulted a woman. Maybe that's why she's shaking. They've come to realize how awful the Jets are without Riff. She hopes they end it. She hopes they realize what terrible, terrible people they are.
"Tony's dead!"
"What?"
No. He's not dead. Tony might've started the Jets and get arrested but he isn't stupid enough to be dead.
"Anybodys told me. Said there was a gun and Tony's girl was there and Her volume rises with every word, prompting Graziella to check that her ma is still asleep.
"Shh!"
When Velma gets upset, she gets loud about it. Lots of sobbing and bawling and crap. Grazie peeks over her shoulder. Her ma's rolled herself over on the sofa, but has the sense not to get up. Good. Grazie can't let her know that she was never here. She nearly pushes Velma away from the door, closing it behind her. She realizes that she got in last night without a key. She doesn't have one on her.
If she knew Tony was dead that means . . . What she was doing, talking to members of the Jets after last night?
"Go home, Vel."
Velma nods. "I'll tell ya about it when we get there. It just-it sounds like it happened so fast and I-"
"No. Go home." Without me , is what Grazie can only hope is getting put across. She doesn't know where to go. She just can't go back there. Not when everything in her stupid little closet bedroom reminds her of him. Then again, she's wearing his shirt that's too big on her and stupid little bracelet so what kind of morals does she have?
"Graz-"
"I ain't wanting to go home. Just leave me be."
Can she even call that apartment home? Sure, it's where she lives. Where she keeps food and where she has that little shoebox that she puts all of her makeup in. Grazie loves that little box. She's dirt poor, but knowing that she has that box makes her feel a little better about things. Because she can at least look pretty with some red lipstick or a dab of eyeliner. But now that box feels so stupid . Childish. She glances down at her wrist. Riff's ma wasn't any of that, was she?
"Graziel-"
"Go, Velma. Tony's dead, I got it. He was shot or whatever."
With another look over her shoulder, Velma leaves. Grazie didn't attempt to try to smile at her or comfort her or anything. Why should she smile? Tony's dead. Riff's dead. She's wearing a dead woman's bracelet.
There's nowhere for her to go. Can't go to Ma's apartment. Can't go to her own. The streets can't be safe.
It's the only time she finds Krupke's appearance to be fortunate. As she's walking out on the sidewalk like a little lost dog, he drives right up next to her, asking if she can come down to the station to answer a few more questions. Any other time - when she had somewhere to go - Grazie might snap at him or roll her eyes or something . Instead, she gets in the back of the car and solemnly stares out the window. Maybe he knows she needs a distraction even if that distraction is talking about it . She's always had a talent for zooming out on her own voice.
As Krupke asks his questions, she notices how tired he looks. The guy might have been up all night. Riff hated the guy. Hated all cops. They hadn't done anything for him and they hadn't done anything for his ma. It was the mentality that everyone in the West Side seemed to have. But Grazie doesn't hate him right now. He's just like anyone else.
Words are dry, carrying no meaning. Answers to questions don't carry the weight that they should.
Nothing does.
Except for the dead woman's bracelet.
There's a part of her that wants to claw away at it. Rip it apart so all the beads crash against the floor, spilling everything so the janitor will be finding beads until the end of his life. But Grazie can't do that to Riff. Honoring someone's memory and all that crap isn't her thing, never was, never will be. But gosh Riff loved that bracelet. He was wearing it when he died.
Was that what he was thinking about when he died? His ma and her bracelet? Did he worry if it would be taken care of when he bled out?
Even if he didn't, she has to take care of it for him.
Weeks pass. Grazie pretends like she never went back to her ma's house. Her ma doesn't call her up to ask if she came home at all. Her ma doesn't even know that Riff is dead. She never liked Riff. She'd probably be glad that he's gone.
It doesn't feel like time is going at all. Not faster, not slower. The world moves around her, yet Grazie is stuck in the moment where she took that bracelet.
She goes to work at the florist shop, taking numbers. She takes up extra shifts. The people there treat her like family, always teasing her about how they had all boys when really they needed a girl to help run the shop. Grazie graduated from high school the May before, but she never even thought about college. It didn't seem to matter since she had this gig. She starts looking for a new apartment. Because by the time she gets home to her current one, she doesn't want to see Velma. Because soon the entire West Side will be knocked down.
It's been weeks and she's suddenly realizing that there's a lot more missing too.
Like her monthly taste of hell.
She knows what that means. There might there's a Riff Jr. in sight. Grazie doesn't want to think about it.
She doesn't think about it and tries to forget it. Sometimes, there's a pressure in her stomach and she takes it as a sign. Grazie never thought she'd be welcoming the thought of the hellish circumstance of being a woman, but here she was. Only that it was a cramp and nothing more. She poured herself over the notebook where her small handwriting scribbled down numbers and sums. The morning had been a crappy one to say the least. She's coming down with something thought it isn't the flu season and she hasn't heard about anyone else getting sick like this. The sickness throws her into the bathroom, pouring her body over the toilet as she emptied all trace of breakfast (not that she'd eaten a lot - some cereal that she had a coupon for). As Grazie sits back against the wall, the bracelet jingles. She still hasn't taken it off. Riff's ma wore that. Was she wearing it when she found out she was gonna give birth to him?
Because Grazie's going to wearing it.
She's suddenly very aware of her ringless finger as other women in the room all seem to have theirs. Diamonds of every size, gold bands that their husbands gave to them before scheduling an appointment. There's ladies who are glowing. There's ladies already with a visible bump. There's ladies who are casually reading a magazine, obviously having been through this a few times before. Grazie wants to hate them, certain that their eyes are looking at her ringless finger and judging her for it.
Her name is called, making her wish that she'd given Riff's surname instead of her own. The doctors don't know crap. She could lie and make them think that she's married and not on her own (does it matter, though? even if she was married to him, he's still dead). Grazie surrenders her urine to them, they take her blood pressure with one of the squeezy tools, a nurse notices her ringless finger and suddenly becomes a lot more cross with her. They take a blood sample. Taking more of her bodily fluids and poking her in every way they can think of. She wants to shout at them - like Riff would have done. But she isn't as loud as he was.
"You're pregnant," the doctor says when he returns. Grazie isn't stupid. She notices how he didn't congratulate her. Congrats aren't really in order, anyway. The stupid doctor seems to understand that.
Eyebrows shoot up when she receives her bill at the end. She can't afford this for the next nine months . She can barely afford it now.
Velma's home, but chatting to someone on the phone when Grazie arrives. Good. She didn't want to talk to her anyway. Grazie sets her hair in her rollers and takes out Riff's shirt, holding it to her chest.
She still doesn't want to think about it.
Grazie starts looking for a new apartment. She hasn't mentioned it to Velm, who should also be on a search for a new place. Hopefully, she's gotten the memo that Grazie isn't interested in rooming with her anymore. These days, it's difficult to be interested in anything anymore and what she does become interested in, she's quick to get irritated with somehow. There's newspaper clippings covering the entirety of her floor. The dress she wore at the dance grows ever more wrinkled as the weeks drag on.
At work, she has to excuse herself from conversations and an occasional interaction to throw up her guts in the bathroom. One of the owner's little boys notices this and points it out to his mom. She asks Grazie if she's okay.
No. No, she hasn't been okay since that night.
"Yeah, yeah," Grazie says instead, "All the dust is killing my system."
Valentina always had that same look on her face whenever she didn't believe someone. It was the face she always had whenever Riff told her that he wasn't going to steal from her anymore. A bitter laugh rises in the back of her throat but she doesn't dare to release it. It's better to laugh than cry but the baby in her hardly ever lets her laugh without sobbing now.
"You always excuse yourself after eating. You don't bring home the food we attempt to send with you." Her boss's brows furrow even more than before, "What's the matter?"
She caught her.
"Like I said, dust. Always clogs my throat or whatever. I've been looking for a new place so hopefully it stops soon."
With the last glance she sent her, Grazie could tell she still didn't believe her. Poor woman. It's impossible to tell her that she's pregnant and her baby daddy has been dead for three months.
It doesn't feel like three months.
It feels like yesterday.
She's never wanted another mother. While the Jets and their girls flock to Valentina as a source for the motherly affection most of them were deprived of for whatever reason, she's stood off to the side. Riff loved the woman. Despite his claims that she was just another PR in their neighborhood, they all knew he viewed the older woman as a second mother to him. Would she want to know if Riff's child was going to be roaming the earth in a few months?
Every day, she faces Velma who has no idea. She walks down the streets while no one knows that she's carrying a baby. No one knows. It's her own secret.
It's killing her.
Maybe that's why she didn't even realize she was heading into Doc's until she heard the little bell chime. Val is counting over numbers at the counter as she gives the same, familiar greeting. It stopped, she remembers, when most of her "customers" ended up being the Jets. After what happens, Graziella has a hard time believing they've been coming in regularly since.
"Hey, Val." It sounds as if Grazie is about to alert her that there's someone on her way to murder them both.
Valentina looks up, brows furrowed. Gosh , Grazie hopes she won't be mad for getting pregnant. She isn't stupid. She knows she and Riff were really setting them up there, but the fact that it actually happened … she sure hopes it won't make her yell at her, or worse, kick her out forever.
"Can I talk to you?"
Val really was the ideal mother. She notices the tension in her shoulders and finds the backroom for them to chat. Grazie declines her offer to sit down. She can't.
"I'm pregnant."
There's a second where Valentina just stares at her before she removes her glasses and holds them in her hand. Fingers press against her forehead, eyes closed. She really is a mother. She's just as disappointed as one.
"It's Riff?" she finally asks after those long seconds of silence.
"Yeah."
Before Valentina can question her any further, tears erupt. There isn't any need to be scolded. Grazie knows. She knows she's doing this alone. She knows this baby isn't getting the future it deserves. She knows she's broke. Valentina helps her down into a chair and holds her. The baby kicks at her, clearly unsatisfied with all this crying. Maybe it thinks she should also get yelled at. But Val is everything she needs now. She's not even a mother to any of her own children, yet she's better a mother than Grazie's own. Perhaps, there's something to that. A mother neglects her own children, yet the childless mother takes in as many who need her. Though, as the feeling of the bracelet on her skin reminds her, not all mother's are like that.
When the baby is born, Grazie can only hope to be as good of a mother as Valentina.
Grazie turns to the two frumpy dresses she has to hide her growing middle. They're still tight. Thank goodness for fall where she can wear cardigans around her shoulders without weird looks. Thank goodness for the itchy sweaters she has for some reason. She wraps herself up in them as sort of a protection.
"You know it's weird," Velma says during one of the rare afternoons where they're home together.
Grazie doesn't look up from the paper with the apartment listings that she tries to hide on her lap from the other by propping it up on her lap as she leans against the wall. "What?"
"Usually-" she plops down on her beed, falling on her elbows "-our cycles line up. You know girls do that or whatever or something. But ours haven't for like two months ." Velma looks up at Grazie as if expecting some sort of confession.
She looks away from the paper then. "You keep track of that crap? You really want us to suffer like that together? What kind of psycho are you?"
Velma grabs a wrapped lollypop from under her pillow. How does she have all of those stored under there? Most girls flirted with men in order to get a free drink. Velma flirted for those red lollipops she seems to be obsessed with. Looks like she was flirting with an abundance of boys lately.
" Geez Louise, girl." Velma stretches out her arms. "It ain't that hard to notice. We both get real irritable and we both complain and we both hug hot pads to our middles. Any girl can tell what's going on. I was just wondering if you needed any more tampons. I was gonna make an order anyway. "
"I'm fine," Grazie says through gritted teeth.
Velma throws her long arms in the air. "Suit yourself, girly."
When Grazie looks back down at the paper, she looks more intensely then ever. She'll have to tell them she's a widow of some sort. In a way, she feels like a widow. Not that Riff was suited for domestic life or she was ready to get hitched, but this must be how all those war widows felt. Empty and lonely and maybe even a little gross like the humid air she always hears about in the south.
The so-called "morning sickness" passes even though Grazie wants to punch whatever doctor coined that term because it sure wasn't just in the morning. She becomes wider and wider more than she's ever been before. She still has five more months of this?
Grazie finds an apartment. Despite her best attempts to hide it, the lady showing the place to her can tell she's rounder in the middle. She asks where the father is. Grazie stares her in the eyes and tells her that he's dead. She tied a little ribbon around her ring finger as if his mother's bracelet doesn't qualify as a wedding ring to her already. Everyone assumes it's her bracelet. It's not. It's a dead woman's. She's just grateful that the woman's husband was too busy to show her the place. He might've not been as kind.
But she gets the apartment. She signs the papers, pays what she needs to, and wishes she could celebrate with some cheap wine. If only she could have wine.
"You're knocked up, ain't you?"
"What?"
It's the worst response possible and she knows it. Velma practically confirmed that she already knows.
"Sorry, Graz, even for a girl as pretty as you there's things you can't hide from me. You've been tryin' to find a new place in a nicer neighborhood. I saw that paper with the place by the park that you circled. You don't care about parks. You told me once that if you ever had a kid, you'd want them to grow up by a park. 'Sides-" she slipped a lighter from her pocket "-I notice when you haven't worn anythin' hot in a while. I know it's not because of Riff and Tony. I can tell when your shirts are getting a little tight around the middle. You're knocked up. Riff's kid, right? Has to be."
She scowls, looking over at Velma. Has everyone else figured this out already or is it just Velma because she lives with her? The family from the bakery treats her good. They're nice to her. Heck, the lady acts more like her mother than her own mother ever did. But would they really want to keep a unmarried pregnant woman in their employment? There's no ring around her finger. They know she doesn't have a husband or even a fellow at all.
Grazie never asked if they know about what happened to Riff. She brought him around sometimes. She knows there were newspaper stories about the three kids that died that night. The journalists don't know the full story. Grazie isn't willing to tell them the full story either. They don't need that. She hadn't read those articles. She doesn't need to. Maybe the family did.
"You don't need to know that," Grazie mumbles, crossing her arms over herself before realizing that it emphasizes her belly and its enlarged size.
A cold, dry laugh bursts through Velma's lips. "Don't need to know that? Graz, if there's gonna be a screaming kid in our place in the next six months or something, I need to know."
"Well, that's nothing you need to worry about, is it? Like you said, I'm looking for a new place. Not gonna be here for too long."
"How're you gonna do that? Gosh, Grazie, it's like you've got your brains bashed out or something. You think someone'll let an unmarried mother into their apartment. What about the hospital? Whose gonna be waiting in the waiting room for you? Not the kid's daddy, that's who."
Riff always spoke with his fists. The bruises and blood covering his knuckles could always tell her where and who he'd been fighting. One punch and his enemy could tell exactly what he was thinking.
Grazie wishes she can speak with her fists now. Smack Velma right across that pretty face of hers. Not the kid's daddy . As if she needs that reminder. Velma's treating this baby as if it's an inconvenience to her and not just to Grazie.
She looks down at the bracelet around her wrist. Would Riff's old lady want to hit someone over her child?
"What you're worried about who's gonna be in the waiting room for me when I'm pushing this kid out of my body? Shut up, Vel. You never know when to stop so I'm telling you now. This is when you shut up ."
Velma stares back at her. Not a word dares to pass through her mouth. For a second, Grazie worries that they'll be a remark about hormones or whatever. But she has enough sense to shut up as she told her before muttering something about getting her coat. Grazie listens as her once best friend, her former ride or die, gathers her coat and slams the door behind her. Probably going back to the Jets or whatever. Good. Grazie doesn't want her in her life.
The apartment is nothing fancy. It's not perfect. Nothing is. But it's got two rooms that she can actually afford. A bathroom that has a shower that doesn't leak. A little window that shows a park out of it. The moment Grazie sees that window and that park with all the little kids running around and screaming in it, she knows this is the room for her baby. Kid's gonna have a room with a view and everything.
Just like she did when she was moving out of her ma's place, she is quiet in transitioning everything from her apartment with Velma to her own place. She knows that she'll have to confront Velma about how she's moving away but when she sees her sneaking around a corner with Mouthpiece, a surge of anger flares through her. Does she really need to know? Would she even notice? Ma didn't notice. Ma just continued to drink herself to death.
With the last box of her things, Grazie realizes something feels lighter. When she turns around, she realizes Riff's ma's bracelet is on the floor. She drops the box and though it's getting harder to pick up things on the floor, she lunges for it. It's almost as if she forget it. Forget him. How could she do that? When she's moving into a place for his baby and herself?
Riff never wanted a family. He wasn't built for the domestic life. Not that if he found out about the kid he would up and leave. Sometimes, she thinks about how he would react to her telling him she's pregnant. His face slowly paling after his mouth had just been running a mile a minute. The string of curses under his breath. How would she even go about that? Part of her is a little relieved that she never had to do it.
The other, louder part of herself is hurting; longing for that moment.
The move is bringing a few boxes on trains, trying to get a seat when she can as to allow her poor, swollen ankles some rest. It's not often and Grazie didn't except as much. Sometimes, a kind stranger would offer to carry one or both of her boxes. She wouldn't let them carry them all the way. When she takes the box back a few blocks away from her new place she looks at the bracelet and wonders if that's apart of Riff that's rubbing into her, just as how the bracelet rubs against her skin.
A few months, too late , she thinks to herself, couldn't you have lived just a few more months to corrupt me with your paranoia?
She doesn't talk to Velma about the move. Not while she's sneaking around corners and bragging about renting a place with an attempted rapist. Not that they talk. There are newspapers wide open to places fit for couples. None of which they can afford. Envy is a favorite tactic of Velma's.
Graziella wonders about that other universe again where Riff is alongside her. Despite how much he didn't want kids, how much he wouldn't make himself a good father, he would've stuck with her. She knows that.
Maybe they would find a place together. Although, Riff was practically tied down to the west side, even if the construction trucks were getting closer every single day. Maybe they would buy things together. Maybe they would even tie the knot. Hard to imagine, but maybe they would order the blood test and sign the papers.
It would've been nice to tear Riff away from the west side. From crippling buildings and people with even more crippled hope. He was born in San Juan Hill and he was determined to die there. He hadn't even died there. He was stabbed between the ribs in a salt shed between 57th and the river. He would've believed that was his way to go. Maybe it was. Maybe that's how a punk kid like him should die. Grazie hadn't wanted him to.
Standing alone in her two bedroom-one bathroom apartment, it feels like being struck by a match. She's alone. She's cut Velma out of her life. The likelihood that the Jets would apologize was slim to none. Riff is dead. Alone. There's a little baby kicking her from the inside, but she still feels painfully and utterly alone.
She doesn't cry easily. Even with the hormones crashing through her brain a mile-a-minute, even though commercials filled her with more anguish than they ever had before, she didn't cry. Grazie cried when she found out when Riff was dead. At Doc's, having to lean her entire body over the table because her sobs prevented her from sitting up properly. It wasn't a good enough cry. It didn't leave her satisfied or anything but maybe that's because of what happened afterwards.
With a hand over her swollen belly and Riff's mother's bracelet clenched in her fingers, Graziella sat on the cold floor of her new apartment and sobbed.
It was around two in the afternoon when the pains in her stomach become worse and worse to the point where Grazie can't stand or sit up straight. Fingers gently massage her lower belly when she gets a private moment. It's been bad for weeks up to this, but that's nothing compared to now. She excuses herself from her employers in a weak tone and has to lean against apartment buildings in order to get herself home. Grazie finds her hospital bag and changes into something more comfortable. She's ready. Time for the hospital.
Then why can't she find the courage to leave her apartment?
She looks at the bare walls (she can't exactly afford anything) and the half-finished nursery. That's better than what she thought she would have done by now. The hand-me-down crib is up and there's little blankets and socks laying around.
Other couples go to the hospital together. Husbands read the paper while they wait for their wives, nurses come out to the waiting room and all the men stand because they could have news about their wives, husband greet their wives with tender gentleness. Girls don't go alone to the hospital and come back with a fatherless baby. Girls have rings on the fingers that are intertwined with their guys. They at least have a mother or someone to support her.
With a deep breath, Graziella opens the door and locks it behind her. She heads down the street opposite the way of the hospital. She's numb as she hears the jingle of the bell walking into Doc's.
"Valentina?" she calls out, without tasting the words on her tongue. "You here?"
There's a call from the back of the store that bids her to come near. Swinging her bag off of her shoulder and moving it to be clenched in her palm. Her face squeezes at the onset of another jab of pain. She finds Valentina in the back room, but doesn't enter. Instead, she leans a hand against the doorframe instead.
"Hey, I, um, I think I'm going into labor right now . . ."
And that was all it took. Valentina grabs her coat and throws a few other items into an oversized bag. She takes Grazie's hand and with a gentle smile, she leads her outside and into a taxi. It happens all so fast to the point where she doesn't realize what's going on until they're sitting in the back of that taxi.
"Wait - wait, Val, this is a taxi . I don't got the money to afford -"
"Just focus on your breathing, mi nina . I will take care of it."
It's Valentina that got her checked into the hospital and who defended her when they asked her husband to sign for her (she has to lie and say that Graziella was a widow, but in some way maybe she is). She kisses her forehead and check before she is rolled away in a wheelchair to await her fate.
The first thing she does is ask for the good drugs. The nurses laugh gently and tell her to wait. She doesn't want to wait.
"We don't want to slow the process down anymore than we have to, ma'am," one nurse says with a hint of a chuckle in her tone, like she's had this exact conversation more times than she can count but it never gets old for her. "Let's get you in the gown now, alright?"
That nurse guides her into the small bathroom while another takes her bag. Grazie is stripped to her socks and the nurse helps throw on an unflattering gown over her head. She's never been to a hospital before – her ma gave birth at home instead of at a clinic - and the hospital gowns in movies aren't even half this bad. From there, the nurse helps her onto the bed, covering her with a thin sheet for modesty reasons.
She wishes she could feel someone's hand. Whenever she was in pain (a cramp due to a feminine reason that she never explained fully or getting her ears pierced), she would squeeze Riff's hand. She doesn't have his hand now and it doesn't hit her until she looks at her own empty hand.
But it isn't entirely empty. The bracelet is still around her wrist.
As the doctor announces it's time for her to push, Grazieella squeezes onto his mother's bracelet.
It's like he's here.
The pushing and the grunting goes on for what feels like hours, even on the good drugs they eventually give her.
There's one last one and a cry.
And she's a mother.
They're parents.
She and Riff made that crying baby. Both of them can't be here, but the little part of Grazie that still cares about God, hopes that He let Riff be there for the birth of his child. Maybe she should've prayed more. Maybe he shouldn't believed more. Yet, looking down at the bracelet that she isn't clenching as hard as before makes her believe that he was there with her.
"Congratulations, you have a daughter."
Grazie laughs. A girl. Of course, God would give her a daughter. She wonders how Riff would react to knowing he has a little girl calling him daddy.
The nurse puts the little girl into the crook of her elbow. There's a few other things that get done, but looking at that pink-faced baby girl has her completely entranced. She's wailing her little hands in the air and her nose is all scrunched up and Graziella has never loved anyone more.
Valentina is in the recovery room when they wheel her in there. Grazie introduces the baby to her with a wide smile. She simply sits to the side, patting her hand when she needs her to and holding the baby when Grazie gives her the chance. When Valentina has to leave (after promising to come back as soon as she can), she closes the door behind her.
The bracelet is still on Grazie's wrist and she adjusts her hold on her baby to unclasp it and slide it around her little wrist. At her size, it could make a better necklace.
"This is your grandma's," Graziella mumbles. "You was named after her. I never thought I'd be namin' my little girl after someone's ma, but your daddy's ma was real special to him. He would want that. So there you have it, Saoirse. That bracelet was never really meant for me. It was meant for you."
I haven't posted fanfiction in over a year and I am so excited to post this! I just have a lot of love for WSS and Graziella. And please forgive any grammar errors or typos as I'm a little rusty. Thank you so much for reading!