Two Kisses for Maddy_ A Memoir of Loss & Love - Matthew Logelin [98]
But after a year spent retracing Liz’s steps through Minneapolis, through Los Angeles, and, recently, along the coast of Mexico, I had discovered that it was in the place where we vacationed with her family every year that I felt her spirit the most keenly, the most purely. So back to Mexico we went. Maddy wasn’t quite a year old, not yet, but this was her second trip abroad in just a few months. In her short life so far, she had already accumulated almost ten thousand frequent-flier miles, which meant that she would be better traveled by her first birthday than I had been at age twenty.
It was hot and humid the day we arrived, and we stood there for a moment, blinking in the sun outside the airport, a ragtag group consisting of two boys masquerading as grown men, two actual babies, and one beautiful woman. That poor woman, passersby must have thought, imagining that she would have to spend her vacation taking care of all of us.
But I wasn’t going to be coddled and catered to like I had been on every single trip to Mexico with Liz’s family. When you travel with a group like theirs, things just happen magically—well, because someone else manages all of the arrangements and shoulders the hassles. On this trip, I didn’t just want to go along for the ride. I appointed myself the driver, the travel agent, the financier, and even sometimes the babysitter.
“Who needs water?” I asked, making myself useful from the moment we arrived. I put Maddy’s passport and mine in the safest place in my backpack, and settled my friends in the shade.
“I’m going to get the car,” I announced. There was no way I was going to make them suffer in the shuttle to the place where our rental was parked. I hoisted Maddy up, holding her securely with my right arm. I could just bring her car seat, I had decided while the plane taxied, and drive back with her to pick up the rest of the group.
“Leave her with us,” said Sonja in her best let’s-be-reasonable voice. “Why should she have to take the shuttle?”
“She’s going to go nuts when I leave. And you guys have your own kid to worry about,” I said, even though I knew Sonja was right. This was not how my SuperDad routine was supposed to progress. If I could have pulled it off without looking like a crazy car seat juggler, I would have insisted that Emilia come with me, too, sending Sonja and A.J. to have a margarita and meet us at the condo later.
But Sonja’s plan prevailed, and the four of them waited for me at the airport while I argued with the rental officials at a location that felt a thousand miles from the airport. It took two hours to get the car, an hour and a half to drive to our condo in Akumal, and another hour to settle the kids down, change out of our sweaty travel garb, and unpack our suitcases.
I had remembered almost everything we needed for Madeline to have a great birthday: the sunscreen, her cute little bathing suits, bathing suit cover-ups, and even her hat with the extra-broad, extra-floppy brim. But I had forgotten to bring a box of cake mix so I could bake her a birthday cake in Akumal, an omission that clashed sorely with my desire to be the perfect father to my baby as she turned one. Disappointed that I’d forgotten this integral detail, I gave up on unpacking.
We got settled in as quickly as possible and made our way to the white lounge chairs on the beach to stare out at the ocean, at least half a day of sun still ahead of us. That night, as our babies fell asleep in our arms and the sun started to set, I looked around at