by Andi Burns
I open my mouth to protest, though I’m not sure what I’ll say. Girl’s got a point. So, instead, I take a sip of my drink.
Molly’s in the driver’s seat now, and as always, she looks good in my car. We just came from a meeting with a caterer and are now headed over to Nick’s to meet up with Simon and the guys for a taste-testing.
After Molly explained our unique situation, we were able to take some samples along in a cooler. Apparently, Dunc and his wife did the same thing at a different place. Gavin picked up a bunch of food from their favorite bar, not because those guys cater, but because, apparently, no get together is complete without crab dip and wings from Trick’s.
So we’re all going to eat the food and help Simon decide on what the menu should be.
“Are you sure we don’t need to worry about a cake? I’m pretty sure that’s a major consideration,” I ask. Granted, a trio of wedding planners handled my nuptials, but I remember the cake being a pretty big deal.
“No, that’s taken care of. Nan, Simon’s grandmother, has that under control. She makes the cakes for all of the special occasions in their family, and this wedding is no exception.”
We pull up in the back of Nick’s studio and park. I haul the cooler up the outside steps to his apartment.
“Hey!” We’re the last ones here, and the food is all spread out on Nick’s kitchen island, and a woman, I can only assume is Betsy, is bustling around labeling everything.
“Hey, Molly.” She smiles. “Your stuff goes here, where it’s labeled Dorfman’s.”
“What’s with the little cards everywhere, Bets?” her husband asks.
“So we know what came from where, Babe, and we don’t get it all confused. We’re voting, remember? This is not an all-you-can-eat buffet, Dunc. This is a survey. I need your objective opinion.”
He shrugs. “I don’t need to vote. Trick’s food is the best, hands down. This is not to say I won’t eat the other stuff, just that Trick’s food is superior.”
“But Trick and Nolan aren’t caterers, Babe.” She rubs his back in slow circles, as if to console him.
“Maybe they should be,” he mumbles.
It takes a few minutes to get everything situated. And a few more for Betsy to pass out the ballots (yes, she made ballots) and explain the system (yes, there’s a system), but soon, we’re all filling our plates and gathering around the table to eat.
There’s chatter as we talk sports and work as well as share our opinions on the food.
“Sweet Jesus. Did anybody else try the bourbon-glazed ham? I’d sell my left nut for it,” Dunc announces.
“No one wants your left nut, Dunc,” Nick assures him.
“Speak for yourself, Nicky.” Betsy smacks him in the arm.
Dunc shoots Nick a shit-eating grin. Something tells me these two are more like brothers than friends. And more like teenagers than grown men.
“And yes,” she continues, totally ignoring the way Dunc and Nick bicker. “The ham is really good, but the spring veggie risotto is amazing.”
“Yea, the risotto gets my vote,” Gavin agrees.
Bets shoots him a look. “We don’t say our votes. This is not the Goddamn Iowa caucuses. We vote privately and individually. And we write that shit down. We don’t shout it all over the place.”
Nonplussed by his wife’s reprimand, Dunc steals a forkful from her plate. “Is the risotto really that good? Looked too vegetable-y for me.”
“Oh, my God, Dunc. Vegetables won’t kill you.”
“You sure about that, Nick? I don’t see any vegetables on your plate.”
“Are you high? I have three different kinds of potatoes on here.”
“Yea, but potatoes don’t really count as vegetables. They’re starches.”
“They grow in the ground, Dunc. That’s veggie enough for me. And they’re smothered in this—what is this sea of deliciousness?”
“It’s a creamy garlic sauce. And it’s killer. But did you try the sweet potatoes with cinnamon sugar? They’ll make you give back things you never even stole.”
“Molly’s right,” I agree. “The cinnamon sugar ones are the best. And my sister has a sweet tooth, so they get my vote.”
“Oh, my God.” Bets rolls her eyes. “That is not how the voting works! Everybody has a ballot with their name on it! They are labeled and color-coded!”
I put my hands up in mock surrender. I do not want to piss this woman off.
“You know, we really shouldn’t have to choose between potatoes,” Nick reasons casually, a ballsy move for someone who’s sitting right next to Betsy.
At her glare, he continues, “For real, Bets, hear me out. Potatoes are maybe the greatest food ever. Top three for sure. So why narrow it down to one selection? Why not offer multiple potato options?”
“Like a potato bar!” Dunc sounds like he just won the lottery. “Nicky, you’re a fuckin’ genius.”
Bets just shakes her, and I smile at her in silent appreciation for dealing with those two knuckleheads all the time.
“Hey, Simon, How’s Elaine doing?” Gav asks. “I looked this Hyperemesis Gravidarum stuff up, and it sounds awful. Any idea if or when it will let up?”
For his part, Simon looks miserable. I haven’t known the guy long, but he’s always fully invested in a conversation. It seems the wheels of his mind are always spinning, always trying to figure something out. And right now, he just looks defeated.
“She hit sixteen weeks yesterday, so it’s possible the symptoms could ease up in the next few weeks. Of course, it’s also possible they could continue right up to delivery, so…” He shrugs, looking lost without his partner.
“But,” he pastes on a smile for our benefit, “we can find out the gender at the next appointment, so that’s pretty cool.”
“That’s awesome, dude. Sucks she has to go through this, but hopefully, it’s over soon.” Nick speaks up, and we all nod in agreement.
“I miss my girl,” Simon laments. “It feels so weird doing this without her.” He picks at the food on his plate. He’s right; the meal is fantastic and the company is great, but it’s strange not having my sister here.
“I know. I feel the same way. Like we’re jerks for making a party out of this. I just figured we could kind of divide and conquer, but...” Betsy pushes her plate away.
“Enough!” Molly scolds with a smile, and I can’t help but think how lucky I am to be here with her. “No guilt. No sad faces. We eat. And we talk. And we vote.”
Dunc starts to interrupt, but Molly silences him with a wave of her hand. “Guys. You all look miserable. And I get it—I miss my best girl, too. But she’s at home getting a crochet lesson from Simon’s Nan, not stuck in a prison camp or some horrible thing. And I have no doubt she misses us and our craziness, but I can promise you she wouldn’t be enjoying this food and all these smells that we think are delicious. Seriously. I was over there the other day, and she had to shove her nose in her sweatshirt to avoid the strong smell of the Wheat Thins I was eating.”
Simon nods. “Molly’s right. We’re a Saltine-only house these days. But Nan said she was making lemon-ginger scones, so maybe a little food variety is on the horizon.” He raises his crossed fingers in a hopeful motion.
That eases the tension, and we settle back into small talk and pile more food onto our plates.
Eventually, the food has been consumed, the ballots have been cast, and the dishes have been washed.
“Who needs beer?” Nick asks, as he finishes storing the few leftover items.
“I’ll pass, Nicky. Bets and I are heading out to run some errands. But we’ll see you guys Tuesday at Trick’s, right?”
There are some yeses and maybes as hugs are exchanged. I figure we’ll leave soon, but Molly asks if we have time to stay for a beer, and I can’t deny her. Besides, it sounds good to me, too. I accept the beer that’s handed to me and pull out a barstool for Molly, before settling on my own.
“Simon, Midas Touch or SeaQuench?”
&
nbsp; Staring at his phone, he says, absently, “Neither, I should get going, too.”
“Everything good at home?” Gav asks, pulling up a chair.
“Yea,” he smiles. “Mom just sent me a pic of Nan and Elaine napping on the couch.”
“Just think,” says Nick, “in a couple months, that’ll be a pic of Nan, Elaine, and baby Walker napping on the couch.”
At that, Simon smiles.
“So stay. Have half a drink, shoot the shit with us, and then go home to your Sleeping Beauty.” Nick passes the beers around.
Simon looks torn, so I prod. “My sister sleeps like the dead normally, so I have no doubt that a pregnant Elaine is out for the count. Stick around for a bit.”
Checking the time again, Simon relents.“Yea, I can hang for a few. I’ll take the SeaQuench.”
“So, how’s this gonna work? Like, Bets will count the ballots and then tell you what to order?”
Simon laughs. “Dude, I have four older sisters. That’s pretty much the story of my life. Really, though, Lainie told me to handle all the food, so I figured I’d get everybody’s input. And I’ll decide from there. But yea, Bets said she’d text the results tonight.”
“Dude. You know she will. She’ll have graphs and charts and shit. That woman is so put together. And I know we’re not allowed to share our votes, but...I voted for Trick’s food. Everything was really good, but nothing beats Trick’s wings. Although, that ham was killer.”
“That’s an illegal vote. You are not supposed to vote for independents in an election of this magnitude!” Molly scolds.
“Yea, Man.” Gav agrees readily, and I don’t blame him. My girl is a force to be reckoned with.
“Shut up, fucker. You did the same thing.”
Gav is suddenly preoccupied with his beer, and we all laugh. Well, all of us except Simon.
“Simon, my man. You’re starting to scare me over there. What is going through your head?”
“Sorry, guys. I’m fine. I’m just shit company right now. I feel like the world’s worst husband—fiancee, whatever.”
He toys with the label on the bottle. “I feel so helpless. The person I love most in the world, the one I would do absolutely anything for, and there’s nothing I can do. Yea, I’m there for her. I rub her back. I hold her hair. I eat breakfast in the garage because eggs are forbidden in our home.” At this, he laughs. “God, it’s a fucking privilege to do those small things. But I can’t change the situation. I am totally powerless. And when you love someone, you’d do anything for them, right? Anything to ease their burden. Anything to make them happy. But now? There’s nothing I can do.”
Gav clears his throat and looks like he’s about to bolt. “Shit, guys, I’m sorry.” He looks at his watch for half a second and then continues. “I, uh, I forgot I promised Connor I’d meet him for a run. Sorry. I’ll catch up with you guys Tuesday. Take care, man.” He pats Simon’s on the shoulder and then leaves.
I catch the look that passes between Simon and Nick, but I don’t know quite what to make of it.
Unfazed by Gavin’s departure, and clearly taking it at face value, Molly says, “Simon, you aren’t what’s making her sick. It sucks, and I feel awful for E, but she’s getting through it. You’re the guy who loves her, the one helping her through it, not the one who’s putting her through all of this.”
“I feel like I am. God, I know that makes no sense, but I feel so guilty, you know? Like I did this to her. And logical me knows that’s not how science works, but damn, she just looks so tired and weak, and she’s putting on such a brave front, and I just feel like total shit, you know? She passes out regularly. She has no energy. She has to get fluids at the doctor’s office just to keep her body functioning. And the statistics are scary as shit. People can fucking die from this.”
“That’s it. No more internet for the IT guy.” Nick tries to lighten the mood.
I’m usually an observer in situations like this. I sit back and watch the interactions take place. I like to read a room before I weigh in on anything, but none of that enters into my mind. What Simon said about Elaine? I never felt that for Victoria. Our relationship was never like that. It was more of an arrangement, I guess. A contract, maybe. What Simon feels for my sister is so real, so palpable, that I can’t help but try to ease his mind.
“Simon, you’re looking at this all wrong,” I say, and heads turn in my direction. “Listen, I’m not trying to be a dick. Like Molly said, I understand that this sucks. It does, and I feel for you and E. But here’s what you need to know. My sister is happier than she’s ever been in her adult life. She adores you. She has always wanted to be a mom and that’s becoming a reality. Your baby is safe and healthy. Sadly, E is sick as hell, and probably not enjoying this pregnancy the way she thought she would, but she’s going to be ok. The doctors are monitoring her. Focus on that. I know it’s hard, but that’s what you’ve got to keep reminding yourself.”
“Ev’s right,” Molly chimes in.
“Oh, yea? Tell us what else Ev is right about, Molls.” Nick teases, but my girl is not here for his shit.
“Damn near everything, Nick.” She smirks and takes a pull of her beer, and damn, if I don’t want to tell these guys to get the hell out of a house that isn’t mine, so I can bend her over this counter and show her some attention.
Totally ignorant of my plight, Molly turns to Simon and says, “And look on the bright side—at the end of all this madness, you get a prize.”
His face breaks into a smile, the first genuine one I’ve seen on him since the engagement party over a month ago. “Yea. Honestly, I can’t wait. I mean, I’m not even that nervous. I’m just excited to meet this little guy. Or girl. And don’t ask which I prefer, because that’s bullshit. Gender doesn’t matter. I just want to meet my kid, you know?”
Nick smiles in return. “So, any hints on what you guys are gonna name the kid?”
“Nope.” Simon takes a long drink.
“Wait, you haven’t even talked about it? Look, I’m not in the market for kids, but I’m damn sure that’s a hot topic of conversation for expectant parents.”
“You’re probably right, Molls. But, that’s not how it is with us. Elaine gets to pick. I don’t even want veto power. The choice is all hers. Her body is going through hell, and, besides, she’s got fantastic taste,” he smiles. “So, she gets to pick the first name. Now, the middle name? That’s mine.”
“What is wrong with you two? I need to talk some damn sense into my best friend. You can’t split naming duties like that.”
“Why not?”
“What if the names don’t go together? What if she wants modern hipster and you want classic? What, you’re going to name your kid, Kinley Gertrude? No. No you are not. And what if you accidentally pick rhyming names without knowing it? You’re gonna call your kid, Aiden Braden? Adele Michele? Nope. Not okay.”
“Molls, chill. I promise our kid’s name will be awesome. The middle name I have is perfect.”
“You only picked one? Is it gender neutral?” Molly is not impressed.
“Yep. And I’m telling you, it’s genius.” Simon grins.
“No,” says Nick shaking his head. “Simon, you can’t.”
Simon smiles broadly. “Yep.”
“No.”
“Uh huh.”
“You fucking can’t.”
“Hell’s yes I can. It’s like my fucking destiny.”
“Oh, my God. This poor kid.”
“What? I need in on the joke, here, Nick,” I say. “Is there some awful family name he’s about to invoke?”
Simon laughs. “No and yes. It’s not awful, but I like to think it’s a family name of sorts.”
“You’re a fucking wreck.” Nick looks genuinely horrified and my curiosity is piqued. “Is Elaine actually going to let you do this?”
“She sure is. God, I love her.”
“What? What the hell?” Molly looks like she’s about to choke Simon if he doesn’t ‘fess
up.
“Sky.” He smiles.
“Sky? Your kid’s middle name is going to be Sky? Like the blue sky above? That’s pretty hippy dippy for you, Wonderboy.”
He rolls his eyes as Nick explains, “Think about it, Molly. No matter what Lainie picks, Simon’s kid’s name will end in Sky Walker.”
“Hey, do you mind if we swing by Drip on the way back? I want to get some of their peppermint tea for Elaine.”
“Yea, that works for me. I could go for some coffee. And… I have a proposition for you.”
“Do you now?” I ask saucily, as I pull out of the lot and onto the street. “Perhaps tea and coffee can wait?”
“Oh, I have every intention of fucking you against the Goddamn door when we get back to your place,” he says. “But first, shopping.”
“Shopping?”
“Yep.”
“You want to go shopping?”
“Yep.”
“What brought this on, Mr. I-wear-suits-and-work-out-clothes-only?” I throw him a side-eye when we stop at the red light. Though, honestly, he looks pretty damn good in those trousers and that button-down.
“It has occurred to me that some occasions call for casual clothing.”
“What I’m hearing is that you’re going to let me pick out your jeans.”
“And t-shirts. Also sweaters. Possibly a hoodie. Who knows what the day will bring?”
I’m giddy at the prospect of all this shopping. “And shoes. Those Italian loafers are gorgeous, but they don’t go with hoodies.”
“Agreed. So, where’s a good place to start? I saw a men’s clothing store downtown. And there was that beachy looking shop, no doubt a virtual hoodie haven.”
“I’ll park in the lot on Eisenhower, and we can start with jeans.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He smiles, and though I can’t wait for our sexy times later, I’m excited to spend the rest of the day with him, doing something as normal as clothes shopping. It’s a weird feeling for me, I must admit. Usually, in relationships, I’d go shopping with a guy because he needed new clothes, and needed me to pay for them. But with, Ev, so much is different. I just like spending time with him, and I love that he doesn’t need me to take care of him—he just needs me.
