by Lori L. Otto
Before Max heads back downstairs, I ask for his assistance once more. “Help me carry the bassinet. I don’t want to wake him.” Together, we lift the heavy wooden bed and slowly carry it into my bedroom, settling it next to the place where Livvy once slept.
After turning on the baby monitors, I toss him the handset. “Thanks. Now go downstairs and let me know if you can hear me. You have to press to talk back.”
While I give him time to make his way to the living area, I rock the crib back and forth, watching my son sleep soundly. Prying my eyes away from him, I stand up and walk across the room.
“Testing, one-two,” I speak in my normal voice.
“I can’t hear you,” my brother returns. I smile at his joke, lame as it is, simply because it’s a joke and I’ll never again take for granted his playfulness.
“How’s the sound?”
“The voice… the voice! It’s coming from inside the house!” he says excitedly. I start laughing.
“Is it clear? Will I be able to hear him crying, do you think? And breathing?”
“I dunno. Whimper like a little girl for a second. Let us hear that.”
“Fuck you,” I respond with a lighthearted chuckle, and I hear an uproar of laughter from everyone downstairs. Luca didn’t seem to hear; his long day must have caught up with him. I barely put my hand in front of his nose just to make sure he’s still breathing. “Can someone who gives a shit give me a straight answer? How about his godfather? The real one…”
“That’s low,” Max says.
“Well, the serious one, anyway…”
“We can hear you clearly,” Trey answers me. “Why don’t you have a camera for that thing? What decade are you living in?”
“It’s in his room, and I don’t want to rewire just because he’s sleeping in my room. I figure I’ll be with him most of the time. I just… want to hang out downstairs a little more tonight.”
“Then get your ass down here.”
“I’m on my way.” I clip the handset on the bassinet, out of his reach but close enough so that I’ll be able to hear him breathing. I turn up the sound sensitivity to ensure that I’ll hear him. It’s his first night in the house, and I don’t want to miss anything important.
Chapter 29
It’s quiet upstairs on the morning of the first day of school. Too quiet, I think, but not wanting to jinx things, I let that notion go and continue feeding Luca, who’s happily enjoying his bottle after a restless night’s sleep for both of us. I’m actually looking forward to dropping off the girls, getting Luca settled back down at home and taking a long nap.
“So, no breakfast? Really?” Joel signs after taking a sip of his coffee.
“They get a full breakfast at school,” I explain to him. It was part of the deal with their private school. Healthy breakfasts and lunches, so it was something we never had to worry about, and there were people on staff there that kept track of what the girls ate. A daily report was sent home to us every afternoon. Both Edie and Willow knew what kind of foods would earn them a lecture when they got home, so over the past year or so, they’d done really well at adjusting their diets accordingly.
“I feel useless,” he says back to me.
“Hell. I’d go back to bed if I were you.”
“Isn’t Emi coming over? Wouldn’t it be rude?”
“Not one bit. Get some sleep for me and little Luc here… will ya?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, pouring out the rest of his coffee. “I’ll fix you something when you get back, if you want.”
“Lunchtime,” I respond. “Let’s just shoot for lunch.”
“Got it.”
After all the formula’s gone, I lean against the back of the chair at the kitchen table and close my eyes, putting the baby on my shoulder to burp him. We’d both become pros at this by now. I could do it in my sleep, and in a way, I want to.
And almost do. I jump at Willow tapping my arm, having not heard her approach me.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Edie’s still in bed.”
“What?” I get up, inadvertently kicking the chair abruptly as I stand. “What do you mean, she’s still in bed? I saw her get up.”
“She just got up to go potty, and then she crawled back in bed.”
“Well…” I’m frustrated, but I can’t be frustrated with Willow–that is, until I notice she’s made very little progress at getting herself ready. I head upstairs, and she follows closely behind me. “What have you been doing since you got up?”
“Reading. Waiting for Edie. She always gets ready first.”
“Seriously? That was the best use of your time? You’re smarter than that Wils, right?”
“It’s just how we always do it. Mama helps her first, and then she helps me.”
I stop before I reach Edie’s room and turn around. When I do, I catch a whiff of something a little acrid and mildew-like. I realize Luca’s spit up on the burp cloth. After taking the rag off my shoulder, I wipe his face while Willow verbally expresses her disgust at her brother’s indigestion. “Grow up, Wils. He’s a baby. You’re not.” And then I remember what she just said to me. “Honey, things aren’t going to be like they used to be. You understand that, right? Our routine is going to change a little.”
“Why?”
“Because Mama isn’t here to help.”
“But you’re here.”
“I have Luca. And you know what? Your mother would have had Luca to take care of, too. This year would have been different than last, regardless. Now, I need you to go brush your hair and teeth and wash your face while I’m dealing with Edie. And you’ve got your clothes laid out?” She shrugs. “They’re at least in your closet, right?” She nods. “You tried them on, though.” Although I say it like a sentence, I do mean for her to respond. She rolls her eyes and flips her messy hair as she walks to the bathroom.
I turn on Edie’s lights as bright as they can go when I enter. “Bunny! You’re going to be late on the first day of school! You’ll miss breakfast. You won’t get to pick your seat… some boy you don’t like will pick your seat for you. Is that what you want?”
“No!” she says, panicked.
“Up. Now.”
“Why do boys get to pick my seat?” she asks, wiping her eyes as she climbs out of bed.
“Got you out of bed, didn’t it? Your sister was waiting on you to get ready, so you’ve made her late, too. Edie, I’m counting on you to step it up and help out here, okay? I’ve got a baby to take care of, too. I can’t be everywhere at once in the morning, and I trusted you’d be on schedule, like normal.”
“Mama always kept us on schedule.”
“That is… good information to know,” I say. “I guess I’ll get up earlier from now on.” I realize I’ve never helped the girls get ready on my own. Livvy always took care of this. Even when she was sick, she’d bark orders from her bed. The girls knew what needed to be done. “What are you doing with your hair?”
“I need to take a shower.”
“We don’t have time for that. It’s eight. We have to leave in twenty minutes. You’re not going to school with wet hair.”
“It’s dirty, Dad!” she exclaims. “I can’t go with it dirty!”
“You washed it yesterday morning. It looks clean. You just need to brush it… maybe pull it back in a ponytail or something. Put in one of those bows Uncle Max bought you. Right?”
“Not on the first day of school! That’s so lame! You never get a second chance to make a first impression!” I stare at her for a few seconds after that, wanting to laugh, but holding it in.
“Don’t you know most of these kids?” I ask her, tentative.
“It’s a new year. You don’t understand!” She starts crying.
“Bunny, come on.” I shuffle Luca to my other arm and reach out for my oldest daughter, taking a seat on her bed. “Work with me here.”
“I can’t go to school like this,” she whines, looking in the mirror.
She literally stomps to the bathroom, opening the door on Willow, who screams at her sister to get out.
“Girls!” I have to go in there to break up their shouting. “What is going on?”
“I was going to the bathroom,” Willow tells me. “She’s supposed to knock first!”
“Edie…”
“You told me to get the brush!” She storms past me and into my bedroom.
“Wils, I’m sorry. Continue.” I shut the door behind us, leaving Willow to her privacy. “What are you doing in here, Edie?” I ask, following her into the master bath.
“Sitting at Mama’s vanity.” She starts to run the brush through her hair, but it’s knotted. “Daddy, it’s not working,” she pouts.
Wanting to help her, I quickly retrieve the bassinet from the bedside and bring it into the bathroom with us, laying Luca down in it. He fusses at first, then throws a fit that rivals his oldest sister’s both in frustration and volume as I attempt to brush her hair. I’m hurting her, and still can’t get the bristles through the ends of her long tresses.
“Sweetie, why is it so tangled?”
“Because I need to wash it. I didn’t put conditioner in it yesterday.”
“Why not?”
She shrugs. “Mama told me not to.”
“No, she said not to wash it every day. I remember this conversation. She didn’t say not to condition your hair. If you wash it, you have to do all of it… or else… this happens. Your hair’s too thick. You dry it out every time you wash it. Conditioner adds a little oil back in. If you skip a day of washing, your scalp produces natural oils. Isn’t that what she told you?”
She nods her head. “Daddy, can I stay home today?” I barely hear the question over Luca, but even if I hadn’t, I could have guessed the request from the puppy dog eyes that look up at me from the mirror.
“No, Edie, you can’t.” I pull a rubber band off of the brush handle and pull all of her hair back as best as I can. “We’re just putting it in a ponytail today. We’ll wash it tonight when you get home.”
“Jon?” Emi’s practically shouting over all the noise, and she taps on the doorjamb outside my room.
“Come on in,” I call out to her, happy that she’s a little early. She’d said she’d be here to see them off, so I wasn’t expecting any help getting them ready.
“Should I take him?” She points to my wailing son; I simply nod my head.
“Memi, do I have to go to school like this?” Edie asks.
“Like what? You look adorable!” my mother-in-law answers–perfectly, I might add.
“Maybe if I could wear some of Mama’s blush…”
“Go get dressed.” I nudge her along with a pat on her back. Once she’s in her room, I let out a sigh of relief. There’s silence for a few seconds. Emi’s calmed the baby. Edie’s changing clothes. Willow’s–
“Daddy?” I smile briefly at Emi as I walk past her into the hallway to see what my younger daughter needs. She’s got the shorts of her school uniform up to her hips, but they’re not going any further.
“What’s the matter?”
“They don’t fit,” she says, her brows contorted in worry.
“Well? Go get your pants.”
“I already tried them, too.” She shakes her head. “I can’t pull them all the way up.”
I’d noticed the other day how much she’d grown over the summer. She was almost Edie’s height, when she’d always lagged behind a few inches, but I didn’t expect her to grow out of the clothes she’d worn to school just a few months ago–especially since I’d asked her to try them on last week, and she reported that they were fine.
“So, you have nothing to wear?”
“My shirt fits. Kind of.” I notice the last button doesn’t come together. My eight-year-old is growing hips. The thought of it makes me sad. Edie comes out of her room, dressed in her khaki jumper over a pressed, white blouse. Her hair does look like a bird’s nest from behind. I’m only grateful of the fact that she can’t see it, but I do start to worry that kids will tease her.
“Jon, why didn’t you have her try them on?” Emi asks.
“Wils,” I start, not looking back at my mother-in-law, “tell Memi that you told me you did. Okay?”
She shrugs again, just like she did earlier. I start to wonder if she ever told me she tried them on at all. Maybe she’s been passively shrugging for weeks, and I’ve been too tired to notice.
“She did tell me that,” I finally say, certain that we actually had a conversation about it. I distinctly remember it now. It was a discussion between me and both of the girls. “Willow, go borrow one of Edie’s skirts and shirts.”
She shakes her head violently. “I can’t wear a skirt!”
“Yes. You can. And you will.”
“I hate skirts, Daddy!”
“I don’t care, Willow. You’re going to school today, and you have to wear the uniform. Period. Yours don’t fit. Hopefully Edie’s will. Come on.”
Begrudgingly, she follows me, but only after the tears have started falling down her cheeks. I know she hates dresses and anything girly. This is probably her worst nightmare, but I’m not sure what else to do. I take out the clothes and hand them to Willow, who proceeds to change in the middle of her sister’s room.
“I’ll go buy new uniforms today, okay? This is the only day you’ll have to wear this. Tomorrow, it’s back to shorts and pants. I promise.”
“I hate it,” she cries, wiping her nose on the back of her arm after she’s dressed.
“I know, baby.” I get down on my knees and give her a hug. “I should have made sure you’d tried them on, right? Daddy should have double-checked. But you look pretty.”
“I don’t either.”
“Yes, you do,” I whisper, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You want me to braid your hair?” She swipes at her tears and nods her head. After grabbing a couple of rubber bands from Edie’s dresser, I take a seat on her bed and tell Willow to kneel in front of me. I do the best I can at parting her hair down the center and pulling her hair into two braids at the nape of her neck. “There you go.”
She feels the back of her head and starts crying again. “That’s not right!”
“What do you mean?”
“They have to be French braids. Mama always did French braids!”
At the end of my rope, I start to get angry. “Willow–”
“Jon, I think Auggie wants his daddy,” Emi says, the name cutting through my heart in a painful jab. “Let me worry about the French braids. I taught Livvy. Edie?” she calls back into my bedroom, and my oldest eventually appears and follows her into her room. I take my son and trudge away to reflect on the absolute failure that this morning has become. When I return to the bathroom to get the bassinet, I realize Edie had gone back into the room and had gotten out Livvy’s makeup from the cabinet under the sink.
“Please be a low maintenance child when you’re older,” I whisper to Luca.
After I put his bed back in its place, my brain processes what Edie had been doing and I return to her room where Emi’s trying to teach her how to French braid. She’s not paying any attention, though.
I put my hand under her chin and angle her face into the light. “Wash it off. Now.” Although expertly applied, I can still see the darker rouge on her cheekbones. I follow her into the bathroom to make sure she does it. “Now you’re gonna force me to throw away your mother’s things?” I ask her, feeling my throat tighten as the words come out.
“No, don’t,” she pleads, her face lathered in soap.
I have to clear my throat before I can speak again. “If I can’t trust you with her things, then we can’t have them in this house,” I threaten.
“I won’t touch them again. I promise, Daddy.”
“I will be very disappointed if you do, bunny.” I shut the bathroom door, cradling Luca in my arms as I sit on the edge of the
bathtub. “The last thing I want to do is lose parts of her.” My eyes water, even though I will them not to.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her apology sincere.
“Dry your face and come give me a hug.”
After tossing the towel on the floor, she throws her arms around my neck and holds on tight. “I love you, Daddy.” When she lets go, she kisses my cheek and Luca’s forehead. This sets him off into another crying fit. Edie apologizes for that, too.
“He’s a baby. He’s going to cry sometimes, but you don’t need to apologize. He’s just ready for his nap. We have to figure out our new routine with you girls back in school.”
She opens the door, revealing Emi and Willow standing in the hallway. My other daughter still looks like her world has fallen apart, but is wearing her backpack, ready to go. “Go grab your things,” I tell Edie. After she runs back to her room, I thank my mother-in-law for her help, checking out the expert job she did on Willow’s hair. “I need you to teach me that.”
“We’ll have a lesson. If you want company for dinner, Jack and I would love to hear how their first day went. We can get the girls bathed and we can use them both as hair models.”
“Sure.” I bounce lightly on the balls of my feet, trying to get my son to calm down.
“Maybe the walk will do Auggie some good,” Emi suggests, leading us all downstairs. She can keep saying it, but I’ll never accept the nickname.
I make note of the knee-high socks the girls wear. Both pairs have seen better days. Willow’s left one actually has a hole in the calf. Livvy would never let them leave the house like this. I’m surprised Emi’s allowing it. After checking my watch, I know we don’t have time to fix anything.
“Luca, I swear, you can take a nap here, or after we get back,” I tell him as I strap him into the stroller. “I promise you’ll get your time, little man. Please stop crying for Daddy.”
“Yes, shut up, Froggie,” my youngest daughter says.
“Willow, don’t talk to your brother that way,” Emi speaks up before I have to. I catch the eye-roll response, but no one else does. I decide to let it go. Willow’s having a bad enough day. We all are. No sense in making it worse.
