by Julia Kent
“I don't mean your muscles. I mean the babies.”
“I can pick up a twenty-pound toddler, Andrew. Our bodies are designed for pregnancy and for managing toddlers at the same time, you know. It's basic evolution.”
“You sound like Pam.”
She pauses. “I think I did hear that from Mom.”
“OHGURT!” Ellie repeats as we click her into place. I grab the foil pouch from the counter.
“Yogurt dots?”
“Freeze-dried yogurt.” She takes the package from me, opens it, and sprinkles some on the tray. Ellie acts like wild geese at a pond after someone throws stale bread their way.
“Here. Try one,” Amanda offers, handing me the package.
“Sounds gross.”
“Try it.”
I pop a piece of blueberry yogurt in my mouth.
And instantly realize how wrong I am.
“Gimme more,” I mutter around the chewing. “These are fantastic! We have to get some.” I look at the label.
YoYo Baby Belly Snax.
I look at the ingredients. Pure yogurt, natural sugars, no colorings, no preservatives.
“Even Vince would approve of these,” I say to Amanda, who gives me a smug grin.
“MO!” Ellie shouts. I half expect her to toss a beer stein to the ground and call for her hammer next. If they remake “Thor” in twenty-five years, they can cast my niece.
“We’ll get some next time we're at the store,” I tell Amanda before popping another one on my tongue.
“You're going to the gym carrying a pouch of baby snacks? I'll pay good money to watch that unfold.”
I grab another handful from the pouch and toss the whole thing in my mouth. “Mmmm.”
Ellie watches me, mouth open, a yogurt drop attached to her lower lip.
“Careful,” Amanda says, beginning to search the cabinets. “Let's hope that's not the last pouch. These are the only thing that calms her down.”
I sprinkle ten more on Ellie's tray.
She turns into a shark with fresh lamb thrown in the water.
“I feel you, kid,” I mutter as I eye the pouch, then look at Amanda on her search, hoping for more.
“Pay dirt!” Amanda calls back. “Four more pouches.”
Awesome. One for Ellie and three for me to devour after she’s asleep. Shannon and Declan can pay us in yogurt dots.
Amanda eyes me eating more. “I can't believe you're eating baby food.”
“What? It's good.”
“I know. It's just...” Her laughter warms me. Full and strong, happy and hopeful.
I shrug, then tip the end of the foil pouch to my mouth, tapping the dust in.
“Wata,” Ellie says, turning to look at the water filter on the fridge.
Amanda finds a sippy cup, fills it with water, and plunks it on the tray. Ellie begins gulping, eyes on me the entire time.
I look at the clock. It's 5:49 p.m.
Dec and Shannon are home at midnight.
We've totally got this.
Bzzzz
Amanda's phone. She picks it up and reads. “Our food's coming.”
“Food?”
“I ordered takeout.”
My stomach growls. “Excellent. So, what do we do with her?”
“Do?”
“We have nearly six hours.”
“She goes to bed at seven, Andrew. We eat dinner, then she gets a bath, then we read to her and sing a lullaby and put her to bed.”
“That's it? That's the whole night?”
Amanda picks up a piece of paper with Shannon's handwriting on it. “Yes? That's what this says. Shannon fed Ellie at five.”
“Well, that's boring.”
“Boring? Of course it is. We're watching a toddler. It's not like we're taking her to a Bruins game or going on a harbor cruise.”
“We could, though.”
“That's not the plan.”
Ding!
The apartment buzzer sounds. Amanda waddles to the door, talks to someone on the intercom, and pushes a button.
“Food's here.”
“What did you order?”
“Cheeto smoothies.” She smirks, eyes big and sparkling with mirth.
“I hope you made sure they're blended extra fine.”
“You're never going to let me off the hook for that, are you?”
“Do you have any idea how much work it took to make that smoothie?”
“Do you have any idea how much pain my bladder was in, Andrew?”
Ellie's watching us. “MOOVIE!” she squeals.
Amanda opens a cupboard, finds a glass, and pours herself some water. “I got Thai. Pad Thai and spring rolls.”
“Are they orange enough?”
“Ha ha.”
“Ha ha.” Ellie's a perfect mimic for Amanda's sarcastic tone.
We all burst out laughing, Ellie clapping for added amusement.
“Let's eat at the dining table,” I say, pulling Ellie's high chair up to the place she clearly sits at, as there's no chair in that spot. Just then, the door buzzes and Amanda handles the food delivery, the scent of peanuts and fish sauce soon filling the air.
Plates come out, containers get spread on the table, and within a few minutes, we're feasting.
Bzzz
Amanda groans as my phone goes off. “I thought you were on Do Not Disturb.”
“I run a corporation, Amanda. I can't do it forever.”
“But this isn't forever. It's just until midnight.”
“Midnight? I thought Ellie went to bed at seven.”
“BED!” Ellie screams, taking part in the conversation, then puts a Cheerio in her mouth. Amanda has poured some on her tray.
“She does. But sometimes she gets up. And I thought we could watch movies together.”
“You did?”
Instant regret floods me, because even I cringe at my tone. Damn. I had no idea Amanda had this all planned out.
“I did,” she says tightly. “If you didn't come here to be a true babysitter, Andrew, why don't you just go home and work and I'll take care of Ellie.”
“That's not what I want.”
Bzzz
“I know you want to answer it.”
I pick up the phone, stand up, walk over to the refrigerator, and put the phone in the butter compartment on the door.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Putting it where we won't hear it.”
“Do Not Disturb mode isn't good enough?”
“I want it out of sight.”
Her shoulders drop, corners of her mouth turning up. “Thank you.”
“I should have done it sooner.”
Now her body melts, tension gone.
Sure, I'm desperate to do what I need to do. Decisions come from the top down at Anterdec, and even an hour out of touch can make a huge difference. I just spent all that time at the gym ignoring my phone, and my behavior is catching up with me. The unknown of texts and emails and decisions I should be weeding through grows as time passes and I don't check in.
But a slow dawning is happening as I take a bite of my noodles and watch Ellie carefully picking up her Cheerios, one at a time.
This is life.
It's boring because it's life. Dinner with your wife and kids should be boring. Watching a toddler for a few hours should be mundane. Chilling on the sofa while the kids are asleep should be a waste of time.
Productivity isn't the measure of a good life.
I might not know what is, but answering texts and emails sure as hell isn't it.
Amanda carefully picks out all the orange foods and eats them first, slowly moving on to the chicken and the noodles in her pad Thai. The bizarre orange-and-white-food thing has diminished, but this pregnancy is going to leave all kinds of marks on her body and her eating habits.
“BAF!” Ellie shrieks, looking toward the hallway. “WAN BAF!”
“She's really good at talking,” I marvel.
“You're rig
ht. She's way ahead of where Tyler was at this age.”
“Tyler?”
“Carol's son. You know.”
“Right. Weird little kid, but he's happy. What about him?”
“Remember his language disorder?”
I frown. “I guess so. I don't know much about it.”
“He spoke a little until he was almost two. Then he lost a lot of language. Came back when he was older. But he was never as expressive as Ellie at this age.” She tilts her head as she looks at our niece. “Tyler's the last baby I spent major time with until her.”
“You're going to get all the baby time you could possibly want in a few months,” I say, reaching for her hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze, then moving to her belly.
“BAF! UNCADOO BAF!”
Our queen has issued her command.
“Does she have a special bath?” I ask, unsure what to do next.
“You mean, like, holy water? I know Declan worships her, but I doubt they've gone that far.”
I ignore that. “How does a little kid take a bath?”
“She doesn't take a bath. You give her one. You have to turn on the water, plug the tub, pull out all the toys, and watch her like a hawk.”
“Le Hawk,” I joke, which makes Amanda smile. It's been years since she saved a Chihuahua from a random hawk attack at a park. It was good work but it wasn’t pretty. And it took a lot of effort for the reputation management company I hired to get that video off the internet.
“AWK!” Ellie shouts, looking at us both to see if we respond.
“You really don't know how to give a child a bath?” Amanda asks, something in her voice making me pause.
“No. Why would I?”
Her brow knits as she thinks, then she shrugs. “Good point. I only know about taking care of little kids because of Carol and her two boys. You don't have any small children in your life.”
Ellie bangs her fist on the high chair tray as if to protest.
I smile at her. “I do now.”
Amanda's hands go to her belly. “And you’ll have more soon,” she adds.
“Let me learn this,” I say, standing and walking into the bathroom off the hall.
Amanda's voice is muted as she calls out, “I think they bathe her in the master bath.”
Which makes sense. I follow her lead and go into Shannon and Declan's bedroom, a sprawling affair with a huge window looking over the city. Unlike my condo in the Seaport District, they’re not right on the water. This is the same place he's had forever, though I know he and Shannon are looking for a home in the suburbs. Amanda's pushing Shannon hard to move to Weston, near us.
When I reach the bathroom, I see Amanda is right.
It looks like an aquatic toy store exploded all over my brother's bathtub.
There's a plastic elephant over the bathtub spout. It looks like the elephant has the worst runny nose ever as water pours out of it, the color of the plastic changing over time. Amanda appears, carrying a very sticky Ellie, who looks at the bath and shrieks, “WAN BUBBAS!”
“That tone is subatomic,” I say, rubbing my ear.
“Get used to it. It's all we're going to know for a few years,” Amanda says, hand to her belly again. This time, I join her, her other hand reaching for a shampoo bottle that turns out to be bubble bath solution. As she pours, the room fills with the scent of fresh apple.
And bubbles explode over the surface of the water.
Ellie lifts one leg and starts to climb in, monkey toes curled under.
“Wait! We have to take your clothes off,” Amanda says patiently as Ellie looks at her, then holds her little arms up.
My wife takes the hem of her shirt and pulls north, Ellie's face disappearing for a moment until she's shirtless. Within seconds, Ellie is bath-ready, in the water, and squealing with delight.
“Here.” Amanda hands me the dirty clothes and a rolled-up wet diaper. “Can you take care of those?”
“Take care of?”
“You know.”
I stare at the pile in my hands. “No. I don't.”
She snorts. “You sound just like James when you say it that way.”
“What do I do with this?”
“What do you think, Andrew? It's laundry and a dirty diaper.”
Uncertain and hating that feeling, I walk to the laundry area and throw it all in the hamper, then return to find Amanda using a washcloth and soap to wash Ellie. She's a natural at it, knowing exactly what to do, and then out comes a visor.
“Is she going to play tennis in there?”
“Hah. No. It's for washing her hair. I've seen Shannon use it.” Narrowing eyes meet mine. “You threw the dirty clothes in the hamper?”
“Of course.”
“And the dirty diaper in the diaper can?”
I stare at her. She stares back. Seconds tick by.
“Why would you ask me that?” I challenge, instantly defensive because —
“Because knowing you, you threw it all in the hamper, and if I don’t ask, Shannon and Declan are in for a disgusting laundry surprise.”
I sigh.
I go back to the hamper. I find the dirty diaper. What the hell is a “diaper can”?
“The diaper can is in Ellie’s room! It has a clear plastic cover on it, next to her changing table!” Amanda calls out, as if she’s reading my mind.
Or she assumes I’m exceptionally incompetent at this.
But we’re not going to entertain that possibility, right?
Ring!
In the distance, a phone goes off. Can't be mine, because mine's keeping cool with the beer and the butter. I set the dirty diaper on top of a contraption that meets Amanda’s description and go back into the bathroom.
“Ignore it,” Amanda murmurs, smiling at Ellie. “Can't be more important than this.”
Ring!
She frowns, then her eyes flare wide. “What if it's Mom? She's been sick.”
“I'll get it,” I tell her, half jogging into the living room. I find her purse, the phone tucked away in a pocket. I punch in her six-digit code and find my own assistant calling...
My wife?
“Hey, Gina.” I start walking back to the bathroom.
“Andrew? What happened? Are you all right? Has there been an accident?”
“What are you talking about, Gina?”
“You never, ever go this long without answering a text? And you didn't answer your phone, or email either? I thought you DIED, Andrew?”
Every sentence out of my executive assistant's mouth sounds like a question.
“I'm alive.”
“I can tell? But why?”
“Why am I alive?”
“Why did you ignore all my messages?”
“Because I'm taking a break.”
“A break?”
“It's Saturday night. Amanda and I are babysitting for my niece, Ellie, and I wanted a break from the phone.”
“ARE YOU REALLY ANDREW MCCORMICK?” she screeches into the phone, making me wonder if she and Ellie are distantly related. “Andrew McCormick never takes breaks from his phone? What is this 'Saturday night' business? You never cared before?”
“I do now.”
“You could have told me? Given me some warning? I got so desperate I called Vince?”
“Vince?”
“I didn't know if you were on some crazy workout with that jerkface?”
“What did he say when you called him?”
“He asked me out?”
“Really?” Go, Vince.
“YES?”
“You sound upset about that.”
“I thought you were dead, and I'd have to initiate the Dead CEO PR Protocol? So I wasn't thinking about going out with someone?”
“Hold on. What's the Dead CEO PR Protocol?”
“The one Mr. McCormick created?”
“I'm Mr... oh. You mean my dad.”
“Yes?”
Amanda's glancing at me here and there as s
he finishes pouring the water over Ellie's head, the visor keeping it out of her eyes. I don't know how much of my conversation with Gina she can hear, but it's getting harder and harder to avoid the temptation to put this on speakerphone.
Dead CEO PR Protocol? Amanda mouths.
I shrug. “What is this protocol?”
“Your father had your obituary written up the week you became CEO? And I inherited all the information from Grace?”
“I have an obituary?” My question makes Amanda freeze.
“Yes?”
Amanda's hand goes to my forearm. Gina and Vince? she mouths.
Great. My wife cares more about Gina and Vince's love life than the fact that my father initiated an obituary for me.
“Did you say yes?” Amanda calls out.
“Hi, Amanda,” Gina says, loud.
I give up and go to speakerphone, which makes Ellie reach for my phone and shout, “Wan phone!”
“Is that Ellie with you?” Gina asks in a cooing, sweet voice clearly designed for small children, though I know she also uses it on my dad when he comes to the office and tries to be important.
“We're giving her a bath before bed,” Amanda tells her as Ellie stares at my phone like it's a wallet hanging out of the pocket of a tourist in a Marrakesh market. She’s just waiting for her chance.
“You want to know about Vince?” Gina offers up, which makes me groan.
“Great. Fraternizing between employees who are my direct reports,” I mutter.
“I'm your employee and you fraternize with me,” Amanda points out.
“I'm the CEO. I'm allowed.”
“I can date who I want to, Andrew?” Gina's question-like statement is emphatic, scrambling the signals to the speech and comprehension centers of my brain.
“Yes, you can?” Damn. Now I'm doing it, too. “What's the emergency, Gina? Let's clear it up so I can get back to important matters, like giving my niece bubble beards.”
Silence.
Dead silence.
It ticks on for an eternity before finally, in a small, nervous voice, Gina whispers, “You're serious?”
“Huh?”
“You're really not working?”
“I am not.”
“I think I might faint?”
“Ha ha. Very funny. Now tell me what I need to do to get off the phone as fast as possible.”
“AH DONE!” Ellie shouts, standing suddenly, pulling the visor off her head and flinging it at me, marking my polo shirt with soapy foam.
