A Holland and a Fighter

by Lori L. Otto

  “Well,” she says with a sigh. “You’re not weird. Nothing about what’s going on is weird, okay?”

  I smile–it’s not natural. It’s all for show. “Okay.”

  She gives me a hug, playfully tugging on my braid twice.

  “Listen,” I say to her. “Can you maybe start, like, mentoring Edie? I know this sounds weird, but she’s so obsessed with beauty and makeup and… I know she thinks you’re so pretty, and I know your routine is, like, effortless.”

  She laughs a little. “It looks that way. I hate makeup but I have to take good care of my skin to not wear any.”

  “I think that’s an important thing to learn. Did you know she asked me to go to a tanning booth a few weeks ago?”

  “No!”

  “Yes!”

  “How does she even know about those things?”

  “Apparently, she’s discovered the power of YouTube. And we’re working on that.”

  “Oh, no!” She giggles. “I would love to take her under my wing.”

  “That would be so awesome, Coles. I just don’t want her to turn 12 and all of a sudden look 30, you know? And she knows how to apply makeup to do that. It’s frightening.”

  “So… I’ve got three years to train her that natural is the way?”

  “Is it possible, Dr. Fitzsimmons?” I tease her.

  “I’ll get my strongest team on it. But yes, Mrs. Scott. It is possible. And Willow?” she asks.

  “I don’t think we need to worry about her. Once Edie’s got it figured out, Willow will follow suit. Plus, by the time Willow’s 12, she’ll probably be studying for the ACT so she can do early admission to NYU or something… she’ll have other things on her mind than looking pretty. She only gets wrapped up in these things now because of her sister. If she could sit in her room all day and read, she would. But Edie likes attention, and Willow loves her sister.”

  “No doubt about Willow’s aspirations. Both your girls are so exceptional, though, and so talented.”

  “I know. They’re so different, too. But… they astound me daily. I love them to death, makeup obsessions and desires to go to the moon and all.”

  “You’re a wonderful mother, Liv. I only hope I can be half the mom as you when it’s my turn.”

  “Are you kidding? You and Trey are going to be great parents. I can’t wait to meet your twins.”

  “Twins!?”

  “You know you’re going to have twins. They run in both your families. Get ready, Coles. It’s your destiny,” I tell her, nodding. “Double the feedings. Double the diapers. Half the sleep you’d get with just one baby. You’ll have the time of your life.”

  She grins widely. “I hope it’s a boy and a girl.” Coley’s obviously giddy at the thought.

  I wash away all evidence of makeup–and tears–before returning downstairs. Because Trey and Coley only had to reheat the meal they’d brought, the dishes are finished and put away by the time I make it to the kitchen. I thank all of the guys and my daughters for cleaning up, choosing not to look in the dining room at the moment. I assume the rug will still need to be steam-cleaned, and that’s not going to happen until tomorrow.

  “Sorry about the mess, sis,” Trey says.

  “Hope we didn’t stress you out,” Max adds.

  “It’s fine, guys. I expect stuff like this when you two come over. I didn’t expect you to change just because we moved to a bigger, fancier place.”

  “I did,” Jon deadpans.

  “Just because we grew up doesn’t mean they had to,” I remind him.

  “And you’re still set on having these two be our son’s godparents?”

  “Wait, who?” Max asks.

  “Me and… him?” Trey adds, pointing to his best friend.

  I withhold my response for a few seconds, just for dramatic affect. “As long as Max has his ‘asparagus’ thing under control,” I say, glaring at him, “I definitely do. Look how much fun they have together. Auggie will learn a lot from them. How to be serious,” I say, looking at Trey, “and how to cut loose every now and then.” I smile at Max. “Appropriately and legally,” I add, raising an eyebrow.

  “Oh, man… wow!” Max says, giving me a hug.

  “I’d be honored,” Trey says, nodding his head. He shakes Jon’s hand before embracing me–and then high-fiving Max.

  “But we’re not calling him Auggie,” Jon mumbles.

  Ignoring him, I continue. “I can only hope he and Charlie will be just as close as these two.”

  “What if they don’t get along?” Max asks.

  “I don’t think that’s a thing,” I say, shaking my head. “I think if we bring them up together, they’ll just naturally be, like, close. Right? That’s how it works.”

  “What if they just totally clash?” he pushes.

  I’d never even considered that our son and Will and Shea’s son wouldn’t get along. I think about it for the first time and look at Jon, worried.

  “They won’t,” Jon says. “Will and I have similar sensibilities. You and Shea do, too. If we have the same parenting styles, they’ll learn to be friends through what we teach them. I think that’s how it works. I mean, look at the girls and Hampton,” he says, referring to one of their friends. He’s the son of one of Will’s bandmates, and right around Willow’s age, who lives next door to Will. “We brought them up together, and they get along great.”

  “He’s in love with Willow,” Edie says.

  “He is not!”

  “Is, too! He sent you flowers for your birthday!”

  I look at her. “He did do that.”

  “They were yellow roses, and that means friendship.” Willow’s statement is punctuated by her crossing her arms and furrowing her brows.

  “Well,” Jon says, surprised. “That is true. How’d you know that?”

  She covers her face with her hands. “Because I called his house and told him I didn’t like him like that,” she explains quickly, her voice muffled, “and he said that they were yellow ‘cause we’re friends and that maybe he didn’t like me like that, either, and I felt really stupid.”

  Max goes over to her and pulls her hands away to reveal her watery eyes. “You know who’s stupid?” he asks her. She shakes her head. “Hampton, for not liking you like that.”

  “He said maybe,” Edie says. “But I know he looooves her. He told me so.”

  “No,” Jon says, cutting in. “They’re eight. Nobody should like anybody ‘like that,’” he says with air quotes. “And nobody’s stupid. Especially you, Wils.”

  “No, but someday he might,” Coley says, “and if that happens, I want you to come talk to me or your mama so we can tell you how to handle it. When most boys send you flowers, they’re trying to do something nice for you. Maybe there’s deeper meaning behind it, but maybe it’s just a kind gesture, like a gift for your birthday. You should assume he has positive intentions unless he’s done something to make you think otherwise.”

  “I don’t understand,” my youngest says.

  “Assume he’s doing something nice just to do something nice. Don’t assume he’s expecting more from you.”

  “So, don’t read between the lines?” she asks.

  “What the…?” Jon looks at me, then back at our little girl. “That’s such a big concept for your mind, sweetie. How do you know anything about that?”

  “Uncle Will teaches me. It was part of a reading comprehension lesson he was showing me.”

  “I swear,” I say to her. “The things your little noodle soaks up. Come here.” I hold my arms out for her. She climbs into my lap carefully, sitting sideways to be able to put her hand flat on my belly. “You’re going to have so many things to teach your baby brother.”

  I kiss her forehead and give her a hug.

  “He’ll have to keep up!” she says brightly.

  “He’ll probably be bored,” Edie adds.

  “We’ll just have to let him decide, bunny, right?” Jon asks her. “Maybe he’ll love fashion l
ike you do, and you can show him the ropes.”

  “That’d be super cool.”

  “Whatever he likes, he’s going to be so lucky to have such amazing big sisters,” Trey says.

  Chapter 8

  At Tiffany’s, Shea and I look at trays of jewelry spread in front of us, both of us sold on the idea. Will’s off in a corner of the store, trying to hide from some women who’ve recognized him and are trying to get up the nerve to approach him. With his headphones in and his nose in a textbook, he doesn’t look very welcoming.

  The book is a new one he picked up for Willow, though, and only his wife and I know that the headphones are silent–he left his phone at home today.

  Periodically, Shea looks up to check on him to see if she needs to run interference, but so far, he’s fine.

  “I think we’re onto something,” she says to me. “I mean. He’s the boy who has everything, really. He buys what he wants, but what’s he going to need, going forward? Cuff links.”

  “He’ll probably need tie clips, too, but I’m afraid they’ll just get misplaced since he tends to rip off ties the second no one’s watching,” I tell her, knowing well my brother’s adverse reaction to neckwear.

  “Right, so cuff links are the answer! Didn’t Coley get him some nice ones for Christmas?”

  “She did. These,” I say, pointing to a set with an X and an O with diamonds on each. “And now he can start a collection of them. I think it’s a great idea. It’s got to get boring wearing a suit and tie every damn day, and that’s the life he’s going into.” I nod my head, looking at the salesperson. “I think we’ll get one pair each.”

  “Yes,” Shea agrees. “Which ones are you getting him?”

  “I’m going to have to get him the comma ones, I think. The ones in black jade.”

  “Good, because I want to get him the sterling silver airplanes. They’re just so cute.”

  “He’s going to get so many compliments on those,” I tell her, picking one up.

  “But the commas will be very personal to him. He’s going to love them. Oh, man,” she says, looking at Will. “I need to rescue him.”

  Apparently, the women brought backup. He’s swarmed by seven ladies now, all asking him for a picture. I focus on them while I take out my debit card and slide it across the counter to pay.

  “Mrs. Scott, will you be paying for both?” the salesclerk asks me.

  “No, just the comma ones. If Will can get away, he’ll be buying the airplane ones. And can you giftwrap them for us? Separately?”

  “Of course. Shall I get security?” He nods toward my friends and the crowd around them. Shea smiles politely, puts her hand on her belly, and pulls her husband out of the circle with her, apologizing.

  “No, she’s got it handled. She always knows what to say.”

  “Very well. Mr. Scott, how will you be paying today?”

  “Credit,” he says, securing himself between me and Shea.

  “You’re the envy of all men, walking around with these beautiful ladies flanking you today,” the salesman says.

  Will laughs assuredly. “Don’t I know it? I keep telling Liv to leave my brother… I’m sure I can convince Shea to make room in our marriage for one more.”

  My best friend busts out laughing, one brow raised in disbelief at his arrogance, while I elbow him in the side. “You bigamist freak.”

  “You always gotta ruin the moment with your damn labels, Liv.” He looks at me sideways with a charming smile, and in that one glance, I can see why Shea fell in love with him. He just has that Will way that could win over any girl–not me, because I have my own Scott brother–but any other girl.

  Will tucks the gifts in the messenger bag he carries over his shoulder as we leave the store, careful not to make neither Shea nor I handle anything today. It also makes us less of a target while we’re out running errands in preparation for Trey’s birthday. He puts his arm across Shea’s shoulder and directs us east.

  “Where are we going next?” I ask him.

  “This… odds and ends shop. An antique shop? I don’t know what you call it,” he says.

  “Why?” I ask him, thinking that doesn’t sound like a place any of us would particularly like.

  “Because that’s where my gift for your brother is. I bought it online. I have to pick it up.”

  “You bought him an antique?” I look at him, judgmental. He puts his other arm around my shoulder and starts walking with a strut, obviously showing off the fact that he’s got two highly successful, well-known women of Manhattan at his side–me for my art, Shea for her food. “Get that off me, you pimp-ass, polyamorous-wanna-be perverted prick.” I shove him away, laughing.

  “You let those alliterations fly, Liv,” he says, laughing back as Shea giggles. “And yes, I bought him an antique of sorts.”

  “What is it?” I offer him my elbow, and he links his with mine.

  “I just remember how much he loved Moby Dick when he read it in high school.”

  “Oh, god. I’m afraid to ask,” I say, squinting now.

  “Who’s perverted now?” he scoffs. “There’s this amazing, hand-carved, rosewood sperm whale–”

  “See?” I say to Shea. “It always has to be something dirty with him.”

  “He can’t help it,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just how he is. Don’t act like you didn’t know.”

  “Will you two shut up? It’s, like, a couple-hundred years old and in pristine condition.”

  “So… it’s a statue?”

  “No, it’s a set of bookends. Gorgeous. I just thought he’d really like it.”

  “And the sperm and dick had no sway in your decision-making process?” I keep poking.

  Shea high-fives me.

  “I don’t know why I agreed to go with you two today.”

  “Because you love us,” his wife says, pulling him to a stop and leaning up for a kiss.

  He lets go of me. “I love you,” he says to her, putting his hands on her face and touching his lips to hers gently. I wait patiently for his playful insult. “I tolerate this one because you have no other friends.” I know, in truth, he adores me.

  “I have other friends,” she laughs. “Just none I like as much as her.”

  “Thank you,” I tell her, switching sides and locking arms with her now. We keep walking toward the shop.

  “So, sperm and dick aside, do you think Trey will like it?” This makes me chuckle, and I know every time I see this set of bookends at Trey’s house, I’ll now think dirty things–which was probably Will’s intent anyway, subconsciously.

  “I have to see it,” I say flippantly, “but he did love that dumb book. He read it twice.”

  “The second time he read it was to refresh his memory to help Max with his homework.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. As much as Max loves whales, he didn’t like the sperm and dick so much.”

  “Stop it!” I laugh again. “Because he likes it now!”

  “Yes, he does,” Will says, grinning. When I realize which direction we’re walking, I try to turn down a different street. “Liv, I’m trying to go this way on purpose.”

  “But Will,” I say, reluctant, “I don’t really want to see it.”

  “Please? I haven’t gone by here yet. I’ve only seen the pictures Shea sent. I’m dying to go.”

  Seeing the corner of the building I’d been hoping to avoid peeking out at us already, I nod my head and agree to continue on his current path. Shea drops my arm and holds my hand instead, squeezing it to give me support.

  A crowd has gathered on the sidewalks surrounding the twenty-six-story mural. It was the last one I painted before I got pregnant, for the Lexington Park Art Society. I didn’t know it would be the last one I’d do for a while, and seeing it brings back feelings of joy, but also an immense longing to do the thing I love to do most in life. Painting was more than a hobby to me. More than my livelihood. It was my life. I’d been doing it since
I was four years old, and I needed it like I needed air to breathe. Not being able to do it has left an emptiness in my soul and seeing what everyone in the art community had touted as one of my best masterpieces staring right back at me, it makes the pit inside me open wider. Those dark clouds I’d mentioned to Coley hang even lower. Perhaps I am depressed. I look away from the large painting and realize all the people are actually admiring my work.

  “Oh my god,” Will says. In fact, I think he’s been repeating it since we stopped walking. He’d been in Houston when I had the unveiling, working with NASA on some top-secret project. He couldn’t tell us anything about it. I’m convinced they’d located aliens in space, and since he’s not allowed to confirm or deny it, I’m certain I’m right. I guess they’re nice, since we’re all still here.

  “Better than the aliens?” I ask him, my attempt at levity to lighten my mood.

  He chuckles. “Just… the pictures didn’t do it justice, Liv.” He’s running his hands through his hair, unable to take his eyes off of it. I’ve always loved the way he appreciates my work, and Jon’s, too. His intelligence gives him a very critical eye, so I hold his opinion in the highest regard. “It’s incredible. ‘Masterpiece’ isn’t a suitable word for this one. They need a new word.”

  “Oh, hush.” I let go of Shea and push his shoulder.

  “Everybody!” he yells.

  “Will!”

  People look at him and get excited–because it’s Will Scott, guitarist for Damon Littlefield. “The artist of that wall is in your midst! Olivia Choisie is right here!” He points at me after shouting out my artist pseudonym.

  People start to encircle us quickly, and I feel my pulse begin to race.

  “This trip to New York was specifically to see your work,” one woman tells me as I get separated from my friends.

  “I’m going to art school because of you,” and young man shouts out.

  I smile politely but keep Shea and Will in my sight. The two body guards we’d hired for today, who’d been able to keep a safe distance, push in and grab me from the throes of the crowd, then pull me out.