It wasn’t your typical honeymoon. It was us.
And just when I thought my wife couldn’t top herself, Jules rocked my world yet again and left me speechless.
“I was the first Chiappetti to go to college, I was the first to not get married by twenty-five—why shouldn’t I be the first to leave New York? I see a pattern, here. Let’s go with it.”
And she did it in true Jules fashion. Bossy.
“Besides, winter kind of sucks. And I’d rather have more outdoor options to entertain the kids, keep them out of your hair while you’re studying. How long is a vascular fellowship?”
In the middle of an airport terminal, waiting to board, and pretending the hyper (healthy) kids playing hide and seek didn’t belong to us, my wife gave me the ultimate gift. My dream. She realigned the path that diverged years earlier and forever sealed the chronic abruption that was my life.
Instead of arguing, I tucked my beautiful wife into my side, swallowed the lump in my throat, and promised to return the favor. “As soon as we touch down, first call we make is your GYN. That IUD’s coming out, doll.”
Ten weeks later, we packed up a shit-ton of our stuff and moved our newly (as in peed on the stick that day) soon-to-be family of five across the country. Life was bliss.
“Give me my nephew, I need to get my cuddles in.” Mercedes grabbed Raff from my arms and situated him on her hip to kiss his chubby cheeks. “Honeybun, I’m just telling you now, I want one these as soon as I say I do.”
Jim was right next to her, but at that volume the whole block heard her announcement. And I didn’t think many missed the color drain from Jim’s face at the mention of kids. Her ring was hot off the press—no way he was on the same page. And honeybun, that wasn’t really supporting the whole tatted up motorcycle dude image he was going for. I felt for the guy. So not cool.
Jules tsked her sister and said, “Enjoy this time. Don’t rush your life away, Mercedes, you’re still so young.”
And she was. Luckily though, as far as I could tell, the finding herself phase had waned. Her hair was a variety of shades, but all brown, and there were fewer visible piercings.
“We’ve already picked out names. Bentley for a boy and Portia for a girl.”
Hold up, did she rattle off car names? I bit the inside of my cheek not to laugh, envisioning car insignias inked up and down her arms. Maybe she hadn’t quite found herself yet.
And here I thought deciding between Alonzo and Raffaele was difficult. Not that I had any say (and not that I cared either way). First Chiappetti grandson was getting Jules’ father or grandfather’s name, end of story. There was no way I was messing with that and risking a lightning strike, or worse, burning in hell to eternity.
“Oh good lord, seriously, sissy?” Selena, who barely ever said anything, and if not for the fact that she was CeCe’s clone, I might have questioned her heritage, chimed in.
All I kept thinking was that Jim needed a new name. Maybe Jet? Nah, Volkswagen didn’t fit the hefty price tag she was shooting for … Jag might work.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught CeCe praying to the rosary. Then both her hands went up, air was swatted back and forth, and a string of Italian spewed from her lips.
Everything stopped. Like magic. Two hundred eyes met hers.
“Let’s-a do the cake for mio nipote?”
Alonzo shook his head and asked, “Again, more-a cake?” My sentiment exactly. But we were overruled by the female masses bobbing their heads yes. “We a do da ices.”
Finn overheard Alonzo and flipped out, cheering, “Poppi, can we make lemon, pleeeeese?” He may have mastered the L sound, but he was still working the drag on the “e.”
Jules grinned at him. She loved that the kids called her father Poppi.
“Si, Finnegan, si, my boy. Any kinda for a you.”
This time I grinned. I loved that he was the only one that called Finn by his full name (probably not as much as Reina did).
Al definitely played favorites. Jules was appalled I thought that. But he was his first grandson—of course he played favorites. We agreed to disagree.
“You a do ices after, Alonzo. Light da candle. Come-a to Nonna, Raffaele.” My mother-in-law ripped Raff from Mercedes’ arms.
To say Mercedes was irked was putting it lightly.
The crowd erupted in a broken English rendition of Happy Birthday distracting us from the Mercedes/Jag, I mean Jim, storm-off and the roar of his motorcycle. Raff clapped along and smiled for the cameras. The kid was an expert at this point.
“Look at him, oh my God, Guy. He’s puckering his lips.” Jules acted shocked, like we didn’t create a brilliant child.
“Not his first time around the block,” I teased. “He’s no fool, the quicker he blows out his candle, the quicker he’s getting a face full of cake.”
Finn beat Raff to the punch, simultaneously blowing out the candle and screaming, “Ices now!”
“Come-a bambinos, we-a make ‘em inside.” Al waved his hand in the direction of the house. And just like the green duck book, all the kids lined up in a row and followed him.
I did the mental math of how many little hands were going to want to help and answered my own question of whether this was a disaster waiting to happen.
Jules’ father had made water ice with Max and Finn once before, and I vaguely remember the process of whipping up a batch taking no less than three hours.
Damn.
I high-signed Bryce whose kids were part of the herd, and Sam who was kid-less but suckered in anyway, and we all trudged inside. Bryce cracked the top of a beer for each of us, and we followed the hum of the kids’ chatter coming from the basement. Aunt Maria had another full kitchen down there. Again, don’t ask.
We weren’t halfway down the flight, and my father-in-law’s deep voice vibrated off the walls and into the stairwell.
Bryce was already silently pissing his pants, having experienced other family gatherings over the years. Sam, on the other hand, had what the … written all over his face.
Like clockwork, Alonzo bellowed again. “Fuckus! Fuckus on da ices.”
“Oh Jesus!” Jules’ huff came out fast and hard and her arm shot up to swat air. Then she burst into laughter.
The real laugh. Her only laugh. The one that has invaded my dreams every single night since our first lunch at the pizza joint. The one that made me open my eyes, step out from the darkness, and see the light.
My family was happy. My family was healthy. Ices could take until Christmas for all I cared. We had all the time in the world. Together.
9 months later…
“Shh, buddy, a few minutes longer. Daddy is almost done.” Lucca quietly spoke to Raffe, who was fidgeting all over the place. Uncle Lucca got credit for attempting to reason with an almost two-year-old. It was clear though, he had about ten seconds left of patience before he passed Raffe off to his darling girlfriend.
“Sorry,” I mouthed to Carly in advance. I felt bad that I was no help. I probably shouldn’t have even been here tonight. But there was no way in hell I would’ve missed Guy’s official acceptance dinner. He was asked to join a thriving San Diego vascular surgery practice as a partner and right from the get-go, no less. Totally unheard of, but the practice wanted to make him an offer that would be impossible to refuse. And that it was. Guy being Guy was humble and beyond appreciative; I, on the other hand, danced around the room like a loon. Guy deserved every ounce of recognition that went along with working his butt off for the last twenty-four months. I was so proud of him. And there was no way Finnigan Hunter wasn’t looking down on his son with a great big smile.
And to think, when we first arrived in San Diego, he fought me tooth and nail about applying to vascular surgery fellowships. It started with the possibility of getting into a program too far away from us. Then morphed into taking a financial loss since fellows got paid a penny more than residents. But that wasn’t an issue because both the Upper East Side apartment and my brownsto
ne had buyers, and I had practically fallen into a perfect per diem PICU position at Rady Children’s Hospital. Financially, we were set for a while.
Guy didn’t exactly see it that way. Aside from his machismo need to provide for us (as if he wasn’t the rock that held us together), it seemed he hadn’t forgotten the very small detail of how I came into possession of said brownstone. Okay, I could admit that if roles were reversed, I might have been hesitant to use a gift from Guy’s ex to help finance my own dream. But they weren’t, and it wasn’t like Guy had anything to be jealous over. “It’s just Lucca.” That argument fell short when I remembered Guy still didn’t really know Lucca. He knew what I had told him, but his only experience with my BFF (granted it was under tense circumstances) was far from stellar. And with everything that went down with Maya, there had been no time to remedy that last impression.
I immediately got on the phone and we had a surprise visitor that weekend. Poof! Two and a half days in Lucca’s company, any doubts or hidden jealousy Guy may have had vanished. And he easily slipped back into his relaxed laid-back self. “Dude, he’s a nice guy and all, but I have to ask, what’s with the hair gel?” As I predicted, it was beyond obvious what Lucca and I were. Family. Nothing more. But to drive the point home, I answered, “Just like I’m not going to tell Mercedes that 1980 Cyndi Lauper wants her hair back, I’m not going to tell Lucca he should retire the Elvis ‘do. Family accepts you for who you are, right?”
That weekend turned out to be one of my best ideas, ever. Our kids adopted an honorary uncle, my husband gained another friend he enjoyed shooting the shit with and teasing mercilessly, and the brother I never had realized his place in our life was secure. We never actually used the money from the brownstone (it was sitting untouched in an investment account to this day), but I was okay with that.
What I wasn’t okay with was Guy attempting to convince me that I shouldn’t work when I was pregnant. I may have lost my mind. For starters, I was one point one second pregnant at the time, and second, both kids were starting school full-time. The hospital was a hop, skip and jump (according to San Diego traffic patterns) from our Carmel Valley home, and I negotiated four-hour day shifts. Made absolutely no sense for me to stay home. Not to mention they needed a Dr. Paw’s program.
In the end, he lost the argument, which in my opinion wasn’t one to start with, and since there happened to be a last minute opening at the University of California San Diego (go figure, one of the incoming fellows opted to defer after she gave birth to a preemie) and Guy was their first choice (obviously), here we were two years later.
Thank God for circuitous paths.
Sure enough, Lucca plopped Raffe right on Carly’s lap, looking relieved. He dramatically wiped his brow and took a large swig of water while smirking at me. Ridiculous. I shook my head and from the corner of my eye caught Max and Finn on the edge of their seats. Reina was digging inside her bottomless pit. I hoped for the high fructose corn syrup lollipop to bide our time, but this was Nana. Luckily, matching grins told me Trader Joe’s fruit wraps were just as good.
“I’ll take him out,” Carly mouthed back, letting Raffe jump on her cream skirt with his dirty little loafers.
I cringed, but she held his hands and egged him on, not seeming to mind. And since I technically wasn’t supposed to be lifting Raffe anymore, and if Guy saw me he’d have a fit, I graciously accepted Carly’s offer to exit the quiet five-star restaurant with my son whose blabber had just increased in volume exponentially. (Backyard barbeque? Taco truck? That could have worked too).
Fortunately, the timing of Guy’s dinner coincided with the start of Lucca and Carly’s vacation. They had plans to drive the Pacific Coast Highway to San Francisco, where a little birdie may have spilled the beans and told me what was going down on the Golden Gate Bridge. And he thought I was the open book. He couldn’t keep a damn secret if he tried. The ring was freaking gorgeous, and Carly was going to flip. But it was his words that convinced me they were perfect together. “I finally get what you meant, Jules, when you told me you belonged with them. I belong with Carly. She is my home.”
Lucca found a gem that we adored to pieces. Besides stunning, Carly was an easygoing optimist with the coolest job ever. She was a super successful illustrator for children’s books, who was currently trying to twist my arm into writing a book starring a little boy growing up with special needs, his protective big sister, and terror little brother. Sounded like an awesome idea with one small hold-up. I’d never written a thing. Unless there was a hypothesis, it didn’t happen. And more importantly, I had the whole raising three kids under six and a newborn (that was due yesterday) time suck. Carly would understand, didn’t mean I wouldn’t wait to bust her bubble until after her engagement when she was distracted with all things wedding.
I rubbed my tightening abdomen and flinched, squinting my eyes just as Dr. So-and-so went on to say, “And now for the guest of honor and the reason we are all gathered here tonight. It is with my greatest pleasure to introduce to you Dr. Guy Hunter, our newest vascular surgeon and partner for San Diego Vascular Associates.”
“You okay?” Lucca whispered, picking up on my flinch.
My contractions had been all over the place the last few days, off and on, but nothing consistent. I glanced down at the second hand of my watch and started timing. Looking back up, Guy pinned me with concerned eyes. I kept my smile wide, no need to jump to any conclusions. Yet.
“I appreciate the gracious introduction, Stan. First off, I want to thank my wonderful family for encouraging me to follow my dream. I wouldn’t be here today without the support of my beautiful wife …”
I sucked in a sharp breath, Guy’s voice drifting away while my mind shifted to the increasing pain in my abdomen.
Seriously? Right now?
Couldn’t have been later when we weren’t in front of Guy’s new partners and all of their wives for the very first time with me in a muumuu and heels? Couldn’t have been when the kids were settled for the evening and we were cuddled in bed alone with a favorite movie playing? (Political biographies fell to the wayside when we could watch Netflix and chill).
Couldn’t have been not this very second?
Ugh.
Forty-seven minutes later, Tomassino Joseph Hunter made our family complete. Talk about an entrance. At least we made it to the hospital, maybe not to Labor and Delivery, but the ER vestibule counted, right? Whatever modicum of embarrassment I had disappeared the second they lay eight and a half pounds of pure joy in my arms.
There were certain moments in life that were indescribable. They took your breath away, branded your heart forever, and made every moment of life worth living a hundred times over. Some people searched their whole lives, waiting to experience one such moment. I’d been blessed with six. Bringing Gemma, Raffaele, and now Tomassino into the world, the first time Maxie called me Mommy JuJu, watching the love of my life fumble his wedding vows while knowing without a doubt I’d found my soulmate, and my Finny’s response when I asked him how he felt about me adopting him and Maxie. “I love you the mostest of everyone, so can I updopt you too?”
I sighed, basking in the glory of now, watching the people I loved most squabble over what nickname our newest addition should have. Our backyard was dripping with family celebrating our peanut’s baptism. On day seven of life.
Because why wait when your entire family made the cross-country trip to meet the bambino? Two birds, one stone, and all that. Okay, more like Guy and I had no energy to argue with Mama CeCe.
“Look at him, is there really a question? He’s a TJ.” Guy gestured to our newborn sleeping soundly in my arms.
I’d come a long way, but like I’d been with Raffe, I was hesitant to put Tomassino down, especially when he was napping. Cherishing the rise and fall of their little chests was the only way I felt comfortable. It wasn’t until Raffe was a crawling, non-napping hellion that I started to relax and stopped fearing the improbable. It was fair to say his
little brother was on par to be equally as spoiled. But I was okay with that.
Manners would come, as long as we had a lifetime together.
“Why cut sucha strong name? Tomassino è bello,” my father said.
Finn climbed up beside me on the patio sofa, righted his own glasses (heartbreakingly, he’d retired the neoprene band strap), patted his baby brother’s full head of hair, and said, “I like Cutie Toma.”
“When he’s five or six, we can’t call him Cutie Toma. That’s baby. Nicknames are ‘sposed to be forever.” My girl joined us with a solid point.
“Bet he’ll still be cute then,” Finn countered back, shrugging his little shoulders. No one could contest that.
“Cutie? Mio nipote is no baby orange.”
“A clementine, Papa.” I laughed, correcting him. My father seriously hated nicknames.
“I’d like to know what’s up with your daughter and nicknames ending in the “e” sound anyway?” Guy asked.
Oh my God, why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Tommy! That’s perfect! Maxie, Finny, Raffe, and Tommy.” I smiled on the inside, thinking Gemmy fit perfectly. Almost on cue, my smart pup rubbed against my leg. “Of course, Casey. Mommy would never forget you.” I leaned over a little to give him some love.
Looking back up I caught the tail end of Guy rolling his steely blues, before he announced, “For the record I’m naming our next dog.”
“Guy!” I huffed, annoyed. “Casey is sitting right here. We could never do that to him.”
“You’re right. No one said you couldn’t live forever with one eye and no bladder control.” He quickly tucked me against his side, careful not to wake Tommy. He captured my lips in a searing kiss, shutting me up before I could give my proper comeback (infuriating). I thought I heard Finn mutter, “Yuck” before I felt the space to my right empty. But I definitely heard Guy whisper against my mouth, grinning, “Who loves ya?”
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