My artsy sister and her husband have decided to go with the names of the artists they like best, which God help them, are Freda, Salvador and Moses (as in Grandma, not the one parting the sea.) I’m helpless to stop this. Firstly, because they’re not my kids and secondly, Ginger has gone through so much to get them and keep them, the last thing she needs is for some busybody up in her business. However, I will approach the kids, when they reach their teens and offer to take them to have their names legally changed.
I’m officially thirty-one weeks pregnant and as graceful as a drunken giraffe. I can’t see my feet anymore. I’ve recently gotten the dreaded hemorrhoids and I’m as continent as a potty-training toddler. My hands have started to swell so I can no longer wear my wedding set and I have acne. It’s like God’s saying, “Hey, since you’ve done your bit by continuing the race, you don’t need to be attractive anymore.” And I’m not, by anyone’s estimation. However, Elliot doesn’t seem to be looking too closely because he’s as amorous as ever, which is one thing I’m not complaining about.
I can no longer get into the bathtub comfortably because once in, I can’t get out. There’s got to be an easier way to bring life into the world. Whoever came up with this whole pregnancy thing for humans clearly didn’t consult the gender destined to grow aforementioned life. Why can’t we be like fish and just lay our eggs and be done with it? Even birds have it better than we do. While I’m sure it’s uncomfortable to lay an egg, it’s out relatively quick and then all they have to do it sit on it and the daddy birds can help. It’s not all up to the mama.
Abbie is keeping Ginger company at the hospital, Elliot is editing and Andrew is Andrewing, so I decide to drive to the mall and start buying baby things for Sophie. My first stop is Cinnabon where I consume my allotted daily calories and then some. While I’m licking the last little bit of icing off my fingers, I hear Fat Bottomed Girls start playing on my phone signaling a new text.
I pull out my Android and see a message from Abbie, sent to my whole family. Ginger is being prepped for her C-section and we’re all to meet at the hospital, stat!
I break into a cold sweat. This is it. Holy crap! I’m worried for my sister, worried for the babies and as excited as all get out at the same time. A text from Elliot comes right on the heels of Abbie’s. He says he’ll pick me up on his way.
I message him back to just meet me there. I appreciate his concern, but why go through all the hassle of having to retrieve my car later? So I heave myself up, stand in line to order another dozen sweet rolls, because we’re going to need something to occupy our time while we worry about Ginger, and then hightail it out to my Honda.
I’m the last one to arrive in the maternity waiting room. It looks like a chamber of caged animals. My parents are pacing back and forth, Muffy is twitching like she’s had six too many espressos, Kevin’s twiddling his thumbs like he’s trying to spin imaginary gold and Elliot looks like he’s about to be sick. The only calm in the whole storm appears to be Renée and Laurent who are quietly speaking to one another in the corner.
I walk in to a round of, “Meems!” I feel like Norm on that old sit-com, Cheers. My mother approaches me first and declares, “Sit down, honey. Have a rest.”
“Mom,” I remind her, “I’m okay. I’m not the one about to have her babies.” Then I pat my tummy and add, “Sophie’s in here for a few more weeks yet.”
My dad retrieves the box of Cinnabons from my hands and Elliot approaches me, “How are you holding up?”
I whisper, “I’m scared to death.” Then ask, “Why did they decide to take the babies today?”
Abbie overhears my question and answers, “Ginger’s blood pressure skyrocketed in a matter of twenty minutes. I’ve never seen people move so fast in my entire life.”
This is not good news. It means there will be additional risk to Ginger’s health. Crap. I ask, “How’s Jonathan holding up?”
My dad replies, “I’ve never seen him look so stressed, but he’s holding it together for your sister.”
Ever the voice of reason, Renée announces, “Come on every one, have a cinnamon roll and relax. Ginger’s in great hands and everything is going to be just fine.”
Her words work like magic and the room calms down almost immediately. Now all we can do is wait.
Chapter 32
One hour and twelve minutes later, Jonathan stumbles into the waiting room still wearing his scrubs. He looks totally wrung out, yet the smile on his face is the dead giveaway that he’s the bearer of good news.
With all eyes glued on him, he announces, “Everyone is doing great!” Once that proclamation is made, he seemingly wilts into an overstuffed chair and starts to cry. “Ginger is just amazing. She was so calm and relaxed through the whole thing.” His voice catches and he continues, “And the babies are all doing fine. Their heartbeats are strong, they’re pink as can be and I can assure you that three crying infants is quite a sound!”
My mom demands, “How much did they weigh?” Birth weight will play a big part in how long they’ll have to stay in the hospital. Statistically, babies weighing less than two pounds are looking at a much longer stay. This also greatly depends on lung development and their ability to feed.
Jonathan informs us that Freda weighed in at four pounds five ounces, Salvador at four pounds nine ounces and Moses (baby three) was four pounds two ounces; all-in-all amazing weights for triplets born at thirty-two weeks.
My dad’s eyes are tearing and he’s smiling, like the cat that ate the canary. He demands, “When can we see them? When can we see Ginger?”
Jonathan responds, “She’s in recovery and will be for about another hour. It’ll probably take that long to get the babies all checked out and ready to be seen. So why don’t you all head over to the cafeteria for lunch? I’ll meet you by the viewing window in the NICU in about an hour.”
Not that any of us are actually hungry after devouring our weight in Cinnabons but we all head to the cafeteria to give us something to do while we wait. We’re all hopped up on sugar, adrenaline and relief. It’s a heady combination.
By the time we meet Jonathan in the NICU, we’re a bit calmer, but not much. Jonathan signals for the nurse to open the curtain and we get our first glimpse at the new members of our clan. Words escape me. They’re perfect and precious and such a miracle that all I can do is thank God for them. It’s hard to believe baby number three (because I’m hard-pressed to call her Moses, yet) looks so strong and healthy after giving us all such cause for worry.
The family won’t be allowed in to touch them for a couple of days, although Ginger and Jonathan will spend the majority of their time with them. Jonathan is officially on leave for a month so he and Ginger will both have a great opportunity to bond with their children.
As we’re walking through the maternity ward, I realize I still haven’t made my appointment for a tour, which all moms delivering there are encouraged to do. I also haven’t taken a labor class yet. I’m torn between Lamaze and hypno-birth. The thought of being hypnotized into an easier delivery holds a lot of appeal, but there’s the side worry of clucking like a chicken through the whole thing.
Ginger looks positively radiant. She’s glowing and bright-eyed and has normal blood pressure once again. The doctors are keeping her in the hospital for a minimum of three days and then if all is well, she’ll be released. I don’t know how she’s going to be able to walk out of there without her kids, but she’s proven to be so strong, I’m sure she’ll do it with grace.
Renée is the first to hug her and demands to know, “Now that we know you’re healthy and on your way to recovery, we need to talk about these names.” Leave it to the oldest to address the elephant in the room in such a straight forward fashion.
“What about them?” Ginger asks innocently.
“What are we really supposed to call them? I’ve been trying to come up with acceptable nicknames but I’m drawing a blank.”
Jonathan comes to the rescue, “We’r
e actually planning on having them go by their middle names.” He looks at his wife and shares a mischievous smile before adding, “We want them each to have a strong and unique first name, but we don’t want them to feel hindered by them until they have a chance to grow into them.”
Muffy interrupts, “Well thank God for that! We’ve all been so traumatized by their first names, we haven’t even asked about middle names. What are they?”
Ginger announced, “Freda’s is Elaine, Salvador’s is Jonathan and Moses’ is Maureen, for Mom.” She smiles at our mother who grabs her hand for a meaningful squeeze. “So we’re going to call them, Ellie, Johnny and Mo.”
“Hallelujah!” I don’t realize I’ve said this out loud until every eye in the room turns to me. “What I mean is…”
I stumble wondering how to extricate myself from this obvious faux pas, when Kevin comes to the rescue. “What you mean is, hallelujah!” Everyone laughs and Ginger and Jonathan don’t appear to take any offense, so all is well.
The Finnegan mob prepares to leave in order to give Ginger and Jonathan some private time. We promise to come back tomorrow at scheduled intervals so as not to overwhelm them.
I wind up leaving my car in the hospital parking lot and driving home with Elliot. We don’t say anything on the way to the parking garage but once we get into the car, he grabs my hand and kisses it. “That’s going to be us in a few short weeks.”
I haven’t the words. I’m so totally flooded by emotion and all for my sister. I can’t imagine what it’s going to feel like when it is us.
Chapter 33
Pip arrives on the same day Richard calls to say he’s coming to Chicago on a business trip. Of course I invite him to stay with us without mentioning that Elliot’s sister is here as well. No sense in scaring him off. Although I like to think he manned up enough at Thanksgiving to handle it.
Andrew has finished Pip’s room and she declares it so perfect she may never leave, which suits me just fine. I find that I love living in a big house as long as it’s full. Bodies in motion have a way of making space feel useful, not indulgent.
Abigail’s still making most of our meals and while they’re truly delicious, they are entirely outside my scope of normal. Quinoa, kale, kohlrabi and hemp milk are now staples in our refrigerator. Thank goodness Milanos, Triscuits and colored mini marshmallows are in the pantry to balance out all the crazy health food.
Abbie chases me around the house with offerings of 12 raw almonds and goji berries for healthy snacks. She makes sure I have organic frozen blueberries at least once a day and has created a chia seed pudding that rivals my lifelong favorite, tapioca. She’s also replaced my Jif peanut butter with the freshly ground stuff from the co-op that would normally stick in my throat for a week. But she adds some honey to it and I find it totally addictive.
I’m starting to realize I’ve needed a nanny my whole life and I’m worried I won’t be able to share her with Sophie. I’ve gone from being a completely independent and self-sufficient adult to one who has a full staff and may need more. It’s like I’m devolving before my very eyes.
Abbie is giving Pip a rather wide berth which I’m sure has to do with her distaste for the aristocracy. Pip doesn’t realize it yet because she’s just settling in.
Over dinner of butternut squash linguini, fried sage and toasted pine nuts, Abbie is forced to speak to Elliot’s sister. “So, Philippa,” she starts, “are you in line for the throne, as well?”
Pip chokes on her water, “Good God, I don’t think it’ll ever come to that.”
My nanny eyes her curiously and asks, “You don’t want to be the queen?”
Pip laughs, “I’d rather be a mime in a nudist colony.”
Abbie spits out her hemp milk in laughter. “Now that’s a visual!”
Elliot rolls his eyes and says, “You’re very graphic, little sister. Stop it, so I can enjoy my meal.”
Pip giggles, “Truthfully, Abbie, can you imagine something as boring as being a royal? All that hand waving and dressing up only to have the press dissect you like you’re an insect. No thank you! I’d rather have to put up with the oddities of my own life.”
Abbie inquires, “How strange can your life possibly be? I mean, look at you. You look like a royal even if you claim not to be one.”
My sister-in-law responds, “Elliot, I’m about to tell Abigail how odd I am. Do you want to leave the room?”
I shoot my husband a look that says, don’t you dare move a muscle. Sit still and support your sister.
Elliot smiles indulgently at Pip and replies, “By all means, tell her.”
Pip raises her eyebrows in surprise and turns to Abbie, “Your little sister Katie would like you to know, you were always her favorite.”
My nanny’s fork stops mid-way to her mouth. “Excuse me? What did you just say?”
Pip adds, “She says to tell you she particularly loved turning hay bales into a summer swim pool.”
Abbie’s eyes start to dart around the table nervously. She eventually manages, “How can you know about that? I haven’t even told Mimi anything about Katie.”
Philippa smiles and gently takes Abbie’s hand. She continues, “She says you blame yourself for her death and that’s ridiculous. She knew she wasn’t supposed to sneak out of the house and it was her own fault.”
Abbie deflates before our very eyes. One moment she’s a self-assured young woman bent on suspicion and the next she’s transformed into a grieving little girl.
I reach out and touch her arm, “Do you want me and Elliot to leave?”
Abbie shakes her head, “No, you don’t have to go.” Then to Pip, she asks, “You can hear Katie?” When Elliot’s sister nods, she continues, “Can you ask her if she’s happy?”
Philippa responds, “She’s very happy. She didn’t want to leave form so young but wants you to know she’s having a very nice life in the next dimension.”
After an emotional hiccup, Abigail asks, “Ask her if it’s like the heaven we used to talk about.”
Pip answers, “She says it is, only so much more. She’s not allowed to give you particulars, but wants you to know your thinking is on the right track.”
Abbie asks, “And what about Mom and Dad, are they on track too?”
“She says yes. She wants you to start doing those same things in your own life.”
“But how?” Abbie demands. “I don’t have my own house or land. How can I do that?”
Pip looks to me and then to Elliot before answering, “She wants you to do them where you are now. Elliot and Mimi will have no objections.”
If my attention wasn’t captured before, it certainly is now. I inquire, “What won’t we have any objection to?” Elliot seems to be as curious as I am.
My sister-in-law explains, “Katie would like Abbie to start a garden and get some chickens.”
“Really?” I look to Elliot. “I have no objections, how about you?”
My husband smiles, “I don’t see why not. I love eggs and I’m certainly a fan of fresh vegetables.” He thinks for a moment and adds, “We haven’t hired a gardener yet, what with snow still on the ground, but we can make sure whoever we hire will help you till the soil and do whatever else you need.”
Abbie’s smile transforms her face. “Thank you very much, Elliot.” Then she looks to me, “And Mimi. You’ve both been incredibly welcoming. Like my very own family.”
Pip adds, “Katie would like you to tell your parents that she’s okay and she’s very sorry for disobeying them by sneaking out.”
Abigail nods her head slowly, “I’ll do that. And Katie, I love you so much! We all miss you beyond belief.”
The table sits in utter silence. Poor Abbie, I want to ask what happened to her sister but it’s really none of my business. She’ll share it with us when and if she’s ready.
Elliot seems truly impressed by his only sibling and catches her eye before announcing, “Just so you know Pip, my days of doubting you are over. Th
at was an incredible thing to witness.”
Pip eyes her brother and smiles. “No more telling people I’m mental?”
He shakes his head. “I never said that, exactly. But no, no more reservations, only support from here on out.”
Abbie stands up and excuses herself, “I think I’ll just go and call home, if you don’t mind.”
Of course none of us do. This had to be quite a surprise for Abbie, a good surprise, but still a bit of a bombshell.
Chapter 34
Richard arrives while Pip and Abbie are holed up in the pool house going over garden plans. It turns out that Elliot’s sister has a bit of a green thumb, herself. So much so, the gardener at the family’s country home reports directly to her.
I’m delighted to see my friend. He’s as handsome and sweet as ever and he’s brought me twelve onion bagels baked fresh that morning, sealing his welcome. I pop a couple in the toaster and get him a cup of coffee. “How was your flight?”
“Intriguing, actually. A woman was ushered off the plane for accosting the lead singer of her favorite band.”
“Really? How’d she do that?”
He laughs, “He was seated in first class and while she was walking through to the coach cabin, she spotted him and threw herself onto his lap. When the stewardesses tried to extricate her, she grabbed his shirt and wound up ripping it right down the middle. Then she screamed that she wanted to have his baby right there.”
“Wow, I always get the boring flights.” I smile. “Richard, I have something to tell you.”
My friend interrupts, “Mimi, first let me speak. Please.” He implores. I nod my head and he continues, “About your sister-in-law.”
Oh boy, I try to stop him before he can continue, “Richard…”
But as I start talking, Pip walks into the room. The energy that flies between her and my friend is positively electrifying. Seriously, if you put a kettle of water between them, it would boil in an instant.
Richard is the first to find his voice, “Philippa.” It’s said with such feeling that tingles rush up my arms. It’s a bit of accusation mixed with surprise and perhaps a touch of longing? I know that seems an odd one but there you are. It’s almost like Richard Bingham has missed Elliot’s sister.
Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2) Page 14
