My stomach leapt from the smell seeping from my grandmother's door. Anxiously I rang the bell. From within, movement was heard, but no growing pace nearing the entrance. Come on! My brain yelped.

In a quick jerk, the door opened. Donning a lavender housedress and a single tooth smile; there stood Maw Maw, hand on hip. My face warmed as joy overtook my soul. In a deep embrace I cooed "thank you" as the aroma of seafood gumbo tickled my senses.

Her apartment, a far cry from the home she enjoyed before Hurricane Katrina, seemed dated with painted panel walls and chocolate carpet. But it was cozy. I complemented her leather sofa set and darted into the kitchen to prepare a hearty bowl of my favorite meal.

"Brooke, you've gained weight," she frankly commented.

I pulled my shirt back and patted my tight, baby filled stomach.

Like a stream, her aqua eyes flowed with delight. Her only grand-daughter was seven months pregnant. Secretly- I did it for her. At age seventy-nine, time can't be taken for granted. Besides, since the hurricane I've learned that material is perishable, unlike heritage. And babies were her favorite people. What a gift.

We sat at the kitchen table giggling like adolescents in a private school cafeteria. She said, "Tell me everything." Not showing an inkling of regret toward my unmarried status.

"The baby is due in April. Her daddy is ecstatic. We've been friends for two years and..."

"Is he from New Orleans?" Maw Maw interrupted.

"No, he's from St. Louis and his family is wonderful."

Her face morphed into stern displeasure; every wrinkle enhanced to 3-D. Maw Maw's posture hunched tightly as if trying to remove herself from my presence; nausea surfaced below my bosom and I was in no mood for Saturday afternoon regurgitation.

"What is it?" I asked impatiently.

Her tight lips struggled to release, but once she parted her trap I wanted to shut it instantly. "Brooke, why didn't you choose a father carefully? Why not a Creole, like us? Don't you like the way you look? It didn't happen by having a black or white daddy, you know. What is he?"

Boy, if she didn't sound dumber than a sandwich; I'll eat my hat. "He's black! Black and nothing else; you're part black. Have you forgotten that Creole is African, French and Indian?"

"No, have you forgotten the compliments you've received for your golden hair and tan skin? You loved the attention growing up."

I felt dizzy. Already thirty-six I'm a high risk patient. Oh God! I felt a release. "Call 911!"

One hour later...

"Miss Dupree, the baby is breathing on her own. All is stable. There is only one abnormality- heterochromia. Each eye is a distinct color."

Jittery inside I asked to see her; the baby came wrapped in a pink blanket and white knitted cap; she stared beyond me to Maw Maw. With her hands caressing my shoulders the new great-grandma received a once over from her adored baby girl with one brown and one aqua eye.

"Welcome, my cherie amour!" Maw Maw shouted merrily.

Learn more about this author, Bridget Jourdain.
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