by Pandora Pine
“If you don’t vote for yourself, no one else will.” The teenager beamed with pride.
“Cut out my backbone and flatten me out, accompanied by an illustration of a turkey holding its wings over its eyes.” Ronan held the ballot up for everyone to see. He wondered who the artist was, since he didn’t recognize the handwriting.
“Flat-bopping.” Ronan laughed. This was getting ridiculous. The writing looked like Cole’s.
“Fart-stopping.” That was Fitzgibbon’s messy scrawl.
“Art-whopping!” In Cassie’s elegant hand.
“Splash-shopping.” Tennyson’s vote
“And lastly, the Bobby Flay way, because one of us can’t spell worth a damn. It’s unanimous, Greeley wins.”
Greeley’s mouth hung open. He took a deep breath, looking like he was about to make a speech and promptly burst into tears.
Ronan felt himself getting a little emotional too. If anyone deserved to sail away from Boston for a little fun in the sun after all he’d been through, it was Greeley Fitzgibbon.
36
Tennyson
Since the contest had really been more of a massacre, everyone chipped in to help with the dishes. Laurel had reached the end of her endurance after her turkey cupcake, so Cole had packed her and his leftovers up and they’d headed home. Greeley was so excited to start researching Bermuda with Kaye, that they’d headed out shortly after that, with Fitzgibbon promising to make gobbler sandwiches later on. Jude had said his goodbyes minutes later when all three babies exploded in their pants and started laughing hysterically at each other.
“That’s our cue to leave too!” Tennyson started looking around in the fridge for the bag of leftovers with their name on it.
“Oh no, Mr. Moms. Hold it right there.” Truman stood in the kitchen door holding a laughing Bertha out in front of him. “The two of you have your appointment with the surrogacy service in twelve days. Carson and I have been looking for an opportunity to speak with you about that and I think this is the perfect moment.”
“Ah, Truman, I don’t know how to say this in a way that won’t hurt your feelings, but your daughter smells like something crawled up her butt and died.”
Truman raised an eyebrow. “Oh, and I suppose your sainted daughter is going to shit vanilla?”
Tennyson let a strangled giggle escape his lips. “I was thinking raspberry or maybe even lavender.”
“Someone take the baby before I start cracking skulls!” Truman’s voice brooked no argument.
Ronan swallowed so hard his throat clicked, but he stepped forward. With his arms stretched out as far as they would reach, he took the baby from a suddenly militant Truman.
“Looks like we got here just in time, Erin!” Bertha Craig cackled.
“Front row seats!” Erin O’Mara agreed.
“Sweet, merciful Christ, baby Bertha, what did you eat?” Ronan gagged.
“The same thing you ate, Ronan. People food.” Truman laughed. “Lesson number one, baby shit changes dramatically when they switch from formula and baby food to real human food.”
“I brought pajamas for all three of them and…” Carson stopped short when he caught sight of Ronan holding Bertha and gagging. “Hi, Mom. Hi, Erin.”
Both women were laughing too hard to speak. They waved instead.
“Are you gonna stand there and watch, Nostradamus, or are you going to help me?” Ronan dry heaved again.
“I’m not sure I know what to do. Carson, can we use a lifeline here?” Baby Bertha was still laughing like she’d heard the funniest joke ever. Tennyson had no idea where to start with the baby.
“You’re going to give Bertha a bath in the sink. What do you think the first thing the person not holding the baby should do?” Carson was biting his bottom lip.
Tennyson had no clue. They were going to bathe the baby. Baths required water. Aha! That was it. “Turn on the water and find a temperature that’s safe for her skin.” That seemed like a safe bet.
“Perfect. Now Ronan, since you’re holding the baby, what do you think you should do?” Carson had taken on a school teacher tone.
“Keep breathing through my mouth so I don’t barf on your baby.” Ronan deadpanned.
“Breathing is good, since you’re holding my child.” Carson rolled his eyes. “Since Bertha’s still dressed why don’t you try taking off her dress and tights.”
“What I would give to have Handsome take off my dress and tights,” Bertha Craig sighed.
Erin laughed. “You realize that’s my son your sighing over.”
“Hell, yeah!” Bertha laughed.
Ronan sat the baby on the counter and undid the snaps on the back of her dress. He started to work the white and red material up toward her head when he gagged again.
“Jesus, Ronan, what now?” Tennyson had his left elbow under the faucet testing the water temperature. It was warm on his arm, but not hot.
“It’s all up her back.” Ronan’s voice was weak. “The shit is all over my hand and it’s still warm.” He held up his hand to show Tennyson. He gagged again.
Ten gagged too.
“Shit! I wish we had popcorn!” Bertha cackled. “This is priceless!”
“You just said shit!” Erin was laughing so hard she was gasping for breath.
Ronan finally got the little dress over baby Bertha’s head. “Ten, I’m gonna hold her up. You peel down the tights.”
“Uh, Ronan. It’s in her tights. What if it leaks out onto the counter?”
“Maybe you should hold her over the sink, Tenny?” Bertha suggested between fits of the giggles.
“Hey! No fair helping, Mom!” Carson called out.
“Carson, you have to give them some help! I’ve got two other grandbabies in the other room rolling around in their own shit. If Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumber keep up at this pace, it’s gonna fossilize. Do you want that?”
“I guess not,” Carson grumped.
“Hold her over the sink and I’ll try to get her tights off,” Ten suggested. He was going to have a long talk with Carson later about friends letting friends twist in the wind.
Ronan held the baby over the sink and Tennyson managed to pull her tights off. He held them up. “What do I do with them?”
“I think we should burn them in the backyard,” Ten suggested.
“Here.” Truman held open a plastic grocery bag. “We’ll put all of the soiled clothes in here and I’ll take care of them when everyone is clean. Next is her diaper. Keep her over the sink for that too. Take a breath over your shoulder before you open it.” Truman patted Ronan’s shoulder and backed away.
“Okay, Ten. Do it,” Ronan urged.
Ten peeled back the tabs and caught the diaper as it came off. He’d swear it weighed five pounds. “Holy shit, honey! No wonder this thing overflowed!” Ten gagged again. He rolled the diaper up the way he’d seen Carson do a million times in the last few months and used the fastenings to secure it shut.
“Now you can hose off her little bum and wash her off. See the purple bottle? That’s her soap. Here’s a washcloth.” Carson set a pink cloth next to Ronan. He also set pink footie pajamas and a fresh diaper nearby along with a fuzzy octopus towel.
“Oh, man. I didn’t realize babies needed so much stuff.” Ronan held the wet baby while Ten reached for the soap and cloth.
“That’s why we wanted to have this talk with you. It’s so exciting to talk about picking out a redheaded surrogate and getting pregnant, but there’s so much more that comes after that we weren’t prepared for.”
“I’m guessing you’re not talking about baby showers and midnight feedings either.” Ronan asked.
Tennyson saw that the baby was clean and soap-free. He grabbed the octopus towel and held it out for the wet baby. “We’re ready for number two.”
Ronan gagged again. “Can we can it with the baby shit jokes?”
“I meant baby number two. I had no idea a human being could turn that shade of green, babe.” Ronan
was going to need some TLC later, once they escaped this fresh hell.
“What’s Handsome gonna do when his little miss shits her britches like this?” Bertha asked.
“Jesus, Bertha.” Ten shook his head and rubbed the towel over the baby’s downy head to dry her hair.
“What’s she saying?” Ronan asked curiously.
Ten snorted. “She wants to know what you’re going to do when our baby shits her britches like this?”
Ronan laughed. “I imagine I’ll think it’s the cutest shit ever. I’ll take pictures of it. Call up Fitzgibbon so he can come over and see it. Then, I’ll get you to change her.” He batted his eyes at Tennyson.
“Is it too late for an annulment?” Ten rolled his eyes.
“Okay, Ten, you’re up!” Truman held Brian out to him, while Carson scooped Bertha out of his arms.
“You remember the night when they all got the puking bug?” Truman asked.
Carson nodded. He sat down at the bar with Bertha and got her ready for her diaper. “It was like 7pm on a Friday night. One minute they were all fine, playing on the floor with each other and us. The next minute, they were all erupting like Vesuvius and screeching.” Carson shook his head as if he was trying to shake free of the memory. “I remember freezing. I had no idea what to do in that moment. My babies were all sick and I couldn’t move.”
“What was worse was I remember being pissed at Carson. The kids were all sick and screaming their heads off and he was frozen like a deer in the headlights. I screamed at him. Something awful like, ‘Are you gonna do something or stand there and watch our kids die, asshole?’ I’ll regret saying that for the rest of my life.”
Carson zipped up Bertha’s footie pajamas and cuddled her against his chest. “Yeah, that was pretty bad, but it snapped me out of my trance. I grabbed Bertha and Stephanie and raced upstairs with them. I figured if they were throwing up, they’d be doing this soon too.” He pointed in the direction of the loaded diaper Ten was peeling off of Brian. “The best place for them was our giant bathtub.”
“They ended up spiking fevers and we couldn’t get a hold of our pediatrician. It was the worst night of our lives,” Truman chimed in. “I called you the next morning to see if you could stop by at lunchtime.”
“I remember that,” Ronan said, taking a wet and now clean Brian from Tennyson. “That started our baby lunch dates, where I’d bring you lunch and play with the babies and you’d take a nap.”
“That’s another thing I wanted to warn you about, Ten,” Carson said. “Our gifts dull down the more tired we are. There are days when I’m dragging so bad that Mom has to wake my ass up when I doze off in the reading room. This parenthood thing is truly exhausting.” His bloodshot eyes told the tale.
“Being a parent is never easy, Carson, but at least you have Truman. He’s a true partner.” Bertha smiled at her son.
“That’s really sweet, Mom.” Carson turned to his husband. “Mom called you a true partner.”
“Thanks, Bertha. I have a true partner too; thanks to the way you raised your son. I can never thank you enough for that.” Truman’s eyes started getting misty.
“Okay, enough of this Days of our Lives bullshit. Let’s get back to the juicy stuff. When’s Ronan gonna donate his spunk? I want to be there for that!”
“MOM!” Carson’s face turned beet-red.
Tennyson burst out laughing.
“What? What did Bertha say? She wants to be the one to give me a bath, right? She wants to wash my tushy and rinse me off, right?” Ronan was all smiles.
Tennyson was torn. Did he tell his husband the truth or did he lie straight to his face? “Yup, you got it exactly, Ronan! There was also mentioning of powdering dat ass.”
“I knew it. Bertha, you dirty girl.” Ronan winked in her general direction.
“I’ll get you for this, Tennyson.” Bertha crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at him.
“Go kiss our daughter goodnight, would you? Don’t you have better things to do than flirt with my husband?” Ten blew a wet kiss in her direction. “Erin, try to keep her on the straight and narrow, would you?” Ten pleaded.
“Try and stop Hurricane Bertha? Not on your life. Tell my boy I love him. I’ll see you both tomorrow.” Erin waved.
“Toodles, boys!” Bertha was gone.
“Okay, I need a minute before we tackle Stephanie.” Ronan fanned his face and ran toward the bathroom.
“Okay, liar, liar, pants on fire,” Truman laughed. “What did my mother-in-law really say? The two of you turned redder than a Fourth of July lobster.”
Carson leaned over and whispered in his ear.
“You’re shitting me?” Truman burst out laughing.
Carson shook his head. “Not shitting you.”
Truman turned to Tennyson.
“I shit you not!” Ten agreed. He’d take that secret to his grave.
37
Ronan
The next day found Ronan driving back down I-93 South toward Cambridge. He didn’t know how he’d gotten talked into doing this little favor. It must have been the product of his sex addled brain.
“I hate Cambridge. Fucking yuppies. Fucking earth-crunchy college students thinking they can change the world,” Ronan grumbled.
“Who the hell pissed in your Cheerios?” Ten asked from the passenger seat of the Mustang.
“You!” Ronan growled.
“Me?” Ten half-screeched. “I was the one sucking your dick in the shower! Jesus, I’ve still got the tile imprints in my knees for God’s sake.”
Ronan smashed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. “You did that to trick me into driving to Cambridge to pick up Jude Fucking Law!”
Tennyson started to laugh. “Ah, don’t you mean Jude fucking Byrne?”
“No! The only way I can get through this is to imagine it’s Jude Law we’re picking up.” There was a faint smile in Ronan’s tone.
“I have no words for that.” Ten shook his head. “The Talented Mr. Ripley, Jude Law or Sherlock Holmes, Jude Law? Because that Holmes toupee sucked...” Ten trailed off.
“You’re not helping.” Ronan felt his lips curl into a snarl.
“Why are you so pissy? We’re going to Cambridge, not Cedar Junction. You make it sound like we’ve got to drive an hour out of our way or something.”
“You know Jude rubs me wrong.” Rubs him wrong was an understatement. He’d been okay to hang out with yesterday, until his comment about Jennifer Hutchins being a good mother. That wiped out any good will helping to prepare the Thanksgiving meal had earned the genius dick.
“I thought the two of you were besties now after you peeled and chopped root vegetables together. Hell, I thought the next step for the two of you would be making friendship bracelets and braiding each other’s hair at a sleepover.”
“Ten, he thinks Jennifer Hutchins is mother of the year. I just can’t wrap my head around that.” He couldn’t get his gut to stop churning over the mere thought of that notion.
“Explain to me why that offends you so much. Calmly, though. I can see that vein starting to pop in your forehead. I’m not in the mood for a side trip to Mass General to get you treated for an aneurism.”
Ronan took a deep breath. “One son brutally killed a woman and let his brother take the rap for it. Where was Mother of the Year in all of this?”
“Stuck in the middle, I’d say. Probably a common spot for her.”
“What do you mean?” Ronan challenged.
“One son brutally killed a woman, but which one? What if she doesn’t know either? It would be one thing if she was covering for the real killer, but what a helpless feeling it must be if she doesn’t know who killed Lorraine McAlpin either.” Ten set a hand on Ronan’s knee.
Ronan was silent, chewing on Tennyson’s words. He couldn’t help thinking about Carson and Truman’s kids. He knew they loved those babies equally. What would they do if one of them was accused of committing a crime? How would they side
with one child over another? “Yeah,” Ronan muttered.
It wasn’t that he didn’t see where Tennyson was coming from, it was that they were pulling down Jude’s street. He didn’t want to have this conversation with Jude in the car.
“There he is.” Ten pointed to Papi’s, a Dominican Restaurant. Jude was standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance. He was dressed in a leather bomber jacket and was rocking worn jeans and Ray-Bans. “Of course, he looks like something out of fucking Top Gun.”
“You’re just pissed because he makes a better Maverick than you.” Ten rolled his eyes and unbuckled his seatbelt. He hopped out of the car when Ronan put it in park.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take my Thunderbird? It has four doors.” Jude pointed down the street to where the car was parked.
Ronan had half a mind to drive off and leave the annoying man standing on the sidewalk with his dick in his hand, but that would also mean leaving Tennyson. He knew damn well if he did that, there would be no repeat of this morning’s bitchin’ shower scene for long time to come, leaving him with his dick in his hand. “Shut up and get in, Cinderella. If you don’t like the ride, you can take your own pumpkin coach.”
“Christ O’Mara, did the bluebird of unhappiness shit in your eye this morning?” Jude climbed into the backseat.
“We’re going to ruin this family, Byrne,” Ronan muttered. “Pardon the fuck out of me if I’m not giddy about it.”
“What do you mean we’re going to ruin this family? I don’t know what kind of fairy tale world you live in, Ronan, but the family is in shreds.” Jude met Ronan’s angry eyes in the rearview mirror.
“What do you mean?” Ten turned around so he could see Jude.
“I know how much you love your husband, Tennyson. Only God knows why, but you do. If you were in the Hutchins’ situation with your husband and Ronan’s twin brother’s DNA was found at a murder scene, how could your relationship with him ever be the same again?”
“I thought Michelle Hutchins said Tim was home with her the night of the murder?” Ronan sounded confused.
“She did,” Jude agreed. “One of the first things Hicks had me do when I took this job was to sit on the Hutchins’ home. I shadowed the house and the family for weeks. They don’t share the same bed. They fight all the time and they don’t do anything together. If the kids have an event, like a ball game, only one parent goes. They’re holding on by a thread. According to my sources, their marriage wasn’t like this before Lorraine McAlpin was murdered.”
