“Tell me they aren’t calling you in.” Molly looked irritated as wiped Logan’s mouth. She pulled him from his chair and shifted him from one hip to the other.
“No.” I replied, my mouth stuffed full with the amazing bread she’d made. I continued to devour it, texting back one handed. “Mac just had a question about a delivery of supplies.”
“That’s good, ‘cause we’re booked solid today. You’re getting measured for your tux at ten and then we’re tasting wedding cakes at one thirty.”
Eva belched loudly, and sliding my phone away, I picked up a burp cloth to wipe her messy cleft chin. She gave me a lopsided grin I’d seen in the mirror many times. I had a feeling I was going to need an arsenal to keep the boys away when she got to her teens.
I turned to Molly, who had her hand on her hip. She seemed to be waiting for an acknowledgement. “I don’t know why you can’t just make the cake. Your desserts are the best.”
“I’m not a pastry chef, Joe.” She responded, rocking Logan on her hip. “I want it to be pretty and taste good.”
I shrugged. She was being a fussy perfectionist, but when it came to our wedding, I couldn’t fault her. She deserved perfect and God knows we’d waited long enough that it may as well be right.
Still, she was fun to tease. “Why do you need me to taste cakes? You know a hell of a lot more about food than I do.”
“Because it’s our wedding.” Her churlish tone nearly made me laugh out loud. “Not my wedding.”
“You know what I like.” I leveled her with a lecherous gaze.
“Fine, you pervert.” She sounded completely Texan when she said it, drawing out the ‘I’ in the word fine. Logan let out the burp she’d been waiting for. She swiftly fastened him into the seat next to his sister. The moment she stepped back from his chair, I pulled her onto my lap. Her eyes still blazed, and she squirmed deliciously as if she had some hope of escaping my grasp.
“I’m just playin’, Molly.” She stopped struggling and shot me a reproachful glance. “Of course I’ll taste cakes with you. Hell, that’s the best part of planning a wedding.”
As soon as the words passed my lips, I wanted them back. My careless statement was an awkward reminder that we’d both done this wedding stuff once before. The results of both our previous unions had been disastrous, and we marinated in that truth for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“We’re gonna start the kids on squash today.” Molly announced, climbing off my lap and moving away from me in seamless transition. The careless way she switched gears made me more uncomfortable than if she’d blown up at me.
Molly vanished into the kitchen and set about pureeing organic squash. The twins had been trying different veggies for two weeks. Thus far, just like their mother they weren’t big fans of vegetables. To date, they only tolerated carrots. Molly was determined to find something healthy they’d get on board with. She returned with two small containers and spoons, sliding one set across the table to me.
“Remember when we used to try a new microbrew every week?” I asked, desperate to engage her in dialogue about us again. She huffed out a laugh in response.
“And then came home and made love in a different room...our own little beer and sex tour.” She responded with just the slightest hint of sentimental wistfulness.
I smiled, feeling nostalgic. “Austin Amber...in the walk-in closet. Pale Dog...”
“Doggy style on the roof.” She continued, for me, wryly. Logan made a sound that resembled a purr and she stuck out her tongue at him. “My, how times have changed.”
I felt my smile evaporate. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?” She barely glanced in my direction, as she scooped some of the yellow squash puree into the tiny spoon. “The craft beer or the spontaneous sex?”
“The freedom.” I replied, and found myself bracing for her response.
“Sometimes.” She shrugged without missing a beat. She turned and something on my face gave her pause. A tiny crease appeared between her wide, cool eyes. “What I really miss is having some place to go. The way people lined up to taste my creations. The way they reacted when they did.”
“You want to go back to work?” I was shocked, and there was no hiding it.
“Part of me is dyin’ to...but I can’t stand the thought of leaving them with a sitter. There is no way I would trade this time with them.” Her loving eyes were all over Logan’s face as she said it. “Especially since the trucks are doing so well.”
Molly’s food trucks were operating like well-oiled machines, largely due to her skilled staff. And thanks to her most trusted employees, Stacy and Sanchez, the New Orleans and Galveston staff had received the same meticulous training. Those locations were thriving, and Molly was turning enough of a profit from them that she would probably never have to cook another day in her life if she chose not to.
“Damn that Cosmo magazine. Made you think you could have it all, didn’t they?” I teased, watching her closely to gauge her response. She just rolled her eyes with an amused smile and gently kicked me.
“I do have it all...just in varying degrees. Wrapgasmic is running smoothly without me. When I drop by to do a random taste test, it’s just show and tell with the babies. David and Emmanuel’s franchises are making plenty of money.” She paused, and I saw her lips bow in a frown.
“But...” I inserted, reading her like a book.
She groaned. “But I miss it. I miss the creative outlet. I miss the adrenaline rush I used to get when we had a crowd. If I wasn’t so busy with wedding plans, I’m not sure what I’d do with myself.”
“Oh.” I managed, feeling like a piss poor fiancé for not knowing she’d been feeling that way.
Her eyes skated over me when she heard my less than eloquent response. “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I love being home with Eva and Logan, but sometimes I get really bored. I’m way too efficient at laundry and I have become far too invested in The Winchester brothers.”
“Who?” I asked, blinking at her blankly.
“Oh...it’s just this show...a freaky soap opera for people who like scary stories. I’ve been watching it for three hours a day every day of the week. I’m addicted. Next thing you know, I’ll be driving the twins around in a black Impala and sporting an anti-possession tattoo.”
“An anti-what?” I paused an inch from Eva’s mouth and she screeched her disapproval.
Molly waved a dismissive hand. “It’s not important. The reality is that going back to work wouldn’t be the same anyway, even if they could use me. The challenge just isn’t there anymore with Wrapgasmic. I’ve achieved my goal. They really don’t need me anymore, and I’m not willing to let a chef go just before the holidays, so that I can feel relevant again.”
I nodded thoughtfully, noting the unmistakable passion in her eyes when she spoke about her work.
“Sorry. I’m raving like a loon.” Her sheepish grin was endearing. “What brought that subject up anyway? Lost freedom? The wedding? Are you afraid you’ll marry me and I’ll make you give up dart league?”
“I think we should reconsider that honeymoon idea you keep shooting down.” I responded, and her smile dissipated instantly.
“Joe...” She started, shaking her head. She presented the spoon to our son whose mouth dropped open in anticipation. She fed him some squash which he promptly spit out with such exuberance that it spritzed Molly’s face. She blinked and scrunched up her nose, wiping her cheeks with a napkin.
I tossed down the spoon and container, and grabbing both sides of her chair, I pulled her toward me. She blinked up at me in astonishment as I took her squash splattered face in my hands.
“What?” I demanded, enjoying the way her heavily lidded eyes dropped to my lips and then trailed back up to meet mine. Her demure gesture was effortlessly seductive and spurred me onward. “Why can’t we take a week away?”
“A week!” She scowled and wrestled her luscious gaze from mine.
“I could take you to T
uscany. You said you’ve always wanted to eat your way through Italy.”
“Italy is way too far away.” She looked glum. “We can’t leave them for a whole week.”
“Six days, then. Come on, Baby Girl. You and me. Beer and the beach.” I saw the ghost of a smile haunting her bee stung lips. “They have topless beaches in Jamaica, or so I hear. How does that sound?”
“It sounds heavenly.” She exhaled loudly. I watched her eyes flit back and forth as if examining a complicated equation.
“But...”
“But there is no way I can be away from these two for that long. Not yet.”
“Yes, you can.” My voice was calm, coaxing. I hated to leave the kids just as much as she did, but I hated the thought of robbing her of a honeymoon for a second time. I wanted us to have a few days alone to celebrate each other...and I loathed the fact that I had to sell her on that notion.
The night before last had been our only night away from the twins since their birth and what a night that had been. Before that, Molly was willing to go to the movies or to dinner, but not both. Since the day she’d had to leave the hospital without them, she’d hovered over the two of them in a way that bordered on obsessive. When we were away from them for more than a couple of hours, she became jittery. Sometimes, she had to take something for anxiety before we even left the house. I was used to our roles being reversed, and I understood her fierce need to protect them. I’d been there myself not so long ago. I might have found the situation laughable, had the shift in her behavior not been so extreme.
Her separation anxiety was so disturbing that I spoke to my shrink, Dr. Greene about it. His sarcastic response was exactly the kind of thing I’d grown accustom to.
“Well...let’s see, Joe...she did have a rough delivery. Then she had to leave the hospital with them in the NICU. Either would have been traumatic, but add in the lack of sleep and trouble nursing...”
I nodded. “So it’s not something I should be worried about?”
He shrugged in response, brushing his floppy hair out of his face. “It’s understandable that you’re concerned. Honestly, her response to these events isn’t abnormal. Time and support is what she needs. Her priorities have changed and you’re both adapting from being a couple to a family. If you want some adult time with her, a gentle nudge might be more appropriate than forcing the issue.”
I’d ignored his advice, and it wasn’t a mistake I was in a hurry to make again.
Eva erupted in an angry shout, pulling me out of my reminiscence. Molly still stared at me, as if seriously contemplating my proposition of a tropical getaway. I decided to press on, in hopes that she’d see things my way for once.
“It’ll be good for us, babe. Eva and Lex will be fine.” I pulled her hand to my lips and tenderly kissed it. “We need some couple time. We deserve this.”
She searched my face for a long moment and though it was a struggle, I refused to yield.
“Five days.” She conceded, and a happy chuckle escaped me. When I leaned in to kiss her, she pressed two fingers to my lips, her expression serious. “And let’s go somewhere with direct flights to Austin, so we can come back in a hurry if we need to.”
“Wherever you like, little girl.” Our kisses were intermingled with my words. “The ‘where’ doesn’t matter to me one bit. It only matters that we go.”
THE CAKE SAMPLES were delicious, but I could actually feel my ass getting fatter the entire time we were sampling them. Joe and I immediately agreed that the lemon cream was our favorite. It was a light yellow cake with lemon curd layers and a perfect lemon buttercream icing. Joe cocked an eyebrow at the whimsical cake design I chose. He asked why I hadn’t picked the elegant fondant covered towers versus my small, three-tiered jaggedly frosted selection. I told him fondant was pretty, but it tasted gross and after all, cake was simply a delivery system for frosting anyway. Besides, I needed my buttercream!
Joe selected the Pennsylvania Dutch Chocolate (dark chocolate cake and fudge icing) for his groom’s cake. The actual design of his cake was top secret. Madeline, the head cake designer for Sweetish Hill Bakery, and I were the only ones who knew what it would look like. I giggled when I thought about how perfectly his carpenter-themed cake suited him. The first time Joe had asked me out was at Sweetish Hill, which was just down the block from his shop. When it was time to plan our wedding, we both agreed that including them was a no-brainer.
Days after the cake tasting, I continued to suffer from eater’s remorse. I’d been working my ass off-literally- to get fit for my gown. When I weighed in several days after our indulgence, I’d burst into hysterical tears. All of my squats and push-ups meant nothing; I’d gained two pounds. I cursed myself for wrecking my metabolism every time I’d pigged out during my pregnancy. I made a vow to myself to ramp up my workouts before my final fitting.
Just a few weeks before, I’d made a stab at tradition by dress shopping with the ladies in my family. It took less than an hour with Mom, Robin, and Granny to see I’d set myself up for failure. After what felt like a death march through three bridal stores, I was ready to shoot someone. Between Granny’s rude questions about whether I thought “wearing white would fool anyone” and Robin insisting I try on the Cinderella clear slippers, I was ready to elope again. A half a day of pulling on pounds of satin and chiffon had me near tears. I scared the poor sales girl by wadding up a particularly atrocious cathedral length gown and screaming into it.
“I need a break.” I explained, and she promptly brought me my very own bottle of champagne. Kicking back in my bra and slip, I didn’t bother with a glass. I pulled out my cell phone and called my best friend, Dan.
“Sweetie, never buy off the rack.” He drawled. “Not for something like this.”
“I don’t have time to have something made.” I sniffed, knowing my scramble for a gown was my own fault. I promised myself I wouldn’t be the shlumpy bride standing next to GQ Joe. I’d fantasized about being Mrs. Joe Jensen since I was in the eighth grade, and I didn’t plan to live that dream with breast milk leaking through my bodice. I’m no Kate Middleton, but this girl has some standards.
“I’ll be there tonight.” Dan snapped, his tone leaving no wiggle room for an argument. “And we’ll go see Peter in the morning.”
True to his word, Dan arrived with his three matching suitcases a few hours after our phone call. He gushed all over the twins, refusing to give Eva up until she fell asleep. On his way up from Galveston, he’d already spoken to Peter, his ‘friend of a friend’ at The Frock Shop. Peter’s boutique was incredibly upscale, and he’d been the one to provide the red gown I wore the first time I met Joe’s family. Dan explained that Peter would design my dress and his best seamstress would bump it to the top of her to-do list.
“Wow...you must have made quite an impression on him.” I cocked a suspicious eyebrow at Dan.
“Quite an impression on his memory foam mattress.” Dan drawled, and Joe snorted appreciatively. I rolled my eyes at the both of them.
Fueled on Starbucks, we left Joe at home with the twins as Dan dragged me out for round two the following morning. Fortunately, Peter surpassed all of my expectations. His very first sketch was my dream dress. A modified retro dress pattern adapted just for me. For the fabric, we chose champagne silk. Peter brought out actual antique lace he’d been saving for just the right occasion, and unable to maintain my dignity, I jumped to my feet and hugged him.
I’d been back to the shop for two fittings with his Asian seamstress, Mei. Though she shoved me around like I was a farm animal as she worked, when I left the shop, my face always hurt from smiling so much. My gown was going to be as perfect as my soon-to-be husband was.
All of Mei and Peter’s efforts would be in vain if I allowed myself to turn into a bloated train wreck in the ninth inning. So thirty minutes after Joe left for work, I set the DVR to record my show, and laced up my sneakers. I covered the twin’s faces as I spritzed them with sunscreen, packed the diaper bag,
and headed out for a long and vigorous walk.
Just as I cleared the last step with the double stroller, I heard my next door neighbor’s front door swing open. I felt my heart plummet, and braced myself for the onslaught on backhanded insults I was about to be barraged with.
“Hi!” Penny’s nasal tone pierced through my chipper mood like an icepick through a mylar balloon. I plastered on a phony grin and turned to her.
“Mornin’.” I replied, quickly turning back to arranged the babies’ blankets. I could feel frown lines forming on my face, and hoped she’d take the hint that I wasn’t in the mood for a neighborly chat. Frankly, when it came to Penny Madsen, I was never in the mood.
First of all, she was flawless. Sure, she was at least ten years older than me, but she was a fucking size two and her constantly absent husband had the money to pay for quarterly maintenance to her fine features. She made her high school daughters look like frumpy trolls, and she had an annoying habit of being outside in a bathing suit every time Joe went out to mow the lawn or work on the vehicles. When it grew too cold to tan, she wore skin tight yoga gear and had a knack for downward dogging in his general direction. She’d wander over to the fence to be neighborly, giggling at everything he said. Not to sound like a psycho, but I could set my watch by her sudden appearance at the fence with a cool glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. Joe’d tip his hat to her and accept her offering. She’d smile that overly white grin of hers and toss those long princess locks with perky exuberance.
I loathed her.
My distaste for my neighbor wasn’t all about her obvious infatuation with my fiancé. That kind of situation was the norm. Joe was hot. He attracted women like a picnic attracted ants. My dislike came from Penny’s natural talent for making me feel inferior about everything regarding my babies. That made me want to run the other way.
Let’s face it. There is no more judged person than a new mother. It starts with the appearance of the baby bump. That undisguisable sign that you’ve been “blessed” with a child...aka that you’re a hussy that obviously “gave it up”. Perfect strangers feel entitled to put their hands on you, since you obviously are fair game. Then the horror stories about delivery spill out of their smiling lips. I was in labor for 48 hours...in a blizzard...uphill...both ways. If sleeping wasn’t a problem already, those well-meaning war stories were sure to keep you awake.
Heartwood Page 3
