by Julia Kent
“And it isn't cruel to shove them on me?”
I ignore that.
“Plus, I need someone who can manage people and details, and you're good at that.”
“Plus, you're desperate.”
“That, too.”
“How are you feeling, though? Really? Early labor is scary.”
“Did you go through it?”
“No. But I can only imagine.”
“Well,” I say, going into logic mode, because processing how I feel right now is too hard, “the babies are thirty weeks, so they're viable. If I had delivered yesterday, they would have gone to the NICU but chances of a problem are small. The big issue is lung development.”
“Right. Which means they need to wait a little longer.”
“Yes.”
“What can I do for you, Amanda?”
“Take the job.”
She sighs. “Not as an employee. I know what you want me to do at Anterdec. What can I do for you as your friend?”
Now the tears rise up.
“I don't... I don't...” Words dissolve into salt water as emotions render me mute. I'm the fixer. I fix other people's problems. I'm not used to having other people offer to fix mine.
“Look. I'm at work, but there are papers for you to sign. How about I hit your favorite micro-creamery and get the Cheeto Special, the one they make just for you? I'll charge it to our department, come to your house, and we'll drown our sorrows in ice cream while figuring out a transition plan.”
“Transition means something really different to me now. And you're just trying to get free ice cream and halfway closer to your house so you can blow off the afternoon at work and miss the traffic.”
“Yes.”
“You're not even denying it!”
“Nope.”
“Because you know the words Cheeto Special made this a done deal.”
“Yep.”
“Then get over here! Now!”
She hangs up before I can say another word.
If there's one thing about Carol you have to know, it's this:
She's a doer.
I'm a fixer.
And right now, she's my savior.
Ding dong!
The doorbell jolts me out of the doze I'm in on the sofa, enough to make me startle.
“ICE CREAM DELIVERY!” Carol shouts from the other side of the door.
“I know their code, Carol. You don't have to yell,” Shannon snaps at her.
“You know the code? What is it?”
“I'm not telling you! That's private.”
Bickering sounds follow, then the click of the front door opening.
Shannon appears ahead of Carol, the two clearly related, though different. Shannon is a blend of her mom and dad, with Marie's hair color and bright brown eyes like Jason's.
Carol, on the other hand, is smaller and looks exactly like a younger version of Marie.
“Shannon?” I gasp as they walk in carrying plastic bags filled with bakery boxes, another bag weighted down by what looks like two–no, three–pints of ice cream.
Ahhhhhhhhh.
They brought one serving each.
“Maple fritters?” Shannon pulls giant bear-claw pastries out of the box, the telltale beige maple coating making me drool.
Except–is that orange on them?
“I got Paula at the bakery to roll their maple fritters in crushed Cheetos. I think she gagged a little doing it, but I threw a $10 bill in the tip jar after and she told me to call ahead for custom orders any time.”
Carol shudders. “How can you eat that?”
“Like this.” I take a bite, baring my teeth. “Mmmmm.”
“Your babies will be born orange.”
“That's better than being born too early.”
Shannon sighs, giving me a shaky smile, eyes worried. “How are they?”
“Lefty is learning the tap dance routine to Long Way Round, while Righty has decided to nap for long stretches and scare the hell out of me. He only moves when I eat a lot of sugar.” I lift my maple fritter in the air like a wine glass. “Cheers! This'll get him moving.”
Carol stares at my belly. “Two. Wow. One is hard enough.”
“It's not like I know any different.”
“Right. It'll make future kids easier.”
I stop chewing.
“Mmmmpfh?”
“You know. When you guys have your third kid, a singleton will be a breeze.”
The mouthful of fritter turns to glue. It's impossible to swallow. As if she knows, Shannon hands me my water bottle. I clear out my mouth and say, “Third?”
Carol and Shannon burst into laughter.
“We all think we want four kids, don't we? Then we go through pregnancy and childbirth. The sleepless newborn phase.”
“Teething,” Shannon chimes in, patting her breasts. “Ellie gave me a free nipple piercing.”
Here we go. The battle-weary parenting stories. I'm stuck, aren't I? Can't escape.
Carol nudges her sister and then peels the top off her hand-packed pint of ice cream. I smell peppermint. “You're the ones trying for another.”
Shannon pokes my belly with her unused spoon. “Dec wants to know how to conceive triplets so we can beat Andrew and get our four out of the way in two pregnancies.”
“Declan is insane.”
“I know, right? Why would I want to give up all that sex?”
“All that sex?”
“If we get three kids with one pregnancy, we miss the conception sex. The second trimester sex. The–”
I grab a chocolate-coated horn from the bakery box and shove it in her mouth. “We are not talking about sex. I am not allowed to orgasm.”
Carol snatches the pint of ice cream out of my hands.
“Then you definitely can't eat this,” she declares.
“Come on! It's not–” I halt my words, knowing I'm wrong.
One arched eyebrow is all I get in response.
“Fine. It is that good. But I'm still eating it!”
“Bed rest means no orgasms?” Shannon asks, already done with the chocolate horn and now peeling the top off her ice cream.
“For me. Andrew can have as many as he wants.”
They snort in unison.
“Of course he can. We're the ones who are biologically forced to take on all the work. We singlehandedly grow new generations!”
“And they want a say in naming the kids.”
“Do you have any picked out other than Lefty and Righty?” I don't need the eye roll Carol tosses in with that question.
“What's wrong with those?”
“Hah.”
“Andrew has suggested Anderson and Bruford.”
“BRUFORD?”
“And then our third and fourth kids will be Wakeman and Howe.”
They stare at me. The joke goes over their heads.
“You know. Yes?”
“Yes?”
“The band?”
“What about them?”
“They split up and later formed–oh, never mind. Let's just say Andrew wants to name our kids after rock stars.”
“Wouldn't be the first. Tyler has a kid named Kanye in his class. And I know someone who named her son Prince after Prince died.” Carol taps her front teeth with her spoon. “Now I'm wondering about Jimmy Page in Jeffrey's Boy Scout troop and Gaga McFarland. Hmmm.”
“Six years from now, how many girls are going to show up in kindergarten named Cardi B. and Meghan Thee?” I muse.
“What are the names?” Shannon demands.
“Not telling.”
“COME ON! I'm your best friend!”
“We don't know,” I confess.
“Liar.”
“No. Really. It's hard to name one baby, I'm sure, but two...”
Shannon gives me the stink eye. “Anything but James and James Too.”
I nearly spit out my mouthful of Cheeto ice cream. “Don't give him any ideas!”
“D
eclan is incensed that James is favoring your twins over Ellie already.”
“He's such a sexist pig.”
Carol watches us like a gossip-chasing paparazzo. “You two are hilarious.”
“What?” we say in unison.
“You're married to billionaires. Your father-in-law is a billionaire. Your children will be raised with the ultimate luxury. They'll never worry for a thing. And you're making fun of the guy who forged the path for your husbands and your babies.”
We pause. Shannon and I look at each other, frowning.
With a quick lick of her spoon, Shannon turns to Carol and says, “And your point is?”
“Have you ever spent more than ten minutes with James McCormick? His ego fills the room like a bad fart,” I add.
“And there might even be a scent of sulfur after he leaves.” Shannon points the spoon at me and we high five.
Carol's head shake makes me waver. “You make it sound like he's all bad.”
“He's not,” I jump in.
“But he's.... he's....” Shannon struggles, like me, to explain it to an outsider.
And then it hits me.
Outsider.
All my life, I looked at the Jacoby family and wanted desperately to be a part of it. Marie and Jason loved me–and still love me–as if I'm one of their girls, but of course, I'm not. I never will be.
And Carol's watching Shannon and me from the outside right now, looking in.
She'll never be married to a McCormick. Never understand what it's like to have James as a father-in-law. Shannon and I are in a club she can't join, and I wonder if she's jealous.
But I don't think that's what's going on here.
“You know the old saying that the only people who understand what a marriage is like are the two people in the marriage?” I ask her.
“Mmmph,” she says affirmatively, mouth stuffed with ice cream.
“It's like that, having James as your father-in-law. The guy tried to exploit our weddings on social media. Used us as leverage to get the company's stock price up. He views his kids and his extended family members as pawns for his own gain.”
Carol swallows and gives us a curious look. “But he's not like that with Pam. Look how he helped her.”
She's right.
With a sigh, Shannon stops eating and glares at her sister. “Do you have to be so empathic? Now I feel like a total jerk.”
A smug look only an eldest sister can master comes over Carol's features. “Empathy's all I've got, sis.”
“Quit calling me sis. You never did that before you heard Declan call his brothers bro.”
“Okay, sis.”
“Oh, my God, you're so annoying.”
“I know, sis.”
“Carol! You're thirty-five! Quit acting like you're twelve.”
“Fine.” She shoves her spoon in Shannon's ice cream and takes an enormous chunk of peanut butter cup.
“HEY!”
“Morry, fis.”
“I'm suddenly grateful I never had siblings,” I mutter.
Shannon smiles and pats my belly. “Your boys will never know what that's like. They'll always be tormented by their asshole sib.”
“HEY!” Carol's turn to be outraged.
“What, sis?” Shannon shoots back. “Just telling it like it is.”
I stuff my mouth full of ice cream and sit back to watch as they bicker, then hug and laugh it off like it's nothing.
Consider it research on what's in store for me.
“You know what I need next?” I say as they peel themselves off each other.
“A crane to help you get out of chairs?” Carol snarks.
“Hah. No. Well, yes, but that’s not what I was going to say. I need a soak.”
“Oooo, the pool!” Shannon’s eyes light up. “You must love having that!”
“It’s been under repair until just a few days ago.”
“Can we swim?” Carol wipes something off the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “We have my old suit here, right?”
“We left everything in the closet the way it was months ago, so I guess?”
Carol and Shannon make quick work of putting the ice cream away as I guzzle water.
“Did the doctor say it was ok to be in the water?”
“As long as it’s not a hot tub, yes. And we’re low-chemical with the saltwater filter, so the OB said it’s fine. The temperature’s on the low side but not cold.”
“Sounds perfect to me. At least it’s not winter,” Carol says as I stand, moving slowly. Walking down the hall to the pool wing is a slow process, but once we open the doors the blast of moist air makes me smile.
Sunlight pours into the solarium, shining off the water, giving the room a cheerful, almost Victorian feel, a steampunk-like blend of modern and antiquated. Time and sunlight has baked the large wood beams that support the glass windows, and we’ve preserved the look and feel even while upgrading the pool systems.
“You have this whenever you want,” Carol says breathlessly. “So nice.”
“Now that it’s fixed, bring Jeffrey and Tyler over whenever you like!” I urge her.
“Oh, trust me, I will.”
“I mean it. I’m stuck on bed rest. I need the company.”
“Speaking of which,” Shannon says sternly, “get in the pool and quit standing.”
The two of them find their suits in the closet, then go into the small rooms off the pool deck, one a bathroom with a shower, the other a small room for changing. When James created this indoor pool, it wasn’t for fun.
It was for achievement.
A single lane, fifty meters long.
A pool Andrew’s mother never saw.
After his mother died, and Andrew’s deathly wasp allergy was evident, he stopped all outdoor sports, but James was adamant he have a sport, so Andrew switched to swimming. Turned out to be outstanding at it.
And if nothing else, James McCormick loves achievement in his children, even if he doesn’t love them in normal ways.
Hence the long, narrow pool attached to our house.
“Oooo,” Shannon says as she finds the ladder and slowly steps in. We added a ladder when we first bought the house. Andrew wanted to put in a regular pool, but I stopped him.
There’s something very unique about this one.
Other than the ladder and the conversion to saltwater, we haven’t made big changes.
I wait until Carol comes out of the bathroom and change slowly into my suit, taking the time to pee and stretch before climbing into the water. Shannon hands me a floatie, my arms going to the sides of it, my body weightless.
The babies feel so weird like this.
“I wonder if this is what it feels like for them in me,” I mutter.
Lefty moves, pushing down, making Righty shove up against my lung.
Until I was in the water, I didn’t realize how much pain my hips and lower pelvis had been in. The relief is palpable, and I sigh with contentment.
Shannon swims slowly all the way down the lane, keeping her head above water, her lazy breaststroke drawing my attention. When Andrew uses the pool, he’s a model of ruthless efficiency, long torso like Michael Phelps, strong and swift strokes moving him though the water like he’s oiled up and shot from a rocket.
Shannon’s form is like watching a raccoon take a swim from the shore to a rock.
“How are you?” Carol asks, treading water. She’s letting her hair get wet, the ends turning dark. Like Marie, she’s a natural blonde. Unlike Marie, she’s still her natural color. For whatever reason, Marie’s gone lighter over the years.
At this rate, she’ll be bright gold by the time she’s seventy.
“I’m… I don’t know. I feel useless.”
“You’re baking babies. What could be more useful.”
“I know.”
There’s more to say, but I can’t find the words. Being asked how I am is a mine field. It’s much easier with a full stomach.
And
good friends.
Shanon swims halfway back, then calls out, “Carol! Aren’t you swimming?”
“I am!”
“Swim swimming!”
“Nah. I like treading water.”
“You need to bring Ellie over,” I tell Shannon.
“It’s summer. Plenty of outside time at the pool,” she says. “Mia takes her to the club almost every day.” Shannon and Declan found the best nanny through an agency Andrew’s insisting we use.
Two nannies, he says, plus a night nurse.
Unlike Shannon, I am all about taking all the help.
“Sure. But I’m bored and you don’t have to put sunscreen on here here. Come here,” I insist, earning a laugh from Carol.
“Done.”
“Do you hear that?” Carol asks, arms moving at shoulder level, her ability to tread water for long stretches quite admirable. I feel pathetic clinging to a floatie, but I also don’t care.
My job is to just be.
And let these babies cook.
“Hear what?” Shannon calls out.
“Nothing! I hear nothing! We left our cell phones in the main house and no one can bother us!”
The laughter that echoes up and pings against the solarium glass is the sound of tired women who feel like they’re getting away with something.
I get the strong sense I’m going to laugh like this a lot for the next eighteen years.
For the next half hour, we swim and float, the water easing tension I didn’t know I had in my joints, our conversation drifting to the mundane.
Until Shannon turns, Carol right after her, and they look at the door from the house to the pool.
“There you are!” Andrew shouts, voice flooded with relief. Immediately, he speaks into his phone. “Found her.” Then he taps the screen, shoves the phone in his jacket pocket, and walks swiftly to the pool’s edge by me, crouching down. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Scared?”
“You didn’t answer your phone. So I tried Shannon. No answer. Carol. No answer. Gina called Dave, who told her Declan said Shannon was coming here.” He gives her a harsh look. “None of you bothered to bring a phone in here?”
“Why would we?” Carol answers. “It’s bliss without it.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, trying to reach out to touch his hand but wobbling in the water, my shoulder dipping in.
Worry and concern is etched into his features, so much so that first Carol, then Shannon, reach the ladder and climb out. Both know where the towels are, still stacked neatly in a closet the maid service handles.
