by Lori L. Otto
“I just can’t wait for it to be official.” He looks beyond me. “I want her to rest assured that she’ll always be taken care of.” The smile is gone, replaced with a contemplative look. I turn around to see her behind me; he’s looking at her. “Since her father was killed, there are moments when she gets insecure about… life. The uncertainty of it all. Most of the time, she’s great, but then she’ll have moments of doubt when she worries about me going into politics; worries about some crazy person coming after me someday…”
“We don’t help matters,” I tell him, “taking all the extra security precautions because we fear that happening, too. And not even for our politics. Not even because we’re divisive people. Just because we’re notable people.”
“Yeah.” He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, looking almost morose now.
“You don’t think she’s having second thoughts, do you? About joining this family?”
His eyes water, and he nods subtly. “She does. Sometimes.” He swallows hard. “But she loves me too much to walk away. I think she wishes I was just a regular guy somedays. A regular guy with similar ambitions. The same ideals and standards. Without the Holland name and money.”
I keep listening, worried for him. I’ve been wrapped up in the idea of them for years. There is no cuter couple, and I know our family has a lot of dreams for what they’ll do not only for our legacy, but for our country in later years.
“She still goes to her shrink weekly. They talk about these things. I go with her to some appointments, too. We discuss ways I can bring normalcy to her life. And she works on ways she can accept things that will never change.
“We’re going to be fine, Liv. We are. We’re happy and we’re in love. We’re just not perfect. But no one is.”
“No, you are!” I tell him, wiping my eyes and shoving his chest.
He laughs at me. “This party was a good way to bring normalcy into our lives,” he says softly. “So, thanks for agreeing to the low-key night. This is perfect. Just friends and family. This is all we need.”
“And food,” I add.
“Amazing looking food.” He hugs me again, and his arm lingers around my neck. “Should we go tell them how we like our sushi?”
“You’re going to tell them to put extra wasabi on mine, aren’t you?”
“Damn straight.”
“Ha! You think you can try to murder me tonight and get my part of the inheritance, but the joke’s on you, buddy. There’s no horseradish in this wasabi!” I inform him. Every time the two of us go out for sushi, he jokingly reminds me how easy it would be to get all the Holland inheritance by feeding me the one food I’m allergic to: horseradish. He’ll then inspect every dish presented to me meticulously to make sure there is no wasabi on anything.
“What do they make it with, then?”
“See that weird green root?” I point it out. “That is actual wasabi. Shea told me about it. You grate it right before serving it, so it holds its flavor. It’s why it’s not served at restaurants here. We went all out for your birthday, buddy. And saved my life in the process.”
“Foiled again,” he says, mocking disappointment. “You ready to order?”
“No sushi for me tonight, I’m afraid. Unborn babies and sushi don’t mix. Plus, I’m going to say hi to the others and wait for Jon. I’ll send Coley over here. You two can start the process since you’re the guest of honor. Have a wonderful birthday, baby brother.”
“Love you, Liv. Thank you.”
Walking over to the pool table, I tap Callen on the shoulder just after he takes his shot. He’s not as good as the rest of the guys and doesn’t pocket any balls on his turn.
“Hey, Livvy.” He smiles, giving me a hug.
“Glad you could make it!”
“Didn’t think I would. I had just enough time to throw my shit inside the loft, grab Max, and head over… so I apologize for the business attire.”
“Oh, you look handsome as ever. And Max looks… it’s gross if I say he looks hot, isn’t it?”
“Not to me. He does. I’m loving the new haircut.”
“That’s what it is… he looks really good tonight. For once, Cal, I think he may elevate your look,” I joke with him.
“I deserve a break from being Adonis sometimes.” He rubs his palm over his blonde, day-old whiskers. “I don’t look homeless, do I?”
I roll my eyes. “You need to take a walk beyond 5th Avenue sometime, honey, and see what homeless people look like. Trust me, they look nothing like you.”
I finally meet Max’s eyes after Will loudly informs him that he hit the wrong ball type into the pocket. He looks away from me and starts to walk toward the windows overlooking the outdoor area. We haven’t even said hello tonight, so I begin to wonder if he’s upset at me for something.
“Max!” I call to him. Even though the music playing over the stereo is loud, I know he can hear me. He doesn’t turn around, though. I walk toward him, shouting his name again.
It’s not until I put my hand on his shoulder that he finally acknowledges me. “Hey, Liv.” His smile looks anything but genuine.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“Well, then give me a hug. You haven’t even said hello to me tonight.”
“Didn’t I?” he steps back.
I huff, a little offended. “No, you didn’t.”
“Oh, well, hello, Liv. Nice party.”
“Thanks, Max.” I look at him strangely. “I was just telling Callen how nice you look tonight. You got a haircut?”
“Yesterday, yeah.” He’s struggling to even converse with me.
“Did I do something wrong? You seem very… short tonight.”
“Same height I’ve always been. Maybe an inch taller with the shoes.” He clicks his heels together.
I look him directly in the eyes, trying to ascertain what’s going on–his bloodshot eyes. He’s got a soda in his hand. I don’t think he’s drunk.
“Give me a hug, Max.” Before he can escape this time, I put my arms around him and take a deep breath, inhaling the odor I’d smelled a few weeks ago in their apartment. He knows exactly what I’m doing, too. When I realize I don’t even know what to say to him, I just push him away, sloshing the Coke out of his glass and onto his stupid shoes, and walk back toward the center of the room.
Jon is at my side quickly. “You feeling okay?”
I’m biting my bottom lip as I smile and nod quickly.
“That doesn’t look good.”
“We’ll talk after the party. I want Trey to have a good time,” I tell him. He takes my hands in his, placing his thumbs on my pulse points and rubbing deeply. He looks into my eyes with an assuring smile.
“Okay. You’re okay. You are stunning tonight, and whatever it is, it will all be okay. Do you believe that? Because if you don’t, we’re going upstairs to talk right now. Just me and you. No one even has to know.” He kisses my cheek, then adds with a whisper, “Seriously. Nothing matters more than you and the baby.”
I pull my hands away and place them on his cheeks, putting my lips on his. “I’m good for now. Thank you.”
But I know that he has to do something about his brother before this baby is born–before I decide to give Max the title of godfather. Honorary or not, I expect more out of him, and right now, he’s making stupid decisions and lying to us about them, and I don’t want that sort of person influencing my little boy.
We’d thought long and hard about Max. All his life, he’d been so strong. In his teens, he displayed such maturity. He was resilient. He’d known himself so well and was never afraid to be who he was. These were qualities we loved about him. These are the qualities we wanted him to pass on to our child.
But here he is, at 25, acting like the teenager he never was.
Jon and I sneak upstairs with two extra slices of cake when the party starts getting a little louder than I like my social gatherings these days. He’s very giddy, likely the ef
fects of one too many beers, but it’s helped to lighten my mood from earlier. Still, I think it’s necessary to mention to him what I noticed.
After we’ve both changed into pajamas, we meet back in the downstairs living room with our second desserts and forks. I settle myself on the floor, leaning into him, wanting to be close to him. We take turns feeding each other the delicious marble cake, laughing at the deliberate mistakes each of us makes with the frosting.
“So… I think your brother is still…”
“Still what?”
“Smokin’ the weed.”
“What? No.”
I look at him, shocked. “Yeah.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he was high tonight.”
“My brother? Max?”
I scoff at his response. “Yeah. That one.”
“He was not.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Liv. I talked to him for half an hour. We played pool together. He even beat me. He wasn’t high.”
“Did you see his eyes? They were totally bloodshot.”
“He looked tired, and I told him that. He said he’d been having some nightmares… something about the shooting.”
“He said that?”
“Yeah.”
“He reeked of pot! You didn’t smell it?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t all up on him or anything, though.”
“I gave him a hug, and he was… skunky.”
“Skunky,” he repeats as if he doesn’t believe me.
“Yes, like that nasty skunk pot smell! He was definitely high! And he knew that I knew he was and didn’t try to defend himself, either. He let me believe it!”
“Liv, I just… I don’t think that’s true…”
“It totally is!”
“Hey, hey…” he says, rubbing my arm slowly. “Don’t be upset. I mean, I get that you’re upset. Let me handle it, okay?”
“Are you going to confront him? Or just let me believe you are, and then you’re not going to do anything because you don’t think he was high?”
“Liv,” he says seriously, his smile now gone, “I’m going to ask him point-blank. If he says yes, he was high, I’ll address it. If he says no, he wasn’t, I’m going to let it go this time and give him the benefit of the doubt. I have to build trust with him. But in the future, I will be more aware, okay? I’ll look harder for signs. I’ll be more suspicious. Can we agree on that plan?”
I frown but nod, wishing now I’d said something to him in the moment instead of waiting. “That’s fine,” I tell him. “I agree to it, but only in exchange for a calming massage tonight.”
He grins. “Full body?”
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna… get naked?”
“There are people staying in our apartment tonight, Jon.”
“They’re all going to be downstairs, and we have a lock on our door…” He raises his brows.
“We’re not going to do anything, baby, but… okay. I want the full massage. I’m stressed out.”
“Understood… and I will take whatever I can get. Let’s hurry and get upstairs before the party’s over.”
“Okay.” Before we go, he sits up and presses his lips to mine, delivering a sweet, yet sultry, kiss.
Chapter 10
Shopping at the farmers market was a much different experience than either of the two other outings Matty and I had been on today. We’d started with a few different baby boutiques, looking for clothes. It was, well… hell, with lullabies. Paparazzi pushing borrowed carriages made their way into every shop we went into, capturing otherwise precious moments spent with my uncle with their invasive lenses and shouting out questions to which they were never going to get answers–no matter how loudly they asked them, nor how many times.
There were multiple hand-made outfits that I would have loved to have purchased for August, but due to the fact that none of the boutique owners had bothered to try to protect us, as customers, and instead reveled in their temporary fame, Matty and I left most places empty-handed.
Not that I didn’t take a picture of one crocheted, winter cap that looked like a frog that my newborn son would have to have come winter time, and that I would beg someone to come and buy for me on my behalf some other day. Matty took note, though, and assured me he’d be back.
At the grocery store, my uncle and I had planned to divide and conquer to get everything on our lists, but we knew as soon as we entered the small, two-story market, we may never find one another again with the rush of people who’d followed us in.
And these weren’t people with grocery lists of their own. They were more vultures, cameras poised to record every mundane moment, to discover every brand I preferred over others. I’m sure companies would pay them money to know these things. They’d probably pay me money to endorse their brands. That was not a life we chose to live.
The truth was, it was a rarity to spot me in a grocery store. Normally, I’d have someone do this task for me, but Matty had a few things to pick up and I thought of an item or two, as well.
After we dropped off those groceries at home, we took a short walk to the local farmer’s market for some fresh vegetables. It was a risk, knowing we’d be spotted, but somehow, the hoodies concealed us enough to get off my main street and the people shopping among the produce couldn’t care less that the Hollands had invaded their space. The people working there were excited to tell us about their fresh limes and handmade soaps, and my uncle and I took our time browsing every booth in every aisle, buying far more than we’d intended, requiring us to take a taxi back home.
To be honest, the two of us together can be pretty dangerous as shopping companions when left to browse unfettered. We don’t do it often, but we have the best time when we do. We have similar taste and encourage one another endlessly.
When we get home, Matty and I work quickly in the kitchen, putting away fresh fruits, vegetables and spices we’d picked up at the market. Once we’re finished, we wipe down the countertops, returning the room to the pristine condition it was in when we entered.
“Now, where’s this recipe?” he asks.
“On my iPad. It should be open to the page.”
“You have the strangest cravings,” he says. “That’s not going to stop me from trying one.”
I hand-wash the plastic molds we’d bought earlier while he finds the ingredients necessary for our experiment. “One,” I tell him. “Just one.”
“I’ve learned to never argue with a pregnant woman. What does Shea crave?”
“The boring shit. Pickles and ice cream. Can you believe it? She’s such a stereotypical preggo.”
“Gah. Can’t she be more original?”
“Right?”
“I’m assuming that’s why you bought the pickles and ice cream, huh?”
“I have to have them on hand for my bestie,” I respond, shrugging my shoulders. “I’m here for her.”
“Doubt she’d make these for you,” he counters.
“Oh, come on. She’s a chef. If I was craving mashed jalapeños on banana bread, she’d perfect the recipe and package it with a pretty bow on top. She’s the best.”
“Hey, Little Liv. Who’s making this nut-job dessert with you now?” my uncle asks, offended.
“You’re the original best, Matty. You know that.” I give him a big hug.
The click of the front door opening interrupts us.
“The house looks amazing,” Jon says, walking in. “I guess the maids came today.”
“They did. Matty and I are making sure to leave no trace of the goings on in the kitchen.” I give him a kiss and my uncle follows that up by shaking my husband’s hand. “How was work?”
“It was great. Things are moving at a perfect pace,” he says, smiling. “I can’t wait to finish up this project… because that means Jonny will be here and our family will have some time to get acclimated to its new member.” His hand is on my belly as I start drying the plastic par
ts.
“Hey,” I say, “did you know you could make popsicles with avocados?”
His expression is what I expected. “Why would you want to?”
“They’re supposed to have the consistency of Fudgsicles. I can’t wait to try them.”
“That’s what you’re making?” Jon asks, removing his tie and setting it on the back of the couch. “Not dinner?”
“They have to have time to set in the freezer,” I tell him. “And I figured we’d have that casserole Shea brought over last night for dinner. We just need to pop it in the oven. Matty’s staying, if that’s okay.”
Matty claps his hands together, as if he’s begging my husband, which he needn’t do.
“Fine with me. Should I do that?”
“What?”
“Put dinner in the oven?”
“I can get it,” I assure him.
“Those popsicles. Are the girls going to eat them?”
“I’m not making them for the girls,” I tell him bluntly. “I guess I’m making them for me and your boy.”
“Oh,” he says, nodding. “Speaking of the girls… why no welcome?”
“Mom and Dad took them to see that new movie. I told you last night.”
“Oh, yeah, you did. And they’re going out to dinner after.”
“Exactly. Hence the casserole.”
“I’m with you now,” he says. “What other trouble did you two get into today?”
“I resent that,” Matty says.
I nod to the formal dining room. Jon turns on his heels and walks in to see the life-sized sock monkey sitting in his seat at the head of the table. “Is this what I look like to you?” he jokes.
When Matty and I saw it today, we knew we had to buy it for August’s room. Jon and I had rediscovered our affinity for the iconic character last Christmas when my Aunt Anna bought the girls personalized sock monkey ornaments for the tree. When I found out I was pregnant, Jon and I deliberated over how to decorate the room. We wanted something that would suit a boy or a girl, and the sock monkey was the perfect solution.
“It resembles you,” I tell him. “I think it’s the ears… just as cute.”
