by Piper Lennox
She blinks and steps aside so I can come in. “Uh, sure. Just let me get a sweater.”
“Hey, Fairfield,” Mara calls from the stove. She’s listening to jazz, the player perched dangerously close to the edge of the countertop. “How’s the train business?”
It’s a running joke with her, always asking how my family’s ventures are going, knowing damn good and well I’ve got no idea or interest.
“Right on track,” I retort. She laughs, throwing her head back, and gives me the finger.
“You sure you’re all right?” Juliet studies me during our walk to the theater. The sunset is bright orange, almost neon, and makes her eyes shimmer.
“Much better, now that I’m with you.” I steer her into an alcove between two buildings and push my face into her neck, kissing her until the laughter stops, and all she can do is whisper my name.
19
“Can I...?”
I feel way more eyes on me than just Viola’s. Marco, Abby, and even Lionel are watching the exchange closely. Not that I’m the least bit surprised.
When I hesitate, Viola pulls her hand back to her side. “I mean, I know it’s too early to feel anything, really, I just....”
“No, no,” I say quickly. “Go ahead.”
Slowly, she scoots closer on the couch and places her hand on my stomach. The bump is still almost non-existent, somewhere between Could Be a Food Baby and Might Be Pregnant, to anyone who doesn’t know me.
“I haven’t felt any of the fluttery things yet,” I warn her, “so you probably won’t feel anything, either.”
Viola lifts her hand away carefully, like leaving an imprint in snow. “When, uh...when will you find out the gender?” Her voice is quiet under the hum of forced conversation now floating through the room.
“Two more weeks.”
She nods and toys with her ring. “Have you thought of names, at all?”
Even with everyone in my family doing an Oscar-worthy job of pretending they aren’t listening, I can tell at least Abby still is. She glances at me for a split-second, during a commercial.
Viola and I have gotten lunch a couple times in the last few weeks, and seen each other at Dad’s dinners, but we’ve yet to talk about that day at the fertility clinic. I know, on some level, she couldn’t possibly have meant what she said. But now her question hangs between us like a challenge, and I wonder if she really did.
All that aside, I do still feel guilty. I know I shouldn’t; I can’t change my night with Cohen. I wouldn’t want to. But sitting here with a baby growing inside me, and Abby growing two, all the while knowing Viola wants what we have more than anything else in the world...it just about kills me.
“A little.” I suddenly feel like I might cry. It has to be hormones. “Maybe Lucy, for a girl.”
Her smile is pinched, forced as can be. “Lucy is cute,” she says. “And...for a boy?”
“Um...Asher.”
“Asher,” she repeats. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard her speak so softly. “That was on our list.”
“Oh. Well, it’s not final or anything. I can pick something else.”
“No,” she says, and as she sighs in her throat, I see her real smile push the other one away. “You should use it. It sounds good with Fairfield.”
I smile, too. “Thanks, Vi.”
This might be the closest we’ll ever get to talking about that day at the clinic. It isn’t the straightforward approach Abigail would tout—more like letting the Band-Aid loosen in the tub, instead of ripping it off. But it’s still effective, and without the quick, terrible tear I’ve been dreading.
Later, as we pack up Dad’s van to head to the stadium for the Fourth of July fireworks, a car slinks to the curb. Cohen steps out in his good khakis, a polo shirt I’ve never seen before—one without a Fairfield Party Suppliers logo on the chest—and brown boating shoes.
“Hey,” I smile, jogging to meet him for a kiss. “What are you wearing?”
He looks down at himself. “What, you don’t like it?”
“No, I do. Just...doesn’t look like your usual style.”
“Yeah, well.” He kisses me again, keeping it pretty PG; my entire family’s blatantly watching us. “Figured basketball shorts and torn-up wife beaters weren’t the best clothes to meet your sisters in.”
I track the ride-share as it pulls away. “Levi still hasn’t gotten your van out of the shop?”
Cohen shrugs, scratching his neck as we start up the driveway. “Guess they haven’t figured out the problem. So you’re sure we can all fit in your dad’s car?”
“Seats eight,” Dad calls, shaking Cohen’s hand, then pulling him in for a hug. “But Viola and Marco still insist on driving separately.”
“Maybe if you cleaned your van once in a while,” Viola says. “That bag of birdseed that spilled still hasn’t gotten vacuumed up, I’ll bet.” She smiles at Cohen and sticks out her hand. “Hi, I’m Viola.”
“Nice to officially meet you. And, uh...belated congratulations, on the wedding. And the new house. I heard it’s amazing.”
“Oh, thank you.” As he moves down the line, she gives me a nod of approval and a thumbs-up. I know Judgment Day isn’t over, but at least he’s passed her first test: Must Be Cute.
“All right, kids,” Dad announces, clapping his hands, “van’s all set.”
Cohen and I sit in the back while Abby gets Stella into her car seat. Dad keeps it installed at all times, “for Grandpa Emergencies,” and has probably already purchased ones for his next three grandkids. This thing will become a veritable daycare bus, before he’s through.
“Honestly, Dad,” Abby chides, when she brushes a handful of birdseed out from underneath Stella’s butt. “Has this van ever seen a vacuum?”
Cohen laughs at their back-and-forth as we pull out of the driveway, Viola and Marco following in his Jaguar. “How far along is Abby?” he whispers.
“Thirty weeks?” I squint at the ceiling and do the math. “Yeah. Almost thirty-one.”
“Wow. She looks like she’s due yesterday.”
“She’s having twins,” I remind him, trying to imagine myself with a baby bump even half that size. It’s strange to look at Stella and think, You’re going to have one of those. An actual child.
“Where are we watching the show from?” Cohen calls. Dad is cursing his way through the subdivision. His block is cluttered with cars, nearly every family holding a cookout.
“Dad has free seats for life for the Fourth of July game,” Abby answers for him. “We always show up late.”
“Game’s no good until the seventh inning,” Dad interjects. Abby and I say it with him, bellowing it in our signature, exaggerated imitations. He stares us down in the rearview while we laugh.
I’m grateful for the jokes and easy conversation, settling my nerves. Every day, the pregnancy feels more and more real. I thought that’d be a good thing.
Once we’re seated in our sunbaked stadium seats, Cohen’s hand on mine, I feel better. I’ve cleared the air with Vi, my family likes my boyfriend, and we’re about to enjoy the best fireworks show in town. I don’t have to worry about the future, right now. I can just enjoy this. Living in the moment—that’s what Cohen does, and Mara, and my dad. If it works for them, it can work for me.
Stella climbs into my lap and steals my sunglasses, her giggle smelling like the soda Viola gives her when Abby isn’t looking. She adores Cohen, who offers her no shortage of entertainment: a jumble of keys from his pocket, his cracked watch with a light-up face, and the ability to turn every flyer littering the ground into a different origami animal. By the end of the eighth inning, she’s amassed a crane, a bunny, two frogs that can actually hop when pressed just right, and a turtle.
“Look at you.” I study the effortless precision of his creases as he reveals, bit by bit, this hidden talent. “Full of surprises.”
Cohen smiles and shows me his newest creation: a flower. “Always,” he says, tucking it behind my ear.
“Kiss Cam!” Vi shouts from the end of our row, and points to the jumbo screen near the scoreboard. The camera pans the crowd with a heart-shaped frame, pausing on anyone who looks coupled up. “I hope they land over here.”
“They’re definitely going to land over here,” I answer flatly. For whatever reason, Dad’s lifetime seats are one of the cameraman’s favorite spots. Maybe it’s because he’s worked here since the year Dad started, watched us grow up, and loves embarrassing us.
On cue, the screen displays Lionel and Abigail. They roll their eyes before smiling and exchanging a kiss. The camera pans to Viola and Marco; their kiss is far more involved, which earns several whoops from the crowd.
Finally, as the camera comes to us, I glance at Cohen.
“We kind of have to,” I tease, surprised to find him blushing.
He takes a long breath, turns his head, and kisses me. His lips barely linger long enough to count as a peck. Abby shouts sarcastically, “God, you two, get a room!”
“That was...weird,” I tell him, as the final inning begins. “You seemed embarrassed.”
His eyes jump across the stadium to the private boxes at the very top. Suddenly, I understand.
“Your family’s up there, aren’t they?”
“Almost definitely,” he says, cracking his knuckles against his thighs. “Uncle Tim usually invites me and Levi to watch the fireworks, but we’ve always had to work or something.”
“So...Levi probably isn’t up there.”
Cohen scratches his face. “Oh. Yeah, I guess not. He scheduled some charity cookout for today. Bounce houses, cotton candy, the whole nine.”
“Wow, and he actually gave you the day off?” This surprises me even more than Cohen blushing. Both are rare, if not totally unheard of.
He looks at me. “Uh—yeah. Tomorrow, too.”
“That was nice.” I clear my throat, catching one of the paper frogs Stella pitches into the air. “Why didn’t you want them seeing you on the screen?”
“Because,” Cohen answers slowly, rubbing something from his eye and sighing, “Tim is going to call me or send someone down here, insisting we come join him, and I’d rather not look like some pompous, rich little shit in front of your sisters.”
“They already know you’re a Fairfield.” I rest my head against his arm. “A broke one.”
“Look, I just...don’t want to go up there. And Tim would make it impossible to say no without being rude.”
“Aren’t those boxes air-conditioned and catered? A lot better than the nosebleeds, if you ask me.”
“Trust me, this is way more fun.” His phone buzzes from his pocket, rattling the armrest between us. He doesn’t answer it. “The last thing I want today is all that...Fairfieldy stuff.”
“Co?”
We look up. A woman in a red tank with stars bleached into it stands at the top of the stairs behind us, waving.
“Lindsay.” Cohen sits up, removing his arm from my shoulders. “What, uh...what are you doing here?”
“Tim invited me. Come on up and visit! Caitlin-Anne brought Banner—you haven’t seen him since Easter.” She turns her smile on me and holds out her hand. “You must be Juliet. I’m Lindsay, Cohen’s sister-in-law.”
“Hi.” I return her smile while Cohen wilts in his seat, then stands.
“I’ll be right back. I’m just going to say hey to everyone, so Tim will get off my back.”
“I can come with you.” There’s a shift in his expression that makes me sit back down. “Or not.”
“You really don’t have to. It’s just a pop-in.”
“Okay.”
That’s when I notice what he’s staring at: my stomach. The shirt I picked today accentuates what little bit of a bump is there. For a second, I regret choosing it.
It passes quickly. Now I’m just annoyed with him.
“Go,” I tell him, pulling Stella back into my lap. “It’s fine.”
After a beat, Cohen glances at the luxury boxes and sighs. “No, you should come with me.” He waves Lindsay ahead, then bends down to whisper, “I’m sorry. I’ll just tell everyone at once, right now. It’s stupid to keep hiding it, and...and I shouldn’t have done it to begin with.” When I don’t look at him, he guides my face to his for a deep, slow kiss, worthy of the big screen.
“Come on,” he says. “I want to show you off.”
Levi is in the luxury box. Lindsay’s underhanded phrasing of “Tim invited me,” not “us,” starts screeching in my head like a siren.
“I thought he had that cookout booked today,” I hiss at her.
“It got cancelled.” She hands me a beer. “Can you just be civil, please?”
“Can he?”
“Cohen, glad you decided to join us!” Uncle Tim gets up from his seat to hug me. Levi barely offers a glance over his shoulder, even as I go around greeting everyone. It’s only when I introduce Juliet that he turns, rising briefly to shake her hand. He might hate me right now, but he’s not about to be rude to a stranger.
“Can I get you a beer, Juliet?” Tim holds up a bottle from the bucket between his seat and Levi’s. “Nice and cold.”
“Oh—no, thank you.” Juliet holds up the water she bought at concessions. “Not much of a beer drinker.”
“We’ve got hard lemonade,” Aunt Jeannie offers. Juliet doesn’t notice, but I catch her eyeing her stomach. Subtle is not my aunt’s specialty. It’s not her daughter’s, either: when Juliet declines again, Caitlin-Anne looks up from her phone and immediately squints at her shirt.
Cait’s son, Banner, emerges from underneath a table, the cloth dragging on his head. He waves a timid hello to me, staring up at Juliet with wide blue eyes. She starts when she notices.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” he replies quietly. “I got a homerun on my baseball game but the battery died and it’s not there anymore—” He pauses long enough to swallow the spit gathering in his mouth. “—and now I’m trying to get another one.”
She laughs, kneeling beside him to see his tablet. “Wouldn’t you rather watch the real baseball game?”
“No. I like playing more.” He stretches out on his stomach across the floor, propping the tablet in front of his face. “I play real baseball with my dad. He knows how to through a curveball.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.” Juliet smiles up at me. “I bet your dad’s enjoying the game, then.”
“He’s not here,” Banner says simply, tapping the screen. “He wasn’t invited.”
Juliet looks at me again. I lower my voice and explain, “Banner’s mom and dad aren’t together.”
“Oh.” She covers her mouth and looks at Banner, like she expects him to be offended or something. He’s blissfully preoccupied with knocking one out of the virtual park.
As I help her to her feet, she whispers, “Do we tell them now?”
“Tell us what?” Caitlin-Anne sits up, still somehow texting even as she stares me dead in the eye. Her innocent face doesn’t fool me. She knows.
I look at Levi. More specifically, the back of his head. He’s at the sliding door to the balcony, one arm braced over his head on the glass as he pretends to watch the game.
“Uh....” Juliet and I exchange glances. I decide to direct the news at no one and everyone at the same time, announcing it to the center of the luxury box: “We’re having a baby.”
“What?” Lindsay asks, hand flying to her mouth.
Aunt Jeannie snaps her fingers. “I knew it! Tim, didn’t I tell you?”
The surprise gradually transitions to congratulations. Even Caitlin-Anne gets up to hug me, something she hasn’t done since Levi’s wedding. Tim slips me a cigar and insists we join him and Jeannie for dinner at Maison soon, to celebrate properly. Banner asks if the baby’s going to be a boy, disappointed when we tell him we don’t know, yet.
“We find out the gender in two weeks,” Juliet tells everyone, embarrassed at the attention, but smiling. “Due in December.”
&
nbsp; “I’ll be in the waiting room the whole time,” Lindsay grins, hugging us both again. “This is so exciting! Oh, jeez, I think I’m going to cry.”
Juliet laughs as she fans her eyes. While they start chatting with Caitlin-Anne about maternity clothes, I look at Levi again. He stares back, silent.
“We really have to get back before the fireworks start,” I tell everyone else, taking Juliet’s elbow and attempting to steer her to the door. She gets caught up in another wave of hugs and congratulations. It takes a good five minutes to extract ourselves into the hallway.
“That went well,” Juliet whispers, half-asking.
“It did. Better than I expected.”
I feel her watching me as we take the stairs down to the next level. “I’m surprised Levi didn’t congratulate you or say anything. I mean, I know you said he wouldn’t take it well, but...still.”
“Cohen—wait up.”
We turn at the bottom of the stairs. Lindsay rushes to meet us.
“Sorry about Levi,” she whispers, as though he can hear us through all this concrete and distance.
“Yeah, thanks for not telling me he’d be there.”
“I thought he’d at least get up and talk to you,” she explains, looking so sorry I can’t even stay mad. Damn her. “But don’t worry, I’m going to talk to him. And you know he’ll give you your job back—he can’t stay that petty, now that you’re going to be a dad.” She practically squeals this last part, clapping her hands and getting so excited, she has to hug Juliet again.
We say another round of goodbyes, waving as she heads upstairs and we enter the main path through the stadium. I don’t bother taking Juliet’s hand. I can practically feel the heat of her anger, radiating off her arm beside mine.
“You lost your job?”
I get in front of her and turn, walking backwards until she stops. “I promise, I was going to tell you—once I found another one. I didn’t want to stress you out.”
“Why’d he fire you?” She folds her arms. “Weed? Keeping the van out too late?”
“Whoa.” I step back from her. “Where the hell did that come from? You just assume it was something I did?”
