Catherine let go of my hand and gave me an odd look. “Family?”
“Yeah, family. Bill’s the closest thing to a brother I’ve ever had, you know that.”
The look went away. “Of course I do.”
I parked in the driveway and opened the car door for her.
“Wow, so gallant,” she said, taking my hand.
“Chivalry is not dead, Milady.” I kissed her knuckles.
Inside, Catherine sat on the couch and set her feet on the coffee table. I parked myself next to her, took off her shoes and socks, and massaged her feet. She leaned back, eyes closed.
“Mmmm, that feels amazing.”
“Kinda reminds me of our wedding night. You remember?”
“Of course I do, silly. I’m only twenty-seven. My memory’s completely intact.”
“How about the part where I didn’t get laid?”
She playfully jabbed my face with her big toe. “Better zip it, or you won’t get laid tonight either.”
“Who’s talking? I’m not talking. You’re the one doing all the talking.”
She smiled. “You’re a dick.”
“I’m your dick, till death do us part.”
“Then I beg for the sweet release of death.”
“Oh, you will once I’m done doing this.” I grabbed her foot by the ankle and dug in with The Infamous Tickle Torture.
“Ricky! Stop it!” she giggled, writhing on the couch and trying to swat me with a pillow. Her resistance only made me ravage both feet at the same time.
“Stop!” she laughed, almost wheezing.
“Do you yield?”
She laughed harder.
“Do you yield, woman?”
“Yes!” she gasped, tapping on the arm of the couch. “I yield, you dick!”
“What’s that?” I cupped a hand against my ear. “Can’t hear ya over all the insults and name calling.”
“I yield, dammit! You’ll make me pee!”
Pregnant women and their sensitive bladders are no laughing matter. I stopped, and sat next to her.
“I didn’t do any permanent damage,” I said as she rested her head on my chest, “did I?”
She curled her feet underneath herself. “No. You stopped just in time.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Just did.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, why?”
I shrugged. “You seemed a little weired out by the whole family thing.”
“Why do you think that?” she said, playing with her C&R bracelet.
“Seemed like I caught you off guard.”
“Maybe a little.”
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“I want to ask Bill to be the godfather.”
The fingers she’d been running over the silver charms paused.
“What do you think?” I said. “We haven’t really discussed that yet. You’re going to ask Jude to be the godmother, right?”
“Of course. Who else would I ask?”
“Exactly. Same for Bill. I’ve known him forever. We’re all close. And like I said, he’s the closest thing to family I have outside of my mom and a few distant relatives. I didn’t want to ask him without talking to you first.”
She ran her fingers along my cheek. “Is that what you want?”
I nodded. “It’s what I want.”
“Then ask him.”
“Really?”
Cat smiled and kissed me. “Really really.”
“Good. We’ll get together for dinner soon.”
“That’ll work.”
Kissing her forehead, I got up off the couch and grabbed the phone. “How about this weekend? I’ll ask him then.”
Catherine rubbed her belly. “Yes. That sounds good. Absolutely.”
~~~
“It’s not like I asked you for your PIN number, Bill.” I grinned at Catherine, who smiled and put her hand on my knee.
A barbequed chicken leg hung from my best friend’s mouth, his eyes darting comically from me, to Cat, to Angela, and back again. The sun was sinking closer to the horizon. We were on the deck, each of us in spring jackets with the exception of Bill who was too manly to wear anything but a polo shirt.
“Are you serious?” he asked as if he were part of an elaborate practical joke.
“You believe this guy?” I said to Cat. “Of course I’m serious.”
He sat back and wiped sauce off his face. “Why me?”
“Bill,” Angela said, shaking her head. Her short brown hair swung back and forth. “How about ‘thank you, yes, I’m honored?’ I swear. Sometimes I think you’re from another planet.”
“Planet fitness, maybe,” Catherine said.
I burst out laughing. Bill didn’t find it as funny.
“Everyone’s a comedian,” he moaned. “I mean, yes. Thank you. I’m flattered, but …”
“But what?” I leaned my elbows on the table. “We’re having a kid, Bill. Cat and I would like for you to be the godfather.”
He looked at Cat. “I’m not sure I deserve it.”
“What?” I said. “Why wouldn’t you deserve it? Maybe you are from another planet. Where’s the mother ship? Because this isn’t the Bill Henly I know. The Bill Henly I know thinks he deserves everything that ever came to him and then some.”
Angela squeezed his cheeks and gave him a firm kiss on the lips that ended in a smacking sound. “Sometimes you’re too cute for your own good. Just accept, will you?”
Bill crossed his thick arms over his even thicker chest. “You on board with this, Cat? Ricky hasn’t coerced you or blackmailed you into it? He can do that, you know. He’s Italian.”
“He wants you to be godfather, Bill. He asked me, I told him to ask you.”
“Okay then. Sure. Yes. Of course I’ll be godfather. I was just surprised, that’s all.”
I rubbed my hands together. “Excellent. I propose a toast.” I raised my beer. “To friends, family, and baby Franchitti.”
CHAPTER 58
Celeste Franchitti came into the world the following April, eight pounds, fourteen ounces of screaming pink fury with ten little fingers, ten little toes, a full head of hair, and eyes as blue as the Caribbean. Turns out that most babies are born with blue eyes. Fancy that.
The delivery wasn’t an easy one. Catherine was in labor for nearly twelve hours. No drugs. She wanted to experience the whole thing as nature intended. I’d lobbied for the drugs, arguing better living through chemistry, and was repeatedly shot down. My wife grunted, screamed, perspired, crushed my hand, and maybe, just maybe, she looked at me with pain-filled eyes and growled “you did this to me” once or twice. I’ll neither confirm nor deny.
Celeste’s birth was the culmination of a tenuous nine months; the threat of loss followed our every move. Our fear went unspoken, yet it was always there, in our eyes, in our attitude. As the due date approached, anticipation smothered our uncertainties. After all the trying, the letdowns, and the heartache, parenthood was on the horizon. Excitement mixed with fright at the prospect of being responsible for a living, breathing human being. We pulled through it and, as times of stress are wont to do, became stronger because of it.
Family and friends inundated our hospital room. Outside, a spring sun shower pattered the windows with raindrops. Inside, cheer and congratulations bounced from surface to surface. Mom was beside herself.
“Richard, she is so adorable. Glen? Glen!” My mother held her granddaughter, but even that wouldn’t stop her bossing Glen about. “Come hold my granddaughter.”
“Yes, dear.” Glen cradled Celeste, his grin spread five miles wide as he rocked her back and forth. “Nothing like the little ones to make a guy feel young.”
“I cook a pretty mean bun, don’t I, Beth?” Cat said, exhausted, but so, so happy.
“You sure can, Catherine.” Mom kissed her forehead. “All right, Glen. We’ve outstayed our welcome. Let’s give someone else a ch
ance to hold the little Pookie Bear.”
“Pookie Bear?” I said, laughing.
“It’s what your father used to call you when you were little, Richard.” Mom’s expression turned distant “He’d be so proud of you right now.” She wrapped me in a tight hug.
“Thanks, Mom.”
They left, and the Maddoxes joined us shortly thereafter.
“Oh my God, she is such a sight,” Mary Jo said, her palms pressed to her cheeks.
“Congratulations, son.” The Colonel gripped my hand in a sturdy shake. His mammoth moustache canted at a steep angle, letting me know there was a proud smile behind it. “You two do good work.”
The happy grandparents took turns hugging their daughter and holding their granddaughter before leaving to let Jude and Rob have their turn. Jude squealed as soon as she saw her niece.
“She looks just like you, Cat. Doesn’t she, Rob?”
“That she does,” he said after taking a moment to adjust his glasses. “How does it feel to be a father, Rick?”
“So far so good. Be sure to ask me after we take her home and the sleep deprivation sets in.”
Jude held Celeste like a pro. “Be thankful you only have one, buddy.”
Last but not least came Bill and Angela.
“Holy shit, she’s so small.” Bill’s word choice earned him a slap on the shoulder from his girlfriend, along with a sour look. “Ouch. Well, she is. How you feeling, Cat?”
“I’m good. Tired, but good. Glad it’s all over.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Want to hold her?” I asked Bill.
He pointed to himself. “Me?”
“No, the guy cleaning the windows across the street. Yes, you. Who else? You are her godfather, after all.”
“Yeah, I mean. I guess.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “She’s not going to bite you, Bill. Spitting up though,” she shrugged, “that’s another story.”
His eyes widened as he took a step back. “She’s going to puke on me?”
“Can I?” I said to Cat. She nodded. I picked up Celeste and approached Bill. “How can someone so big be afraid of something so small? Here. You’ll be fine.”
With some unknown emotion on his face, Bill took a tentative step and held out his hands. In his massive paws, the baby resembled a swaddled mini burrito.
“Careful, Bill,” Angela warned. “You have to support her head.” She rubbed a pink cheek with her finger as Bill adjusted his hand under Celeste’s head. “She’s too precious for words, guys. I’m so happy for you both.” Her eyes became misty.
Bill swayed back and forth. “This isn’t so bad.”
“You’ll be an expert in no time,” I said. “You should have one. Everyone’s doing it.”
His head shot up. “No way.”
“Take a pill. It was just a joke.” I got an idea and snapped my fingers. “You know what? Let’s get a picture.”
I set up the camera on the countertop and enabled the self-portrait timer. We gathered around Catherine where she sat in the visitor’s chair, put on our most winning smiles, and tried not to blink when the flash went off. All of our arms were intertwined in a big hug, except for Bill who cradled Celeste while trying to wipe fresh puke off his shirt.
I bought him a new one.
Eventually.
CHAPTER 59
Time flies when you’re having fun, or when you have a kid. Next time someone tells you to savor every moment because they grow up so fast? You’d damned well better pay attention. There are a few irrefutable truths in this world: you’re born, you die, water’s wet, the sky is blue, the Eagles will never win a Super Bowl, and kids grow up much too quickly
The years ticked off faster than I could keep track. One minute I’m bringing my wife and daughter home from the hospital then next thing I know Celeste is crawling. I blink my eyes and my infant magically transmogrified into a walking, talking toddler.
Over those early years—the only years I really had—our house turned from the neat and orderly place Catherine and I called home into a storage area for all things child. First it was the playpen and the bouncer seat. Then it was the rocking horsey. Then it was the big red wagon. But that was only the tip of the iceberg.
My mother took it upon herself to shower Celeste in presents. Books, stuffed animals, clothes, shoes—you name it, Mom bought it. She saw it as her duty and God-given right to buy Celeste whatever she felt like, whenever she felt like it.
The Maddoxes weren’t much better. If it wasn’t some little toy or knick-knack from Mary Jo and The Colonel it was something from Aunt Jude and Uncle Rob. Celeste wanted for nothing.
Not one to be left out, Bill had eventually gotten in on the act, too. It took some time. At first he was distant, but it wasn’t long before he warmed up to his goddaughter. With no nieces or nephews of his own, he grew to take immense pride in buying Celeste the biggest and coolest presents he could get his hands on. Between the flamboyant gift giving and his innate ability to bring himself to a child’s level, it was no wonder Celeste started calling him Uncle Bill.
The first time Celeste said it was the on her third Christmas. Bill was bouncing her on his knee, making her giggle and throw a fit as her pigtails bounced wildly like two honeyed Slinkies, her brown eyes wide with the excitement of the season.
“Faster, Unca Bill, Faster!” Faster sounded like ‘fasther’. What’s cuter than a little girl’s lisp? Not much if you ask me. Not even puppies.
“I’ve never been called Uncle before.”
“There’s a first time for everything,” Catherine said.
When Celeste was first born, my wife was naturally overprotective of her, especially where Bill was concerned. It was almost as if she thought he’d break her. Bill was many things, but gentle wasn’t one of them. Over time he’d gotten used to handling a small child, and Catherine loosened up. There was no point in ignoring Celeste’s adoration of her Uncle Bill, or that the feeling was mutual.
Sometimes, though, a faraway expression would fall over Catherine’s face like a shadow when he and my daughter were together. As time passed, the look decreased in frequency, but not completely.
~~~
The look reared its head the day after an spur-of-the-moment date night.
Celeste had just turned four, and in a fit of cabin fever Catherine and I decided we needed to get out for a night. We opted for the American standard: dinner and a movie.
As it turned out, everyone was unavailable to babysit. The stars had aligned perfectly against us, and Mom, Glen, The Colonel, Mary Jo, Jude, and Rob were scattered to the four winds. Not to be deterred, I came up with a solution. All by myself!
“Why don’t we call Bill and Angela?”
Yes, they were still together. Sort of. Theirs was a rocky, on again-off again, relationship, although it seemed they were more off than on. It wasn’t healthy for them, or us. Being forced into the middle of their relationship troubles had become the ambient state. But friends are friends, and family is family … even if they are a pain in the ass.
Bill was family, now more than ever, and I vowed never to go back to that place I found myself in the year before Celeste was born, that place where my selfishness nearly alienated two of the people I most cared about. When Bill needed an ear, he had mine. When he needed to get out, I did what I could to accompany him. No judging, no bowing out, no excuses.
Catherine, who was removing dried toothpaste from the sink (courtesy of Celeste), bit her lip.
“I don’t know, Ricky. Do you think it’s a good idea?”
I wrapped my arms around her from behind and kissed the top of her head. “A good idea? No. It’s a great idea. I came up with it, didn’t I? Celeste is four now. She’s potty trained, the whole nine yards. I know you’d rather leave her with someone more experienced, but Bill’s responsible. Somewhat.” Her reflection smiled at me. “And he’s back together with Angela. Again. If anybody’ll keep him in line, it’s her.”
Catherine laughed. “No doubt about that.”
“It’ll be good for them.” I leaned against the wall and crossed my arms. “What those two keep doing … the breaking up and the getting back together,” I shook my head, “It’s not healthy. Maybe if they get a little taste of family life it’ll help them realize that they don’t have to be so scared about moving forward?”
I watched Cat in the mirror as she continued to tidy up the dirty sink, her thinking face firmly in place. She adjusted the C&R charms on her bracelet and turned around.
“Maybe you’re right. That little bugaboo sure does love her Unca Bill and Auntie Angie.”
“Of course she does. Celeste’s enthralled by Angela’s fairytales and Unca Bill is on the same emotional level.”
A hand over her mouth silenced the bubbling laugh. It was nearly eight o’clock. After much fussing and fighting, it seemed as if Celeste was finally down for the count.
“Fine,” she said. “You win. But you’re making the call and asking, got it?”
“Got it.” I leaned in and nibbled on her ear. “You know, since she’s asleep …”
“Ricky,” she whispered. “Our daughter’s right in the next room.”
“So?” My next kiss moved to her neck; her Achilles’ Heel.
“Mmmm. I love when you’re convincing.”
A tiny, lisping voice doused the embers of our would-be dirty time.
“Mommy? Daddy?”
Celeste stood just outside the bathroom, a stuffed Pooh Bear crushed against her chest. She rubbed her eyes with a chubby hand.
“You,” Catherine said, quickly collecting herself, “should be in bed, Pookie Bear.” She hoisted Celeste onto her hip, much to the little girl’s delight.
“I wanna drinka water, Mommy.”
“If my little princess would like a glass of water, then a glass of water she shall have.”
“Daddy?” Celeste turned her tired browns to me as Catherine managed to fill a glass one handed.
“Yes, light of my life?”
“What were you doing to Mommy’s neck?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Catherine said over her shoulder. I saw her eyeing me in the mirror. “What were you doing to Mommy’s neck?” Her grin was the equivalent of throwing down the gauntlet; a challenge to see how I’d get out of the current tight spot.
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