by Lori L. Otto
I smile widely to appease him. I’m sure he’s probably right. It’s cute to call him that now, but I can’t imagine how an Auggie would manage in school nowadays. It’s too different. Too old-fashioned.
And it does rhyme with Froggie, which is cute for his sisters to call him, but not bullies on a playground, and I worry that would happen.
“I’m going to get to work on your ankles while you try to get some sleep–both of you.”
“Thank you, Jon.”
When I wake up, I feel completely refreshed and have no headache to speak of. The door to our bedroom is closed, and when I turn off the soft music that had been playing, I can hear more voices than normal talking loudly downstairs.
7:45. I slept for six hours and missed most of the day. After drinking an entire bottle of water Jon had left for me on the night stand, I get up and take a shower since I hadn’t been well enough this morning to do so. It feels amazing and I feel much more like myself when I get out.
Pulling my hair into what’s becoming my normal hairstyle–a braid–I choose to dress in some stretchy, cotton pants and a flowing, yellow blouse. It’s comfortable, but still cute. I opt for blush, mascara and tinted lip balm, but that’s it. I’d rather be downstairs with our guests than up here fussing with makeup.
“How are you feeling?” Coley asks me as I round the corner from the grand stairway. She gently embraces me.
“A million times better. It must be something Jon said to the baby.” I go directly to him and give him a kiss, showing him my gratitude. I put my hands on my belly. “He’s moving, but calm, and he let me sleep for a very long time.”
“You look rested,” she says. “Do you mind if I feel him kick?”
“Not at all, but he’s not doing anything at the moment. Let me eat something. I bet that will get him going.” She nods, going with Jon into the kitchen. “Boys, how are you two doing?” I hold out my arms for Trey and Max.
“Awesome,” Max says, getting to me first and holding me pretty tightly, kissing my cheek. “Thanks for telling my brother.”
“Max, you know I had to.”
“Or… you could have trusted me to handle things on my own.” He shrugs. “I can, you know. I will.”
“Okay,” I say softly, squeezing his hands. “I hope you mean it.” Without a job, I wonder what he’s doing to fill his time, but I know he doesn’t need the stress of my questioning any more than I do.
“I mean, you were right. Too much is at stake,” he says, turning away from me when he speaks. I wish Jon was here – if he can tell when his little brother’s lying, I’d like him to tell me if he’s being honest right now. I don’t get the sense that he is. “For Callen, for sure.”
“For both of you,” I state.
He steps out of the way for my brother.
“I’m sorry you’ve been under the weather, sis,” Trey tells me. His stature and countenance have the natural ability of making a person feel safe when he hugs them. I love my brother’s hugs. “You feel okay to be down here? Because there’s no need to entertain us. Max does enough foolish things on his own.”
That earns him a few fresh grapes to the back of his head.
“Willow loves those grapes,” I tell him in an effort to make him stop.
“Willow!” Max yells.
“Pick those up, you dickweed,” Jon mumbles. “My daughter doesn’t eat floor food.”
“Yes, Uncle Max?” He lifts her up quickly, the results of his physical therapy and extra workouts obvious, because my girls are too big for me to lift anymore – and I don’t have metal parts in my arm and shoulder. Of course, maybe that’s working in his favor now. She’s laughing as he swings his niece around. “What did you want?” she asks.
My husband is left to clean up the mess. “I heard dessert would be ready soon,” he says to her. “Strawberry shortcake, right?” he asks Jon, who simply glares at him.
“That’s right,” I answer for him. “And Kelly made the shortcake, so it’ll be out of this world. Did everyone already eat?”
“Yeah,” Trey says, “but we saved you a plate in the warmer.”
“Smells like Indian food,” I comment.
“Butter chicken with rice.”
“You are my favorite brother in the world,” I gush, hugging him again. “Did the girls like it?”
“They devoured it. It may not have worked out with Zai, but she left behind some great recipes.”
“She definitely did,” Coley says. “This is one of my favorites, too.”
Coley hands me a full plate from the warmer, and I consider yet again how much I love her for my brother. Other women would be petty in situations like this, making a dish that was created by an ex-girlfriend, but not Coley. She’s always been able to focus on the bigger concepts of life–friendship and family and love. She doesn’t let small things weigh her down, which is good. Trey has a tough road ahead of him with the career path he’s chosen, and I know she’ll need to be strong for him and for their future family.
While working on the presidential campaign for a local senator right out of college, my brother decided he was going to run for president someday. His candidate won against a morally bankrupt narcissist. Senator Parker, a good man who had always done great things for his New York constituents, is the first gay president. The first single president. It was something we had all wanted to see, and although we were worried that racism and bigotry would win out over experience, acceptance, reason and love, Senator Parker was victorious–and Trey had a lot to do with it, being a speechwriter and organizer for the campaign.
We almost didn’t see his presidency come to fruition, though with the assassination attempt at the inauguration parade. I still feel genuine fear when I remember watching the footage of Max getting shot, of him ramming into the gunman, and then of Trey rushing to Max’s aid as police officers drew their guns on him. It was a horrific day for our family.
Trey was personally vested in the entire election process, though. He was happy his candidate won but surprised at how close a morally corrupt man came to running our country. It’s now become his life’s mission to ensure that people unfit for office have a lower chance of being elected, are held accountable if they are elected into office and are legally deemed unfit for office when laws are broken. It’s why he’s gone to law school. It’s why he’ll be running for public office one day. He wants to change the laws that have allowed current politicians to stay in positions we all revere, despite the fact that many seem to undo everything that is good for our country on a weekly basis.
Before the presidential election more than a year and a half ago, it was Parker’s opponent’s promise to repeal the Equal Marriage Act. He even talked about finding a way to nullify any unions that had happened since it had been passed years ago, although most lawyers didn’t think there was any legal way he could follow through with that. Even still, the threat of reversing the act caused a lot of turmoil and needless worry. Callen even gave Max a ring, suggesting they get married if Parker lost.
After asking for many months, we finally found out from Callen that it wasn’t how Max wanted to get engaged, so we don’t consider them engaged, even though Max wears the ring.
There’s still a lot of work to be done in our government. The House and Senate currently can’t agree on anything, so it feels like everything is at a stalemate most of the time. It’s not the way Parker had envisioned his presidency, but he does try, and he sets a good example, which is more than I can say for most other politicians.
I have big dreams for my brother. If he can’t do it, I don’t believe anyone will, but I think he’s the one who will return normalcy and common sense to our government. No one is better suited for the job than Trey, and with his name recognition, he knows he has a huge chance of being elected once he meets all the qualifications.
When the dessert is ready, I grab my dinner plate and the adults sit down in the formal dining room to eat together. They do it for my benefit. Dessert is
normally enjoyed in the family room, but we let the girls watch one of their movies in there while we talk.
“So, Trey, how was last semester?” I ask him. “You’ve been so busy volunteering; we haven’t had a chance to catch up.”
“I know. I have to get a certain number of hours in every week. I’m competing against a lot of talented men and women at Harvard and I want to make sure I stand out.”
“I doubt you have any chance of blending in,” Jon teases him.
“On my own merits,” he says with a blush. “Not just by my stature and name.”
“You were editor of the Columbia Daily Witness. You’ve written for the Times. You ran Parker’s campaign. The three of you infiltrated Gluck’s rallies to promote equality across race, gender and sexuality,” my husband says with admiration, staring across the table at our guests. That is something we are all proud of, despite the way their activism ended. “While politicians are out there taking money from the gun lobby, you’ve done high-profile interviews against gun violence after the assassination attempt. You stand out, buddy. You’re making a name for yourself.”
“I’m just trying to do my part in the city now, though. Helping the people who can’t help themselves.”
“That’s all you’ve ever done, Trey. If it’s not directly, you do it by bringing attention to their causes.”
“I guess,” he says, modest. “When it comes down to it–to election day, whenever that is–it has to be enough. Everything I can do, every day, matters.”
Coley holds his hand on the table to show her support.
“The video’s always going to come up,” he says softly, referring to a leaked sex tape of him and his fiancée that was recorded without their consent in college. “I always have to have bigger news to combat it.”
“And we will,” Coley says confidently.
“You’re marrying that girl in a few months,” I remind him.
“And even if you weren’t,” Max says, “the asshat that did that is behind bars for that crime until he’s an old, repulsive, impotent dude.”
“He’s already repulsive,” Jon, Coley and I say at the same time. We all laugh lightly, too.
“Anyone who brings that up will look petty. They’ll look like they’re trying to distract people from something relevant–likely something they’re trying to hide. The fact is, that video is old news. It was a crime when it happened, and it’s still a crime to show it, so…”
“You’re not a worrier, Trey,” I tell him, looking at him questioningly. “Why would you even be thinking about this?”
“One of my classmates brought it up in a mock debate with me.”
“Well, that was a low blow,” Jon tells him. “And if that’s the worst dirt he can dig up on you, then you’re golden. How awful that you were intimate with the woman you love, right?” he asks sarcastically.
“Yeah, I guess.” Trey chuckles.
“You’ve got to stop feeling guilty about it,” Coley says. “You didn’t then. I don’t know why you do now.”
“Because then, I had pipe dreams. Now, I see a real future, and I don’t want that to be a wall that keeps me from doing what I know I’m destined to do,” he says, matter-of-fact.
“It won’t be,” I assure him. “That’s not even dirt. That was just you living life. Everyone’s done it.” I shrug my shoulders.
“That is an absolutely untrue statement,” Max says. “I have not done that.”
“Let’s not talk specifics at the dinner table, please, Mascot,” Jon says to his brother. “I’m eating.”
“Technically, so was Trey,” he says with a smirk.
“This night is destined to end with a monumental food fight. I want to apologize in advance and offer to pay you for cleanup,” my brother says just before he takes a handful of cake and whipped cream and chunks it at his best friend.
“No!” Jon yells.
Max reciprocates with two strawberries to Trey’s head.
“Stop it!” I shout, but my laughter belies any attempt at being serious. “You guys are 25 years old! Coley? Stop him!”
“Do you see how much bigger he is?” she says, shaking her head. Having a better idea, she runs over to Max and attempts to hold his hands behind his back.
“Oh, no you don’t, Coney.” He breaks free easily, and smears whipped cream in her hair. She squeals loudly, and runs behind Trey, who’s now standing up.
I continue trying to eat my dinner as the fight continues, and Edie and Willow come in to see what’s happening. They immediately pick sides: Edie on Trey’s and Willow on Max’s.
“Girls? If either of you throw anything, you’re both going up to your rooms and straight to bed,” Jon says, laying down the law.
“We won’t, Daddy,” Edie says. Willow bounces on the balls of her feet, though, so tempted to help her uncle.
“Wils?” I say, my tone warning her.
“I’m not, Mama.”
Suddenly, a large strawberry lands in my butter chicken, splashing sauce onto my blouse and face.
“Who threw it?” I ask, still staring at my food.
“Coley?” Max suggests, apprehensive.
“I did not!” she says.
“Mascot?”
“Yeah…”
“When’s the last time you did dishes?” I ask him.
“Did what to them?” he asks, just like smart-ass Max would. “I eat off ‘em all the time.”
“Washed them. By hand. And dried them.”
“They make machines for that now, Liv. I’m pretty sure you’ve got one,” he informs me.
“Yes, but because tonight was a special occasion–having our sweet, youngest brothers over–we brought out the good china, and I don’t like putting these dishes in that machine of which you speak,” I tell him, finally looking him in the eyes. “Plus, that doesn’t seem like much punishment for likely ruining one of my favorite shirts… so why don’t you go ahead and get started on washing, hmm?”
Trey starts laughing at him.
“And you can dry, since you started it, buddy.”
“Shit,” he says.
“And pay your nieces a buck each on your way to the kitchen,” Jon says.
“Coley, would you like to come upstairs with me while I change, and get that out of your hair?” I nod to the whipped cream.
“I think that’d be best.”
“Can we come?” Willow asks.
“No. Since you were cheering them on, why don’t you stay down here and help your father clean up the dining room.”
“But we didn’t do anything!” she protests.
“Wils, come help Daddy,” Jon says, throwing her a wet rag.
Upstairs, I offer Coley the shower to wash her hair, but she decides to wipe it out as best as she can with a washcloth and water. To simplify things, she pulls her hair back in a ponytail, and somehow, she looks just as fashionable as she did when she came in with her hair in waves. Edie could learn from her natural beauty. Makeup and rollers and all the fuss are not needed to be beautiful.
“Did you get enough to eat?” she asks me as I change shirts in my closet.
“I may get a few strawberries once we go downstairs.”
“That doesn’t seem like enough food. You know, for two,” she says.
Once I’m dressed, I come out and sit down on the edge of my tub. She sits on the vanity stool, facing me. “Nothing at all is normal with this pregnancy, Coles. I’m not hungry like I should be. I’m not healthy like I should be.” I sigh, suddenly feeling burdened. “I’m not happy like I should be.” Two tears slide down my cheeks, with more on the way. Coley moves next to me.
“Oh, Liv, it’s okay,” she says, putting her arms around me. “You’re eating enough, though, right?”
I nod my head. “He’s gaining weight. Not like the girls did, but he is. The doctor just says all babies are different. That all pregnancies are different.”
“I don’t know that from experience,” my friend says, “but I�
�m sure that’s true. I know he’s taking a lot out of you, but it’s going to be fine.”
“Is it?” I ask her. “Coley, I have this feeling about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“This… dark cloud looms over me daily. I don’t have a good feeling about it.”
“About what, exactly?”
“The baby. The pregnancy. Me. All of it. Nothing feels right. Don’t tell Trey. I don’t want him to tell Jon. I don’t want him to worry about anything.”
“I won’t, Liv, but have you told your doctor?”
“She knows I’m frustrated with things. But I can’t really tell her I have a weird feeling about it. What’s she going to do? Some magic voodoo shit to make it better?”
“I don’t know, maybe tell you to go talk to someone. Someone who can alleviate your fears and tell you you’re not alone. That probably half the women who go through pregnancy have feelings like this. It sounds like you’re depressed. The dark cloud? Come on. If anyone knows depression, it’s me. It’s nothing to be ashamed of or to hide from people.”
“But I shouldn’t be depressed. I’m having a baby! I should be happy!”
“He’s changing your hormones!” she says with a laugh. “You can’t control that. Don’t feel guilty about it, for sure. And we’re all happy enough for you and your son to make sure he knows he’s going to be welcomed in this world.” She touches my belly. “You’ll catch up to the rest of us, I promise. It may take sorting through some other feelings, or it may take a little medication.
“But know this, Liv. There are people who can make you better. And it’s okay to not be happy all the time. As long as you’re working on it,” she says, rubbing my arm. “If the doctor says the baby’s okay and that you’re okay, you have to trust her that nothing weird is happening. Just push that thought to the side. Let’s work on figuring out what’s getting you down, okay? I can recommend my therapist. She’s very good–and discreet. She even does house visits.”
“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, not sure if depression is my problem. I’ve never had issues with that outside of my breakups with Jon in my younger years. “And I know where to go when I need it. Thank you.”
