“Let’s get back to Guy. Last we spoke, he was reaching out to Brittany’s family. How did that go?” Dr. Fitzsimond redirected.
“It was a very eye-opening experience that I think we all learned from,” I answered truthfully.
Guy and I had lunch with the Goldmans two weeks ago. A very enlightening meeting, to say the least. Other than brief exchanges revolving around Finn and Max, Guy had very little interaction with his in-laws since Brittany’s death. He had chosen to avoid the animosity and let Maya be the go-between.
Darla was surprisingly forthcoming and shared that she had been estranged from her sister, Maya’s mother, since she took off when Maya was about five years old. She hadn’t spoken to her in nearly twenty years but suspected her fleeing was due to mental instability and that there may have been a question of abuse, as well. “I’m embarrassed and sad to say, it was a different time back then. We just didn’t talk about those kinds of things.”
I wondered if Darla’s choice of words, those kinds of things, was her way of explaining to Guy why she had never shared her own medical history with her daughter. Guy and I never discussed it, but I knew there was no way he could have missed the guilt in her voice.
She went on to say that she believed Maya’s father, although he remarried several years later, had blamed his daughter for his wife’s disappearance. Supposedly, the new wife was an attention-seeker and not interested in raising children, which did not bode well for Maya. When she was sixteen, Maya reached out to Darla, looking for an alternative. The walls in Washington were closing in on her, so Darla suggested her niece visit the East. What started as a vacation quickly turned to a permanent change. Legal documents were exchanged, and Darla accepted custody of Maya.
Brittany was finishing up nursing school when Maya arrived, and even though they were six years apart and separated by a few states, it was clear Maya looked up to her as the sister neither had. It wasn’t surprising that Maya took Brittany’s death very hard.
Offering to be a nanny for Guy and making the decision to pursue a degree in nursing brought back purpose. Darla felt she had her life on track.
Needless to say, the Goldmans were almost as distraught as we were. The news of what Maya had done to their grandchildren ripped them to shreds.
Darla’s words from that day often haunted me and broke my heart at the same time.
How is it possible that we are mourning the loss of another daughter?
That afternoon over coffee, Guy saw another side to Brittany’s parents. They may have been wealthy and self-righteous, but in their own way, they loved Brittany and they loved Maya. We gained a perspective on not only the challenging life Maya dealt with, but also on Brittany’s life, and more particularly, her upbringing.
Maya’s actions would never be justifiable. Hell no. And certainly never forgivable. But it was easier to understand where they could have manifested.
Brittany, on the other hand, might have grown up with a silver spoon, but it was obvious Darla and Peter provided a safe and stable environment. This gave us a clearer understanding of why Brittany did what she did. Her mistakes were made out of immaturity. Made out of stupidity. But not made out of malice. Brittany would have never intentionally harmed her children.
Guy’s vision had been clouded for so long by anger and bitterness that it was impossible for him to see past it. But through Darla’s admissions and insight, the haze lifted.
He was finally, after four trying years, able to love Brittany for simply providing him with two beautiful children. This was a monumental come-to-bejesus moment for Guy. The last layers of animosity he held for her evaporated.
“Thank you for making the suggestion. I’m not sure Guy would have reached out if you hadn’t pushed him to do so.”
“Good. I’m glad it worked out.” Dr. Fitzsimond jotted something on his legal pad then looked back up at me. “Jules, I want you to know that I think you’re in a very good place in your recovery. Our discussion today only solidified my confidence in you. Unless you object or feel differently, I don’t really see a need to continue our weekly visits. Of course, my door is always open if you need me.” He stared at me with his soft, contemplative eyes for several long seconds before he asked, “How does that make you feel?”
I pierced my lips into a perfectly straight line and swallowed back the bubbling laugh that was sure to explode from my mouth.
How does that make me feel?
Lucky.
“How’d it go?” Guy asked as I walked through the door. The house was quiet and a ping of jealousy shot through me. Even though I was impressed he handled bedtime, I was disappointed I missed my little monkeys. After everything with Maya, we’d be the first to admit we may have succumbed to Max and Finn’s every request—including and not limited to spending extra time snuggling in bed with them until they fell asleep. We knew that was a big no-no, but honestly, we didn’t care. Maybe it was us being selfish and subconsciously giving in to some of our residual guilt. Whatever it was, neither of us had an ounce of regret.
Recently though, the “routine” (or lack thereof) had gotten out of control. And after much debate, we finally decided to nip our lenient behavior in the bud. Shockingly (not), a little added discipline and a more regular bedtime ritual were doing wonders. Less meltdowns and a lot less attitude. (Hooray). It was a win-win for all. Kids weren’t cranky, and Guy and I got to spend a lot more time awake in bed.
Which had some serious advantages.
I kicked off my heels and padded across the living room. Guy’s bare feet were propped up on the coffee table, hands resting behind his head as his very shirtless self flexed his abs.
He was so doing that on purpose. Ass.
I ignored his how’d it go for now and went with, “Kids asleep?” Silly question I knew, because if they weren’t they’d be bouncing off the walls. He nodded, but something about his smug grin looked fishy. “In our bed?”
He grinned.
“Guy!” I threw my arms in the air. “We’ve been working so hard at getting them to sleep in their own beds, and you just shot it all to hell.”
He threw his head back and belly laughed.
God, did I love that laugh. The laugh that brought my own laughter back. The one that made the tiny hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end. The one that he so freely gave to his children, even when he was hurting. The one that made me fall in love.
And to think, in the blink of an eye, something so beautiful could have been stolen right out from under us.
I refused to give Maya the satisfaction of even imagining a world that unfair.
Fair is not getting what you think you deserve, fair is getting what you can handle.
Staring at my beautiful man, serenity washed over me. I knew in this moment that we built a foundation strong enough that when the winds forged and tested our roots, we would always persevere. Together, we could handle anything.
“I’m discharged,” I gloated teasingly. His laughter immediately died down, leaving me with his sexy smirk. Ah, the one that was sure to be the death of me.
“From therapy?
“Yup.”
His brow rose. “So why did he give me a hard time?”
I shrugged and decided to keep it light, sassing back, “Dr. Fitzsimond just liked me better, I guess.”
His smile lit back up before he drawled, “I’m sure he did. I’d like you better too. I bet his eyes were glued to your sexy legs in that skirt, just waiting for you to uncross and cross again.”
“Eww, Guy. Stop. That’s so skeevy.” I felt my face distort, making us both laugh.
“Seriously though, what did he say to you? I mean, at the end of your session, how did you leave it?”
I smirked—he totally set himself up for this. What the heck did he think he said?
“How does that make you feel?”
And this time, the laughter flew out of my mouth, morphing instantly into hysterics, which quickly turned into me flat on my back
with Guy on top, gnawing at my neck with his two-day stubble. It was fabulous. It was hot. It was perfect.
I couldn’t imagine anything better than this moment, going at it like teenagers with our kids safely tucked in our bed.
Guy lifted himself off my chest, his blue eyes catching my brown, and his smile blinding. “Who loves ya?”
I lied. Now I couldn’t imagine anything better.
“I love you too,” I answered from the innermost depths of my soul.
He kissed my forehead, he kissed the tip of my nose, and he kissed my lips. Then he gave me better. Short of the impossible, bringing my precious baby girl back to me, he gave me everything.
“Marry me, Jules. Marry us.”
Two years later…
“Good boy, buddy. Go get it.” I chased after Raff, who was waddling after the ball I’d purposely thrown toward the front yard of Jules’ aunt and uncle’s house. This was my well-deserved five minutes away from the circus. No one needed to know I was using my son as an excuse. Last thing I wanted was to be corralled by upset Italians.
“Here, bring it back to me, Daddy will throw your ball again.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle at how my one-year-old fetched better than Casey. But then again, Casey was only working with one eye. Jules blamed it on poor depth perception; I blamed it on blindness. You couldn’t fetch if you couldn’t see it. We agreed to disagree.
“Where you going, man? Can I come?” Bryce asked, jogging up beside me. The look of disbelief on his face told me that he was as bewildered as I was.
Jules warned me this reunion would be both sides of the family and to expect a good amount of people. Two full-sized tents—and no joke—twenty large round tables stuck on an eighth of an acre seemed a bit excessive. Did third cousins, twice removed really need an invite?
“Dude, I think half of Italy just mauled me. Twice. There might be more people here than there were at my wedding. And what’s up with the green weeds covered in that thick crust, was I supposed to eat that?”
I busted out laughing. “You better not have wasted that pie. That shit is good.” Possessive over dandelions, Jules would be so proud I was supporting her roots. I’d come so far in two years.
This was our first trip back to the East Coast since we moved, and we tried to squeeze in visits with as many people as possible. When it didn’t look like that was feasible, Jules came up with the answer. No brainer, invite them to Aunt Maria’s. The more the merrier. I wouldn’t be surprised if my friends were second-guessing their decision right about now. Speaking of, I asked, “Where’s the wife?”
Bryce scooped up Raff with one arm and tossed the ball back to me. “Oh, she’s living and converting as we speak. The gift of gab is coming in handy, as well as her appetite.”
He could tease all he wanted, but the guy’s face lit up like he just watched the NY Jets finally win a Super Bowl every time he talked about his woman.
Violet was seven months pregnant with twins. Girls. And her glow was brighter than ever, probably because it never faded since Sydney was barely three months, when they found out they were expecting again. Three girls under the age of one. Ouch. Luckily, their little man, Kevin was being cool about it for now. Just wait until a trifecta of little sisters bombarded his bathroom. Bryce and Vi had waded through tough waters, but they made it to the other side. They were good people, good friends, and I was happy they found smooth sailing.
Chucking the ball back his way, I said, “Every person here could have come starved, and there’d still be enough leftovers to feed a small country. Have to say, haven’t found a gravy back in Cali that comes close to the quality of CeCe’s. Though my gut doesn’t miss the quantity.”
A backhand slapped my abdomen. “Feels like your gut’s not discriminating to me. Getting soft in your old age, Hunter,” my buddy Sam joked, joining us on the secluded plot of grass away from the backyard shit show.
“Says the guy who’s never done a sit-up in his life.”
“Hey,” Sam pinched his rolls, “Becky’s never complained. She appreciates a heartier cut of meat.”
When he awkwardly rotated his hips, I laughed so hard that if Bryce hadn’t pegged the ball at him to make him stop I might have pissed myself. Even Raff was laughing.
Sam was my intern when I was a third-year resident in Philadelphia. He ended up joining an established orthopedic practice and decided to make the Keystone State home. We’d had our fair share of good times back in the day, so I was psyched when he told me he was cruising up for a wedding this weekend. His wife was in the bridal party doing all that shit, and the kids were with the in-laws, leaving Sam to fend for himself. Jules overheard our phone conversation, picked up another cordless, and did her thing. The more the merrier.
That explained how I was tossing a ball around with two of my closest friends at an almost-San Gennaro Festival in my wife’s aunt’s front yard in the Bronx.
“So you knew this guy when he was still a peon taking orders and being scutted out?” Bryce asked Sam, shifting Raff to his other arm. The way Jules fed our bruiser, I should’ve warned Bryce of a possible herniated disc. “What was he like back then?”
Sam contemplated for a moment before answering. “Truthfully, just like he is right now.” He underhanded the ball to me, tipped his chin up and said, “Good to have you back, man.”
Bryce might have missed his meaning, but I didn’t. Sam knew the old me, the laid-back, glass half-full guy who had one dream, and was determined to love life on my way to achieving it. The guy I was before my wife died and my whole world abrupted. I hadn’t seen that Guy in a while either, not until Jules barreled in and reintroduced me to him. Thanks, dude, good to be back.
“Come on, no good residency stories?”
Sam and I exchanged a knowing look and chuckled. Oh, we had stories. For another time, another place, and a shit-ton more ice cold Peroni.
“Daddy,” my princess shrieked, darting around the corner with a slew of kids behind her. Finn trailed, but not by far.
Seeing my oldest boy happy and healthy would never get old. His recovery over these last two years was nothing short of a miracle. Not only was his gait rock solid, he shot up a good four inches and gained enough weight to put him on the map. And with his big sister to chaperone him around, he breezed through preschool and was ready for kindergarten this fall. It was all such a blessing.
“Mommy said you have to come. Now.” She stretched the now to drive her point home. Bossy like her JuJu. And I loved it. “We need Raff. He neeeeeds to blow out his candle.” This was going to be his fourth first birthday cake. It wasn’t like Jules’ parents, Mercedes, and her fiancé Jim, Selena, Tony, and the girls didn’t make the trip only six weeks ago for the big day, which was celebrated with three different parties on separate days extending over two weekends. Same attendees, different themes. Don’t ask—I sure as hell didn’t. And if I was a betting man, I would have put money on the Goldmans bringing cake number five to lunch tomorrow.
“Gotcha, Max. Thanks.” And the reprieve was over. Bryce air-planed Raff back to me, and we followed his big sister and brother back to the feast.
Jules was standing next to her sisters, both of whom were extremely attractive, but my wife was in a category all of her own. When most of the other women were wearing brightly colored sundresses (did I mention blinding), tight skirts, and strappy sandals, my woman had on black shorts with a flowy white babydoll top, and flip-flops. Damn, she was beautiful.
The exception.
“Hey doll, another cake, I see?” I teased, anticipating the imminent eye-roll. And there it was. I kissed her soft cheek and inhaled her sweet scent—apples, always apples.
Funny enough, Jules chose a quaint apple orchard in Connecticut for our wedding the autumn after I proposed. I would have married her that night, but it was important to Jules to plan a special celebration that the kids would feel part of. That was my Jules, always putting our kids first.
Mama Bear.
Our closest friends and family were there to witness our union and hear us recite our own handwritten vows. And no surprise, Jules’ blew mine out of the water. I was so choked up I could barely speak, watching my kids, hand in hand, walk Jules down the aisle in a white dress that I swore to God was made for an angel, holding a bouquet of her favorite orchids. My words got stuck at the knot in the back of my throat, and I might have forgotten a line or two. Yet Jules didn’t seem to mind. Her beautiful face was streaming with happy tears the entire time, and before I could finish asking, “Who loves ya?” and before the minister got a chance to do his power invested in me thing, she was in my arms, up on her toes, kissing me. So I guess I did all right.
Max and Finn’s perfectly synchronized (and rehearsed) shouts from beside us were the icing on the cake. “We do, we do, to the moon and back!”
(Selfie high five)
Those three simple words were always a staple in our house, but after the hell we survived, we learned that there should never be a limit on how often you told someone you loved them. So now we used them any chance we got.
As promised, the day after our wedding, we took that kick ass family vacation. Jules was in charge of destination and itinerary. We could have camped in Central Park for all I cared, as long as we were together. But a staycation wasn’t exactly my wife’s vision. I learned quick, real quick, not to mess with my woman’s vision. So a trip out West was the only logical choice, given that my roots were darkening up, and depriving the kids of the giant pandas qualified as a sin (her words, not mine). San Diego it was.
For the record, I thought our kids would turn out okay without laying eyes on Xiao Liwu (although hearing Finn try to pronounce that mouthful was priceless). Jules thought that was blasphemy. We agreed to disagree.
Turns out Mama Bear knew best. The zoo was a hit, my roots got the attention they deserved, and we discovered the best taquería north of the border. Not to mention the few nights Reina flew down to spoil the kids rotten, so Jules and I could slip away for some Temecula wine tasting. We never actually made it to a vineyard; in fact, we never left our suite and we never drank vino. My wife preferred her margaritas, and I preferred licking the lime cocktail from her salted skin. Talk about a win-win.
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