Open & Honest (Sometimes) (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 3)

by Linda Cassidy Lewis

  I stare in horror at an infant being dropped into a pool. An underwater camera shows her paddling furiously, her eyes saucer sized. I shove the phone away. “Don’t you dare. How could you even think about doing that?”

  “No,” he says, “it’s instinct. They actually swim. Isn’t that amazing?”

  “It’s barbaric. It’s child abuse.”

  He draws himself up as if I’ve personally insulted him. “It’s nothing of the kind.” He shakes his head as he walks back toward the office.

  See? That’s the kind of thing that scares me to death when I think of leaving him alone with Zak. He’s not taking our responsibilities seriously enough. I can’t blame him entirely. I mean, he didn’t get that huge infusion of bonding hormones at Zak’s birth like I did. Okay, they say men get some, but not like the mother does. By nature, we’re far more protective of our babies than their fathers are. So I have to be the primary caregiver.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  We’re in the office. Jeremy’s writing and I’m responding to email when Zak starts fussing. Acting against my first instinct, I don’t move. The fussing grows into a cry. Jeremy stops typing. I don’t have to look up from my keyboard to know he’s staring at me.

  “I hear him.”

  He pushes his chair back from the desk. “Do you want me to bring him to you?”

  “No. It’s not time.”

  “Not time for what?”

  “To feed him.”

  Jeremy stands. “Well, he needs something.”

  I close my laptop and swivel to face him. “He’s hungry.”

  Jeremy’s brow furrows. “So then, why—”

  “Dr. Eva says we—”

  “Dr. Eva tells you not to feed your starving son? That’s insane.”

  Jeremy starts toward the door. I jump up to block him. “He’s not starving, Jeremy. We have to get him on a schedule.”

  “We feed him when he’s hungry. That’s his schedule.” He grabs me by the shoulders and starts to back me out of his way, but a glance at my chest stops him. “You’re leaking.”

  Damn, I forgot to use the nursing pads. “That’s just automatic, it has nothing to do with sched—”

  “Your body automatically reacts to your son’s hunger so you can feed him, Chelsea. To hell with Dr. Eva’s schedule.”

  “He’ll adjust. Dr. Eva says it’s very important that we set boundaries now. Gabi’s made a big mistake by letting Marco and the twins dictate the rules. We need to fit Zak into our schedule, not change everything to—”

  “Stop!” Jeremy’s never looked so incredulous.

  “But Dr. Eva—”

  “Listen to our son, not Dr. fucking Eva. Either you feed him now, or I’m going to warm up a bottle.” He steps around me and heads to the nursery. I’m right on his heels.

  “Why do you discount everything—” The glare he shoots over his shoulder shuts my mouth.

  In the nursery, he points to the chair, silently commanding me to sit. He takes Zak from the crib and lays him in my arms. His sweet little face, red and wet with tears, shames me, and I tear up too. It takes a moment to calm him enough to get him to latch on.

  “I’m sorry, I only wanted …”

  “I know.” Jeremy squats beside the rocker. He wipes away my tears with his thumb and smiles at me. “But think about it, wife. We don’t eat on a strict schedule, so why should he?”

  Not waiting for an answer, Jeremy steps out of the nursery and closes the door.

  I look down at Zak. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Don’t hate me. I was only trying to do what I thought was best for you.” I wipe away a drop of milk running down his cheek. “If I can’t trust the experts, who can I trust?”

  He drinks himself into a milk coma and doesn’t even wake when I change his diaper. I put him back in his crib and tiptoe out. I try not to disturb Jeremy when I enter the office, but two seconds after I sit down at my desk, he turns to me.

  “She’s never raised a child,” he says, pointing to his computer screen.

  I turn to him. “What?”

  “Your Dr. Eva. She’s never given birth and never raised a child.”

  I know that, but I feign ignorance. “Well, that doesn’t mean she hasn’t—”

  “Hasn’t what? Done research? Watched YouTube videos perhaps?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What’s ridiculous is that you won’t trust your own instincts. Or mine.”

  I swivel back to my desk, struggling not to break down, but a sob breaks loose. He’s at my side immediately, pulling me up and into his arms.

  “Shh,” he says, stroking my hair. “There’s no harm done. If we just relax and do what comes naturally to us, we’ll do fine.”

  “But you … you didn’t … make a horrible mistake. I might have scarred him for life.”

  “Oh, love. You absolutely did not scar him. And I have no doubt that I will make mistakes.”

  I sniff and dry my eyes on his shirt. “Don’t tell my mom what I did, okay?”

  “Not a word.”

  Sometimes I hate Gabi. Well, not hate her. I could never do that. But I do envy her mothering skills. She has no trouble getting her babies to sleep. And the twins already sleep five or six straight hours at night. I’m lucky to get Zak to stay asleep for two, and that’s after the struggle to get him from the breast to the crib without waking him. We gave up on using the co-sleeper in the second week because none of us were getting any sleep that way. And it wasn’t just Jeremy’s snoring that woke Zak—he also woke when I rolled over or just shifted my pillow. But it’s been three weeks since we moved him into the nursery, and he’s still not sleeping well.

  Don’t get me wrong. I’m totally in love with my son. I adore every inch of him, his rosebud mouth, his sweet pink ears, his tiny fingernails. When I’m nursing him and he’s giving this little grunt of satisfaction, I feel like the most wonderful mother in the world. And the first time he looked at me and genuinely smiled, I was so happy I burst into tears. (I wonder if that confused him?) But why won’t he sleep at night like a normal human being?

  And I’m not complaining that Jeremy doesn’t take his turn, because he does. I express milk so he can feed Zak sometimes. And we’re both guilty of playing the your-turn game—you know, pretending you don’t hear the crying from the baby monitor, hoping the other parent will take up the slack. But I don’t do that often because I feel guilty when I steal sleep from Jeremy. He needs to work during the day. I’m still not back to work. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever write again. Or sleep through the night again. Or eat a full meal while it’s hot. Or have a conversation with no mention of leaky nipples or yucky diapers or colicky crying.

  Anyway.

  Tonight, Zak is down for round one, and though it’s only eight forty, Jeremy and I are exhausted.

  He’s yawning as I drop onto the bed beside him. “The nipper’s asleep?”

  “For the moment.”

  He rolls over toward me. A moment later, I feel a tentative hand on my hip. Crap. It’s been days since we had sex—not that we’re cleared for intercourse yet, but … you know.

  “Should we take advantage of the quiet?” he asks.

  Reluctantly, I turn to face him. In the moonlight, I see that his eyes are closed. “Sure,” I say. He grimaces. “Unless you’d rather sleep.” His face relaxes in obvious relief, and then his lips curve in a slight smile.

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he says, “but if you don’t mind, I would rather.”

  “Oh, God. Me too.”

  We kiss and happily roll away from each other. Such is newborn parenthood.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Ten days later, Gabi and I are sitting on the living room floor with our babies. She’s brought the twins to our house because Matt is having “big-boy time” with Marco. Jeremy was watching a soccer match, but as soon as he fell asleep on the sofa, I turned off the TV so we don’t have to compete with that noise. I’m chattering on about how cool it wi
ll be if Giana and Luca and Zak can go to the same preschool when I realize she’s not really contributing to the conversation. I stop talking and our eyes meet. She glances away. Instinct kicks in.

  “What’s up, Gabi?”

  She opens her mouth as if to answer but then just avoids my eye while she gnaws her bottom lip for a moment. “You know how Matt’s been working extra-long hours developing that new software?”

  I don’t remember what software she’s talking about, but I nod anyway.

  “Well … there’s a company that’s made an offer for it. A huge offer.”

  “That’s great,” I say, but her expression says otherwise. “Isn’t it?”

  She nods. “It’s a lot of money, for sure, and a great opportunity for him. And now with three kids …” She looks down at Luca, asleep at her breast.

  “Yeah, that’s got to be a relief. So why don’t you seem happy about it?”

  Conversation is put on hold when Giana wakes for her turn to be feed. Gabi lays one baby down and picks up the other, attaching her to the full breast. Jeremy starts snoring, and Zak reacts by fussing, so I pick him up and rock him. Gabi and I are lost together in motherhood for a few minutes. We’ve shared so much of our lives. We couldn’t be closer if we were blood sisters. I look up to see her watching me, her eyes welling up.

  “Ohmygod, Gabi, what’s wrong?”

  She sniffs. “You don’t know how much I’ve been dreading this.” She glances down at Giana and then takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “I have to tell you something, and it’s going to upset you, but please try to understand. Please.”

  My heart clenches and then starts pounding. I push back against all the horrible possibilities flooding my brain.

  “The company that wants to buy the rights to Matt’s software is in Dublin.”

  I nod.

  “They want him to work for them.”

  “That’s a long commute up to the Bay Area.”

  Gabi shakes her head. “I’m talking about Dublin, Ireland.”

  “No!”

  She wipes at her eyes, looking only at Giana. “Chels, please—”

  “You mean only for a short time, right? Just to get the software set up for them or something. That’s what you mean, don’t you? That’s what you mean, Gabi. Matt will go there for a couple of weeks. A month. It’s just him going, right?”

  She shakes her head again.

  I glance at Zak, at Luca, at Giana. “But we’re going to raise them together. That’s what we planned. That’s what we’ve always planned.”

  She bites her lip and more tears slip down her cheeks.

  I stare at her, frozen, barely breathing. “How long will you be there?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispers.

  “When are you going?”

  “I … I’m not sure yet. Matt’s leaving in two weeks. To arrange everything there.”

  “What did your mom say about this? She has to be furious you’re taking her grandchildren away.”

  “She was, but … she and David are putting their house on the market, so—”

  “Well, isn’t that just great.” I stand up. “She’s moving with you.” I start pacing, patting Zak on the back so hard he wakes. I sit, deliberately choosing a chair that faces away from Gabi, and prepare to nurse him. My milk lets down, and I watch his tiny mouth smile for a second before he latches on. I’m devastated. I glance at Gabi. She’s packing up her stuff.

  You’re acting like a child, Chelsea. “Please, don’t go home.”

  She pushes her diaper bag away. “This is just as hard for me, Chels.”

  “I know.” I move back to sit beside her on the floor.

  Her eyes plead for understanding. “Ireland’s not far from England. And travel’s easy from London to Dublin, so every time you guys visit Jeremy’s family, we’ll get together. You know?”

  I nod. We lean toward each other, our shoulders and heads touching as we hold our babies. Babies who will never have a chance to become as close as siblings. Our quiet sobs and sniffs compete with the sound of the baby’s sucking. This is the saddest afternoon of my life.

  Suddenly, Jeremy sits straight up, his eyes still closed. “I shall not be forced to wear a hat,” he declares. Then, still asleep, he lies back down.

  Tears still flowing, Gabi and I crack up. What a totally crazy afternoon.

  Later, when I come back inside from helping Gabi load the twins into her car, I put Zak down for his nap. Just as I return to the living room, Jeremy sits up, still sleepy-eyed, and stares at the blank TV screen. “I missed the end of the match.”

  I slump on the sofa beside him and grab his hand when he reaches for the remote. “I turned it off when you fell asleep.”

  “Right. Gabi was here.”

  “Yeah. Speaking of … why were you keeping a secret from me? And don’t even try to deny you knew about Matt’s job offer.”

  He glances at me sideways and threads his fingers through mine. “She asked me to let her tell you.”

  I open my mouth to speak but choke up instead. Jeremy lets go of my hand and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I know you’re upset,” he says, “but this is an excellent opportunity for Matt.”

  “But all of the plans Gabi and I made were for nothing. We never went into business together, we won’t be raising our kids together, we—”

  “Those were plans you made years ago.”

  I sit up straight, pulling away from him. “So you’re saying I’m being childish?”

  “No. But no one’s life goes completely to plan. Circumstances change and—”

  “Shit happens, right?”

  “Life happens. Gabi’s priorities changed when she got pregnant with Marco, you know that. She’s totally invested in motherhood. And marriage. You know that too. She doing what’s best for her family.”

  “And I’m just selfish, right?”

  “You’re sad. Reasonably so.” He pulls me close again. “This will be the first time since you were children that Gabi won’t be just minutes away. That’s a big loss for both of you. I felt the same when I left Ethan behind. But you and I are not the same people we were before we met. We’re not even the same people we were a year ago, and yet we’re still us. Life is like your beloved ocean, ebbing and flowing, always the same yet ever changing.”

  “That very poetic of you, but next time warn me when I’m headed for a riptide in this ocean of life.”

  He’s silent for a moment before he kisses the top of my head. “I’ll try.”

  ♥ ♥ ♥

  Miracle of miracles, Zak has slept six straight hours for the last ten nights. It’s like a sleep switch flipped on exactly six weeks after he was born. Yay! I feel like I’m coming back to life after post-birth zombiehood. Just in time for me to realize something’s up with Jeremy.

  I’m watching him through the window, talking on his phone again as he paces the patio. (I’m not eavesdropping.) He walks into the office a few minutes later. “What have you and your father been talking about all week?”

  He scoffs. “We haven’t been—”

  “Seriously? You’ve had at least two conversations a day. And don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled that you and your dad are getting along so well now. But what’s up with taking almost every one of those calls into another room or out to the patio? What did you need to talk privately about?”

  He shrugs. “Just … various things.”

  “Nothing important?”

  He avoids my eye as his jaw works. I can practically see the word no rolling around in his mouth. Twice it seems to almost make it past his lips before he finally looks at me and sighs. He drops hard into his chair and grasps the arms. I’m holding my breath.

  “Something important, yes.” He stands again and moves to the windows, staring out as the fingers of his right hand tap his thigh as though he’s typing out what he wants to say.

  Growing fear won’t let me wait any longer. “Is someone dying?”
>
  He turns. “What? No.”

  “Were you talking about us? Are you divorcing me?”

  His eyebrows shoot upward at the forbidden word, but then a ghost of a smile curves his lips. “Good God, no. I’m not divorcing you. Why does that always come to your mind?” He glances away and runs a hand through his hair. “But you’re right; I was talking to him about us. About our future.”

  “You’re stressing me out, Jeremy. Just tell me.”

  “Right.” He takes a deep breath. “I’ve had an employment offer.”

  “Wait, what? You haven’t even taken the exam yet.”

  “For this position, I wouldn’t need to.”

  “Oh. It’s not in law? But I thought you—”

  He shakes his head. “It is. In law, I mean. In corporate law.”

  When he reaches for me and pulls me into his arms, instinct warns me. Don’t listen, Chelsea. Don’t listen. Don’t—

  “I’ve had a generous offer,” he says quietly. “WPM has offered me my previous position, with full—”

  “No!” I push him away from me so hard he stumbles back against the window.

  “Chelsea, listen—”

  “No. Nope. Not moving to England.” I whirl away from him, starting toward the door, but he grabs my arm.

  “It’s hardly fair of you to—”

  “Fair?” I jerk my arm from his grasp. “How fair is it for you to ask me to give up my whole life? I don’t want to live in another country. I don’t want my child to live in another country.”

  “He’s my child too,” he shouts, eyes blazing. “And this is our life we’re discussing—or rather would be discussing if you weren’t acting unreasonable and selfish.”

  Selfish. My eyes sting and I turn away before tears form. “I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  “When will you want to? I shall record the date and time in my planner.”

  His sarcasm rips through me, unleashing fury that nearly blinds me as I face him again. “You’re welcome to take that job, Jeremy. London is where you belong. You never wanted to be a husband or father. Go back to your single life, Handsome One. Give all those stuck-up society bitches a thrill again.”

  He’s gone pale, staring at me. Frozen. Shut up, Chelsea. “I couldn’t care less what you do, but I will never move to England. I don’t want my son growing up to be some privileged snooty dreamer.”