I just smile and say, “I’m guessing a girl.”
She replies, “And you would be the winner.” Then she points to a straight line on the monitor and announces, “This is the baby’s vulva. There is approximately a .002 chance that this isn’t accurate and there’s really a penis in there somewhere.” For Elliot’s benefit, she adds, “Which if so, would be incredible tiny.”
Elliot doesn’t even react to her slight but just gazes at me with tears in his eyes. “Mimi, thank you. You’re making me a daughter.”
I choke up, too. His declaration is so heartfelt and touching that I don’t point out I’m making this child for both of us, not just him.
On the way home from the doctor’s appointment I announce, “I want watermelon.”
My husband points out, “It’s Halloween. I think it’s highly unlikely we’ll be able to find you watermelon.”
I command, “Let’s stop at the market and see what they have. When I say I want watermelon, what I mean is, get me watermelon. Understand?”
Elliot nods in confirmation of my desperation and blazes a path to the nearest Jewel, where in fact they don’t have any watermelon. What now? We search the aisles and come up with watermelon flavored Jell-O, yuck, watermelon flavored bubble gum, double yuck and watermelon flavored Jolly Ranchers, yum! With a bag in tow and the produce manager’s confirmation that fresh watermelon isn’t going to happen anytime soon, we go home so I can peruse the Internet. Certainly, someone, somewhere has to have something watermelon that will fit the bill.
I find a source for fresh watermelon in Central America and show it to Elliot. He calls the number, as he speaks Spanish and I do not. He discovers that while yes, they would be happy to ship watermelon to us; they have a minimum order of a full carton, which holds between 40-50 melons depending on the size. We’re talking two hundred and seventy-five dollars for the melon alone and about a thousand to ship it. Elliot doesn’t even ask me, he just places the order. He is getting so lucky later.
Renée and Laurent are bringing Camille and Finn over to our house tonight to trick-or-treat. In their neighborhood, they’d be lucky to hit three houses in an hour. The homes are way too far apart for a decent haul. Ginger and Jonathan, Muffy and Kevin and my parents have all decided to come as well. I make it clear it’s going to be potluck so I don’t have to do more than throw a cloth on the dining room table and pour a jar of processed cheese spread on tortilla chips. Nachos, I’ve been craving them almost as much as watermelon.
Ginger and Jonathan are the first to arrive. My sister throws herself into my arms and declares, we heard number three’s heartbeat! It’s softer and slower than baby one and two’s, so we’re not out of the woods. But she’s still alive.”
I burst into tears. “Baby three is a girl?”
Jonathan answers, “Baby one and three are both girls. Baby two is a boy.”
And with that announcement we all sit down for a moment of gratitude that Jonathan and Ginger’s little girl is a fighter.
Chapter 14
Camille is dressed up as a wedge of Brie cheese. I blame her father for this. Laurent is French and loves his fancy fromage. I assume she wanted a costume that would make her daddy proud. Laurent also brought a round of delicious smelling baked Brie with cranberries and walnuts which Ginger and I aren’t allowed to eat because Brie is one of the forbidden foods for pregnant women. It contains listeria bacteria. So does goat cheese. Something I didn’t know when I ate it at my wedding reception.
Finn is dressed as a baked potato, full on with shredded cheese in the form of orange felt and bacon bits masquerading as crumpled up brown construction paper. Now if they’d only brought stuffed baked potatoes as well as the Brie, I’d be pretty darn jazzed to see them.
My mom arrives toting her famous tuna and cashew casserole and my dad hauls in a case of Guinness. Muffy and Kevin bring a crudité platter with enough vegetables to keep me regular for the duration of my pregnancy, except they don’t bring any ranch dressing so I’m not interested.
While Renée and Laurent take their little ones out to trick or treat, the rest of us descend upon the food like starving castaways. By the time we break into the Halloween candy, I’m feeling quite content. Renée and Laurent have returned with enough candy to keep their children on a yearlong sugar high and we all settle into the living room to unwind from the festivities.
Elliot’s rubbing my bunion when he announces to one and all that his family will be joining us for Thanksgiving. Everyone but me is delighted to hear the news. I inquire, “Really? When did you find this out?”
He smiles sheepishly and replies, “A couple of days ago.”
In response, I remove Edith Bunker from his grasp to make it clear he is no longer allowed to touch me or my bump. Imagine, knowing this exciting news and keeping it from your wife until you can use her family as a buffer, dirt bag.
Renée senses the tension and immediately announces, “Let’s have Thanksgiving at our house this year! There’s plenty of room.” She immediately adds, “And Laurent and I would be delighted to have your parents stay with us, Elliot. We have a lovely guest suite that almost never gets used.”
I brighten at both ideas when my husband replies, “Thank you Renée, that’s very thoughtful. But I thought we could host the meal and of course my parents will be staying with us.” He stares straight into my eyes as he announces this. Then adds, “I’m sure Philippa will be delighted by your hospitality though.” That’s one ray of sunshine in the whole Fielding storm. Having Pip here will be a nice distraction.
My reaction to Elliot is to scoot as far away from him as possible while still sharing the same couch. He appears to be asserting some kind of husbandly dictate, so I counter, “Why don’t they stay with Renée and Laurent? After all they would be so much more comfortable there. And we can host Thanksgiving dinner.” Then I graciously offer, “And let’s have Pip here with us.”
Elliot smiles calmly and looks around the room at my family then replies, “No, I think they should stay with us. After all, they are my parents.”
Damn him and the horse he road in on. He’s making a show of letting me know we live in the same town with my family and therefor this is not an unreasonable request. In truth, it’s not an unreasonable request. If the earl and countess were normal people or just liked me for that matter, I’d be more than happy to have them in my home. But now I’m not only expected to house and feed them, I’m also expected to prepare a Thanksgiving feast for them. It’s enough to put me right off the Twix bar I’m munching on.
My mother pipes in with her two cents, “Meems, you make the turkey and your famous cranberry relish. I’ll make the green bean casserole and Jell-O mold.”
Renée adds, “Oh and let Laurent do the mashed potatoes and stuffing, you know what a great job he does with those!”
Laurent joins the conversation by adding, “Mimi, I’ll just need the giblets and neck once you remove them from the bird.” I throw up in my mouth a little at the thought. Those darn French do not have the proper respect for animal guts that they should, as in throwing them away. They like to chop them up and serve them to people. Note to self: avoid the stuffing.
Muffy suggests, “Kevin and I will bring a tossed salad,” then shoots a look at Ginger, who’s still looking a bit peeked and adds, “And Ginger, why don’t you bring the crescent rolls?”
Ginger, who normally loves to cook, and when not pregnant would have offered to make the whole feast complete with chestnut dressing, just smiles and replies, “Sounds good.”
I glare at Elliot like, “Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Mr. I’m gonna tell you how it’s going to be.” I’m not making this whole thing myself no matter what you say.
He merely nods his head and responds, “It sounds lovely. Thank you all.”
I manage to avoid my husband for the rest of the evening by handing out candy to trick-or-treaters and then tidying up after dinner. I’m glad I didn’t try to confront him sooner b
ecause after some consideration, I’ve decided to take this one on the chin and appear the proper and doting daughter-in-law. I’ll show Elliot I have what it takes to be a gracious hostess, even if it kills me, which it might.
Of course, I’m not taking this totally lying down. The next morning I get on the phone and call Richard to invite him to Thanksgiving, as well. That’ll show Elliot two can play at this game and in the future he’d be better off talking to me first. Then I call Renée to see if Richard can stay with her, totally forgetting that Philippa will be there. I don’t know what went down with the two of them at the wedding but I’m sure hoping to find out on turkey day.
Chapter 15
Elliot picks his parents and sister up at the airport two days before Thanksgiving. While he’s in route, I run around the house like the Energizer Bunny on crack. I clean everything until it sparkles and even replace the comforter in our bedroom, where Elliot’s parents will be staying. This way they have an attached bathroom which will offer them a bit more privacy. I’ve bought new towels, put out fresh bars of soap and have strategically positioned bouquets of flowers throughout. I’ve gone above and beyond. I am the epitome of the perfect daughter-in-law.
As the Fielding party won’t be arriving home until dinner, I have plenty of time to take a little snooze before putting the meatloaf in the oven and getting dinner on the table. So I lie down on the couch, snuggle under the afghan and proceed to fall asleep for an unprecedented three hour nap. I only awaken when I hear the front door open. At which point I’ve totally and completely entered the Twilight Zone and I’m still working out where I am not to mention who I am, when I see Elliot and his parents standing over me. Of course I have a trail of saliva hanging out of my mouth. Hurray.
Elliot smiles, “Did you have a nice nap, love?”
Dammit. I was going to have the fire and candles lit when they walked it. The house should be filled with the aroma of my Italian meat loaf and fresh bread. I’m supposed to be in one of my beautiful new maternity dresses from Pea in the Pod and instead I’m lying on the couch in old sweats, drooling. Cheers to me.
I manage to sit up and smile. “Oh dear, I must have slept longer that I thought.” Then confess, “I haven’t even put dinner on.”
Elliot comes to the rescue and offers to make reservations after he shows his parents to their room. I take the opportunity to run upstairs to change clothes and brush my hair and teeth. By the time they come down, the fire is lit and I graciously offer an aperitif.
Elliot announces our reservation is in an hour so we all settle in to chat for a while. Victoria manages, “You have a charming little house, Mimi.” Then to her son adds, “Don’t you think it’s about time to move into something more suitable, Elliot?”
I immediately take offense and am about to say something when I see the brazen face of Mrs. Mifflin, from next door, staring into the living room window. The earl sees her too and announces, “My goodness, you have a peeper.” Mrs. Mifflin runs off when we all turn to look at her.
I try to mitigate the scene by offering, “Elliot is a bit of a celebrity in our little neighborhood.”
The countess replies, “He’s a bit of a celebrity throughout the world, Mimi. But he shouldn’t be subjecting to being spied on in his own home.”
I don’t disagree. It’s gotten a bit much lately with all the lookiloos. A short bus from one of the senior homes pulled up last week and let the old folks get out to see where the one and only Elliot Fielding was living. We didn’t realize this until Elliot ventured out front to get the newspaper only to be applauded by twenty of Pipsy’s elder population. I know it’s time for us to find a new house so we can be settled by the time the baby arrives, but I can’t convince Blaine to show me something I’m comfortable with. He continues to drag me to one behemoth McMansion after another. The only place he’s shown me that I truly love is so far above our needs it’s ridiculous.
Elliot assures the countess, “Don’t worry, Mother, Mimi is hard at work finding us a new place.”
Victoria raises an eyebrow and suggests, “Why don’t I give you a hand while I’m here? I have a very good eye, you know.”
With the promise of help I don’t want, we head over to Renée’s to pick up Pip. By the time we get to the restaurant I’ve stopped participating in the conversation with Elliot’s parents in lieu of chatting with his sister.
Pip assures me she’s doing well and hasn’t had any ugly scenes whilst relaying messages to strangers. In fact one older woman took her to tea and thanked her profusely for the words from her departed husband. I assume the earl and countess pay Pip’s bills as her only job seems to be surprising strangers with news from the dead. I learn that she lives in the family townhome on Hans Place in the Knightsbridge area of London. This means absolutely nothing to me as I’ve never been outside of the U.S.
Pip says she has a lovely group of friends who understand her proclivity for approaching unknown persons with her messages. I discover she’s thirty-six and her beaus have been few and far between. There has been an overwhelming disregard for her gift amongst them. I feel dreadful for her and immediately feel worse that I haven’t told anyone about Richard yet. I only invited him to get even with Elliot. It didn’t even occur to me I’d be causing his sister any discomfort. As apparently Richard has made it clear that he too, doesn’t believe in her gift.
This is the right moment to clear the air, but I dread telling the Fielding siblings. I wait for a lull in conversation before announcing, “I have some news to share.” All eyes turn to me. I clear my throat before plastering on a vibrantly fake smile and announcing, “Richard Bingham has decided to join us for Thanksgiving. Isn’t that wonderful?”
The earl and his wife make all the appropriate sounds. Pip goes dead quiet and Elliot asks, “Really? How long have you known about this?”
Shamefacedly, I reply, “Just a couple of weeks.”
Elliot immediately realizes I did this in retaliation of his announcing his parents visit in front of my family. He’s not pleased. Yet he knows enough to keep his yap shut and carry on with dinner. Pip appears to lose her appetite entirely and I feel positively dreadful for my act of spite. It’s not like I’m not looking forward to seeing Richard. I adore him. But Elliot and Pip do not share the sentiment.
Chapter 16
I give up reading books about pregnancy after the dreaded mucus plug chapter. I now subscribe to a weekly email called Bun in the Oven to keep me posted on where my baby is in her development and what changes to expect in my body. Today, I’ve hit the twenty week mark and Mistress Sophie Fielding is a whopping six-and-a-half inches long and almost eleven ounces, which in no way justifies the fourteen pounds I’ve gained in the last five weeks. Dr. Fermin has warned me to quit the party and start eating like a normal human being again, which I will do as soon as Thanksgiving weekend is over, really.
Kevin is picking up Richard at the airport this morning and Elliot is speaking only the minimum number of words. It’s been a whole morning of ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ and ‘perhaps.’ Throw in a couple of grunts of acknowledgment and you have our conversations in a nut shell.
I finally approach Elliot in his office/our room (while his parents are here) and announce, “Elliot Fielding, there is no reason in this world to be mad at me for inviting Richard to Thanksgiving. I married you, not him.”
Elliot initially looks like he wants to yell but then seems to think twice as he pats his lap for me to take a seat. This is a good sign. I hop aboard and he rubs my back and then nibbles at my neck before declaring, “I know I shouldn’t be jealous of Richard. But I came a tad too close to losing you to him and he brings out my insecurities.”
I place Elliot’s hand on my rounded stomach and reply, “This is your little girl in here, Lord Fielding and don’t you forget it. Richard has been a very good friend to me and supported my decision in marrying you, so don’t you think it’s time to bury the hatchet?”
Holding me tight, my arrogant, w
onderful, sexy British husband agrees, “For you, I’ll do it.” Then he adds, “Just don’t get any ideas about matching him up with Pip. I may accept him as a family friend but I’m not yearning to have him in the family.”
I explain, “You have nothing to worry about there. Richard is very put out with your sister and I’m not quite sure why.”
That brings out my husband’s protective instincts and he demands, “Why in the world would he be piqued with Pip? She’ a lovely, sweet-natured girl and if you ask me Richard Bingham couldn’t do any better for himself.”
“Except he’s not allowed to entertain romantic thoughts about her,” I tease.
Elliot exclaims, “Absolutely not!”
I laugh, “No need to worry. After Pip’s message to Richard, he doesn’t want anything to do with her.”
My husband demands, “Why?”
“Because,” I explain, “he doesn’t believe her.”
“What? How dare he not believe her! Who does he think he is?”
I just smile and remind him, “You don’t believe her either, Elliot.”
He looks chagrined for a moment and tries to defend himself, “I don’t have to believe her, I’m family.”
“Do you realize how idiotic that sounds?”
Nodding his head, Elliot laughs, “Yes, yes I do. I just want to protect my sister from ridicule and judgement, that’s all.”
I suggest, “Then why don’t you lead by example and quit ridiculing and judging her yourself?”
Elliot agrees to give it a shot. I offer a gentle lingering kiss, promising a fun night ahead, if he behaves himself and announce, “I need to get into the kitchen and get the turkeys and cranberry sauce ready for tomorrow.”
“How many birds are you making?”
“Just two, one for us and one for the homeless shelter. Don’t forget, we need to be there by one with the food and we start serving dinner at one thirty.”
Elliot nods, “What time should I tell my parents we’ll be back for our celebration?”
Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2) Page 7
