When I went to a café to feed my granddaughter and escape the weather, rude strangers made us feel uncomfortable. Someone phoned the police, and a few days later, the local paper featured me.
I had Sarah at 40. My wonder child, my only. Sarah grew up polite, smart, and lively.
Her first child was due at 31. I lost her after childbirth last year.
She never held her daughter.
I became her sole guardian when her partner left because he couldn’t take it. He sends a modest monthly check that barely covers diapers.
Just me and baby Amy. After my mother, I named her.
I may be 72 and exhausted, but Amy only has me.
Yesterday started like any other exhausting day. Amy screamed through her pediatrician’s appointment in the packed office.
When we departed, my back hurt and it was raining hard.
I ran to a little café across the street, concealing Amy’s stroller with my jacket.
It was warm and smelled like coffee and cinnamon rolls. Amy’s stroller sat alongside me on an empty table near the window.
I took her up and whispered, “Shh, Grandma’s here, sweetheart,” as she cried again. A little rain. Soon we’ll be toasty.”
Before I could prepare her bottle, a woman at the adjacent table wrinkled her nose and sniffed like she smelled something awful.
“This isn’t daycare—ugh. Some came to relax, not observe.”
Cheek burns. I rocked Amy closer to disregard her words’ hurt.
But then her companion, possibly her lover or acquaintance, leaned forward.
He sliced the café with his words.
Why don’t you go with your wailing baby? Some of us pay well to ignore this.”
My throat clenched as other customers watched me. I wanted to disappear, but where?
Outside? I carry a bottle and baby in the freezing rain?
“I… I wasn’t trying to cause trouble,” I said without swallowing. “I only needed a feeding spot. An escape from the storm.”
A woman rolled her eyes wildly. You couldn’t do that in your car? If your child won’t stop sobbing, don’t take her out.”
Her pal nodded. “Considering others is easy. Walk outside normally and return when the baby stops crying.”
With shaky hands, I took the bottle from my bag to feed Amy. Her silence would undoubtedly make them leave me alone.
My hands shook so much I nearly dropped the bottle twice.
The waitress joined me. She appeared young, maybe 22, with timid eyes that wouldn’t contact mine.
She shielded us with a tray.
“Um, ma’am,” she whispered. “Maybe it would be better if you took her outside to finish feeding her and avoid disturbing any other paying client?”
My mouth fell. The callousness of these kids shocked me.
I used to say, “It takes a village,” and help in instances like this.
I looked around the café for sympathy, but many glanced away or were on their phones.
Where was humanity going?
Saying “I’m sorry,” “I WILL order something as soon as I’m done.”
Then something odd happened. Amy stopped fussing. Her little body stopped and her eyes opened wide, as if seeing something I couldn’t.
She extended her small hand beyond me toward the door.
Lifting my head, I followed her gaze. I saw them then.
Two rain-soaked police officers entered the café.
Tall and strong, the older one had graying hair and steady eyes.
The younger one was fresh-faced but motivated. They examined the room before looking at me.
Older officer approached first. We heard you’re bothering other customers, madam. True?”
People called the police? On me?” Oh, I gasped.
The younger officer said, “The manager, Carl, spotted us across the street and called us over,” before looking at the wide-eyed waitress. “What was the disturbance?”
After shaking her head, the waitress ran to the café’s door, where a man in a white button-down shirt and mustache stared at me.
“Officers, I only came in here to get out of the rain,” I swallowed, sounding confident. “I was going to feed my granddaughter before ordering. She was weeping, but her bottle will put her to sleep. I swear.”
“You mean to tell me the disturbance was just a baby crying?” remarked the older cop, crossing his arms.
“Yes,” I shrugged.
“Really? You caused a disturbance and refused to leave when asked, the manager said “younger officer said.
I shook my head again. “I didn’t cause a scene,” I said. “I told the waitress that I would order something as soon as the baby settled.”
The mustachioed man and waitress arrived. “See, officers? She won’t leave, and my customers are furious.”
“Well, not as angry as that baby, who is clearly hungry,” the older cop said and pointed at Amy. Yes, I hadn’t fed her the bottle.
She kept fussing after I did. I heard a happy “May I?” and saw the young cop extend his hands. “My sister has three kids. Babies are my specialty.”
“Su-sure,” I stumbled and handed Amy. In a second, she was drinking her bottle and appeared calm in the cop’s arms.
“See? The infant stopped wailing. “‘Disturbance’ over,” the senior cop joked.
“No, officers. Our paying clients should enjoy their time here, but that’s difficult when they don’t follow café culture “Carl shrugged. “This lady should’ve left when asked, especially because she hasn’t ordered anything and probably won’t.”
“I planned to,” I said.
“Sure,” he laughed.
“Bring us three coffees and three apple pie slices with ice cream. It’s cold, but ice cream and pie are healthy for the soul “The senior officer remarked firmly, then gestured for his younger companion, who was still holding Amy, to join him at my table.
When Carl tried to sputter, his cheeks reddened.
Soon after, he stormed back.
The waitress smiled, promised to bring our pies soon, and resumed work.
The officers introduced themselves as Christopher and Alexander when we were three—four with Amy. I explained what happened, and they nodded attentively.
“Yeah, don’t worry, ma’am,” Christopher, the oldest, nodded while eating pie. “I knew that man was exaggerating as soon as I got inside.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, glancing at Alexander. “You excel at that. She was irritable all morning. Doctor’s visit.”
“Ah, yes, no one likes that,” the young cop said, glancing at Amy. “Here, she’s all done.”
Grabbed Amy and put her in the stroller. Christopher asked if Amy was my grandchild, and I told them my life story while trying to keep it brief.
After coffee and pie, the cops paid the bill and left despite my protests. Alexander turned abruptly.
“Sure,” I answered, smiling as I lean toward the stroller since what started as a bad circumstance turned into a wonderful outing with two kind police officers.
Thanks again, I watched them leave the café, then put my belongings in the stroller and did the same.
Three days later, my younger cousin Elaine shouted over the phone. “Maggie! Newspapers feature you! The tale is widespread!”
Alexander surprised me by sending that photo of me and Amy to his sister, a local reporter and mother of three.
Her story of a café asking a grandmother and baby to leave went viral.
Officer Alexander apologized for not sharing me the tale sooner when we met a few days later. He hoped I didn’t mind emailing his sister the photo.
I wasn’t, especially when he mentioned the café’s proprietors fired Carl for his antics.
He also advised me to check out the new front door sign as soon as possible.
The following week, I took my stroller there out of curiosity. Door sign: “Welcome Babies. No Purchase Required.”
The other day’s waiter saw me from inside and smiled as she invited me in.
She said, “Order anything you want,” offering her paper and pencil. “It’s on the house.”
I grin. Life was meant to be like this.
I told the young woman, “Let’s go with pie and ice cream again then,” and I knew I was tipping her well as she went.
