Mimi Plus Two (The Mimi Chronicles Book 2)

by Whitney Dineen

  Muffy recommends her friend Alba for the job. I don’t waste any time and call her immediately explaining my predicament. She offers to come over later in the afternoon for a consultation.

  As soon as I walk through the front door, I’m accosted by an angry Pip, who demands to know why Richard is really visiting. She announces, “Everyone knows you don’t want to see anyone, so really, what’s the point of him being here?”

  “Pip,” I explain, “he’s here to see you. He’s decided to listen to his father and see if you wouldn’t be the perfect wife for him, after all.”

  “What?” she demands. “That’s ridiculous! Why would he do that?”

  “Are you telling me you don’t believe your messages are real?”

  “Of course I do. I mean I know they’re real.” She laments, “It’s just, why has he decided to believe me now?”

  I respond, “You’ve given him some pretty convincing displays of your abilities.” Then I ask, “Are you attracted to him? You know, he’s pretty hot.”

  My sister-in-law blushes, “I would have said yes if it wasn’t for all the nonsense he put me through. Now, I find him more annoying than attractive.”

  I advise, “Let it go, Pip. You’re bound to have more fun with Richard if you don’t get caught up in your irritation. And who knows, maybe he’s the one for you. Wouldn’t it be nice to be with a man that believes in your gift for change?”

  She looks like she’s really considering what I’m saying when Sophie lets out a cry of distress. I pick her up out of her carrier and snuggle her. “And,” I add, “you might even open yourself up to motherhood. What do you think of that?”

  Philippa laughs, “I would love to be a mother someday. Although truth be told,” she eyes me closely and adds, “I’m starting to think there might be more to it than I previously thought.”

  I let out a sarcastic snort and roll my eyes. “You think? God knows, I don’t make it look easy, but believe me when I tell you, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.” Of course I don’t mention my postpartum suspicions that she and her family are aliens bent on world domination. That might really scare her off if it turns out she’s as human as the rest of us.

  I ask, “Where’s Abbie?”

  “Out in the garage working on her latest sculpture. Any idea what she’s making?”

  “None,” I reply. “I like modern art about as much as I’d like to vacation on a mosquito farm. It’s just not my cup of tea.”

  Pip says, “Abbie and I have been having a lot of fun planning the garden. She’s really a great girl.” She asks, “Did you know she grew up on an organic farm?”

  I nod my head, “From what I understand her parents are still living there.” Then I ask, “Any idea how Abbie’s sister Katie died?”

  She responds, “No. All I got was the message from her, nothing else.”

  At that moment Richard trots down the stairs looking as handsome as ever. I’d really like some time on my own to further research available weapons, so I suggest, “Richard, would you and Pip mind running into town to get me a couple things?”

  Richard looks delighted by the prospect, but my sister-in-law doesn’t.

  She interrupts, “Why don’t you go Richard? There’s something I need to take care of here.”

  “Nonsense,” I declare. “It will do you both the world of good to get out for a while.” I don’t add that it will do me a world of good to be left alone.

  My dapper friend offers Pip his arm, “Madam, what do you say? We could find a nice place for lunch while we’re in town.”

  Pip sighs, “Fine, let’s go.” Her heart doesn’t seem to be in it, but now that Richard has decided to work his magic on her, I don’t think it will take much for her to get on board.

  As soon as they’re gone, I run around the house making sure all the windows are locked. Once that’s done, I check to see that all the appliances in the kitchen are off. I quickly do fifty jumping jacks and jog in place for five minutes before I start licking light switches and stepping over cracks so I don’t inadvertently break my mother’s back.

  By the time Alba arrives I’m feeling crazy again. I explain what’s going on and she assures me I’m not her first postpartum mental case. She suggests we focus on exercises that won’t create as much lactic acid because babies have shown a dislike for it. They’ll often stop nursing if their milk provider works out too strenuously.

  For that reason, she’s going to be focusing on walking, stretching and yoga. She tells me to drink at least a gallon of water a day, not only to keep my milk production up but to make sure any residual lactic acid is diluted.

  I like Alba. She’s in her mid-thirties, she’s fit without being intimidating and she looks and sounds sane. I hope some of that will rub off on me. She earns extra points when she doesn’t ask to see or touch the baby. What’s up with strangers and their unseemly penchant to put their hands on your child? The next one to pull that shit is going to get a piece of my mind. Either that or I’m going to spit on them. We’ll just have to see which way the winds blowing.

  Elliot calls this afternoon to tell me the funeral was excruciating. Clive is understandably devastated, but he’s nearly catatonic, as well. He barely spoke to anyone and Elliot says he doesn’t even seem fully aware that Beatrice is dead. He kept talking about her in the present tense and even told Elliot he was still planning to take her away that summer.

  I cannot even conceive what he’s going through. Imagine meeting the love of your life and losing her a mere six months later. Life is bitterly unfair and I find I have to get off the phone and do my yoga breathing before I start to rip my hair out.

  I eat dinner in my room that night. I find the news about Clive so distressing that I’m choking on my panic again. I suggest Abbie serve Pip and Richard and then make herself scarce. I let her in on the plan to get them together. Apparently, spectacular postpartum and grief isn’t enough to kill the matchmaker in me.

  Chapter 54

  At 6:52 this morning, the doorbell rings. First of all, we live at the end of a very long driveway secured by a code locked gate, in a rather unpopulated area. I can’t imagine it’s the paper boy. Secondly, it’s not even business hours for anyone other than the milkman, who went extinct sometime in the nineteen sixties. Who the heck is it then?

  It’s the Counterterrorism Squad from the State Department. No, I’m not kidding. Apparently, all my mad Googling about weapons and survivalist gear, coupled with my rather large purchase at BePrepared.com has set up some red flags with the big boys in Washington.

  I count six burly looking men in khaki pants and denim shirts, striving way too hard to look casual. There are three large black SUVs in my circular driveway. The man standing in front introduces himself as Special Agent Frick. He flashes a badge and asks to be let in.

  Due to my new sense of paranoia, I’m not about to let these men into my home without some assurances they are who they say they are. After all, I know from Ancient Aliens that large black SUVs are one of the tools of the men in black. OMG, what if these men are aliens? What if they’re here to warn me about my concerns over the reptilians? Holy crap, what if Elliot knows them and they’re part of his real life as an under lord of the earth?

  I start to get a little dizzy and Special Agent Frick, if that’s really his name, and his cohorts push their way into my foyer. They ask if they can look around, but they’ve already started doing just that. One of the goons demands, “Do you have a pressure cooker?”

  What the hell kind of question is that? “Um, no.” I respond. “I’ve just ordered a pressure canner though.” I figure with all the produce we’re going to be growing; I’m going to put some of it up for my emergency stores.

  Another man, probably Special Agent Frack, demands, “What other kind of cooking machines do you have?”

  I tentatively answer, “We have a slow cooker and a rice machine.”

  “That you use to make bombs, right?”

  God, if I did
n’t feel crazy before, I certainly do now. I respond, “My nanny uses them to make dal mikhani and purple quinoa.” I start looking around for a place to run, but I realize they’ve effectively surrounded me. There’s no way to extricate myself from this group while insuring Sophie’s safety. My daughter is in her carrier next to the couch and if I make a run for it, they’ll be on her before I can get to her.

  Another in the group demands, “Are those ingredients for your bombs?”

  What? I stammer, “They’re ingredients for dinner. Dal makhani is a vegetarian Indian dish and quinoa is kind of like rice, but better for you.”

  They demand to know all kinds of things like where I’m from, what my parents’ names are and why I need ten chem-splash suits. I answer that I’m from Pipsy, my parents are the Finnegans on Vance Lane and I don’t know why I purchased the chem suits. I just thought they looked kind of cool. I explain that I just had a baby and I’m having a really hard time with postpartum. I’m overwhelmed with responsibility for this new life.

  Special Agent Frick breaks rank and says, “Aw, crap, lady, I’m sorry. My wife had a time of it, too. How old is your baby?”

  I tell him and he asks to see her. I break out in a cold sweat in response. Does he want to see her so he can grab her and take her hostage? Is he going to drag her into the bowels of the earth and cook her for dinner?

  The next thing I know I’m lying flat on the ground regaining consciousness. All six of the government men are surrounding me. One of them announces that they just met the nanny and laid eyes on the baby and as soon as they’re sure I’m okay, they’ll leave.

  I jump to my feet, sway a little and exclaim, “I’m just fine! You can go now.”

  Agent Frick responds, “I understand your husband is Elliot Fielding.” Abbie must have told them. I nod my head in response.

  Another of the goons says, “We must not have his new address updated in our system. If we had, we wouldn’t have had to bother you.”

  Wait, what? Elliot’s in their system. This makes me think he must be in cahoots with whatever nefarious plot they’re cooking up.

  Special Agent Frick explains, “Authors are always Googling the most bizarre stuff. I assume your husband is working on a new book.”

  I nod my head again and before I can say, Bob’s your uncle, they’re gone. Holy freaking hell, I’m not sure I’ll ever recover from this. But I do say a prayer of thanks for Elliot and his unorthodox career. It might have just kept me out of prison.

  I have to tell Abbie about my prepping. There’s no other way to explain the visit from the Counter Terrorism Squad than by just coming clean.

  I learn Abbie’s family has been doing their version of prepping ever since she was a baby. They used to live “normally,” but with the more children they had, they felt a greater burden to prepare in case anything went wrong. Their first concern was with so many mouths to feed, they had to be able to grow their own food. The only way to do that was to give up some of life’s creature comforts and buy land. They live on ten acres, eight miles from the nearest town.

  Abbie says they raise their own meat, from cows to chickens and pigs, and they supply a minimum of 80% of all of their other dietary needs. They have bees that provide pure, raw honey and beeswax that they use to make candles. They make all of their own soap and skincare supplies and they even tap their own maple trees for syrup. I’m astounded by their degree of sustainability.

  I ask, “Are you the only vegetarian in your family?”

  Our nanny responds, “I’m not a vegetarian.”

  “What do you mean, you’re not a vegetarian? Everything you’ve ever fed us is vegetarian.”

  “No it’s not. I use meat broths all the time.”

  I wonder, “Why don’t you use meat then?”

  She answers, “After growing up on a farm where we slaughter our own, I’ve just overdosed on the whole reality of it. I can’t be in on meat preparation anymore. It wigs me out.” She adds, “But I love a nice steak and I go to Burger City all the time for lunch.”

  Will wonders never cease? I thought Abbie was some diehard moral vegetarian but she’s really just a woos. It makes her seem so much more human.

  The nanny asks what kind of prepping supplies I’ve been purchasing and I show her the list. She makes some great suggestions, like freeze dried garden seeds. She says she plans on harvesting seeds from our garden this year for next year but it never hurts to have extras on hand. She also thinks I should get some basics like extra toilet paper and cleaning supplies. Those aren’t necessary for survival but they sure will make the transition easier. She also recommends a generator. She is so full of information that I decide to take her to the basement to show her the setup I envision.

  We decide to purchase as many items in person as we can, so as not to be on another receiving visit from the State Department. This is how we wind up at Costco buying 28 cases of toilet paper. That’s all we can fit in Elliot’s SUV with both of us and Sophie’s car seat. On our next trip, we haul home two generators that are both battery and propane operable. After that, we hit Burger City for lunch and then wind up at Home Depot where we buy 24 empty propane tanks. Abbie will be responsible for filling them, a few at a time, and storing them in one of the sheds on the property.

  Once we get home, we go on Diapers.com and order enough diapers, in all sizes, to get four infants straight through potty training. I’m exhausted, but the more we spend and the more we prepare, the calmer I get. Now, I think I may actual be able to survive this postpartum if only I can get confirmation that my husband and his family aren’t in fact the devils I’m preparing for.

  Chapter 55

  Lizard or not, I’m so thrilled to see Elliot when he walks through the front door, I launch myself into his arms. He holds me for several moments before demanding to hold Sophie. He’s followed by his parents, who both seem inordinately happy to be back at our house. They both hug me with heartfelt emotion and I find I’m equally glad to see them.

  Abbie brings tea and scones into the library for everyone and the countess totally shocks me when she embraces the nanny in greeting. When she sits down, she sighs, “Life is just so precious. I can’t believe poor Beatrice is gone.”

  I want to know how everything went but at the same time I don’t want to know because I’m not sure I can handle the inevitable panic it will bring. Instead I ask, “How was your flight?”

  They all confirm it went well. The earl inquires, “And what did you do to keep yourselves busy while we were gone?”

  I share a conspiratorially glance with Abbie and reply, “Not much. Richard was in town for the weekend, we worked on the garden plan a bit and other than that, just pretty much took it easy.” Liar, liar, pants of fire! But there’s no way I’m going to confess a visit from the Counter Terrorism Department and $24,000 in prepping expenditures. They would never understand.

  Elliot’s parents excuse themselves, claiming they’d like to rest for a while. Pip and Abbie go back to work on their Territorial Seed order. Apparently Territorial is where Abbie’s parents get their seeds and she swears they’re the best. This leaves me alone with my husband and baby.

  Elliot asks, “How are you really doing, darling? What did the doctor say?”

  So I fill him in on hiring a trainer and assure him that I think I’m going to be able to handle the postpartum as long as I remember to exercise like a fiend and practice my yoga breathing. “It’s just so much harder than I ever thought it would be.” I elaborate, “I thought we’d just bring our baby home and live happily-ever-after. I didn’t expect all this other crap.”

  My husband holds me in his arms and decides, “We are going to live happily-ever-after. This is just one little bump in the road.”

  For a moment I believe him. After all, I don’t really want to think he’s a giant lizard bent on world domination. I don’t want to think our government is conspiring with ETs to keep their evil agenda hidden from mankind and I certainly don’t want t
o be prepping for the end of the world as we know it. Maybe I really will wake up one day to find my hormones balanced and have my head back to normal. God, what an intoxicating thought.

  I’ve decided it’s time to start letting my family come over again. So I’ve invited them all to dinner tonight. I figure if I get overwhelmed, I’ll just take the baby upstairs and hide from them.

  I told Abbie to just order Chinese takeout for everyone to make things easier and put out some paper plates so she doesn’t have a horrible clean up. I don’t want her feeling like she’s our cook when in fact she’s our nanny, although she’s become so much more now that I’ve taken her into my confidence. She’s my partner in crime. She’s my teacher.

  My parents are the first to arrive and my mom bursts into tears when she sees me. “Oh Meems, I’ve been so worried! Are you doing okay now? Do you feel more normal?”

  I answer that I’m doing a tiny bit better and I expect with my new workout routine I should be feeling better soon.

  Renée and Laurent arrive next. They left Camille and Finn at home with a sitter to help keep the noise down. Renée shares, “Camille cannot wait to meet her new cousin. She’s madder than a hatter at me for not letting her come, so I had to promise to bring her over next week.”

  Ginger and Jonathan appear next, with all three babies in tow. They both look positively exhausted and I know it’s a Herculean show of support that they came. As soon as they’re through the door, various family members help to unbundle the babies and hold them.

  Muffy and Kevin arrive with 24 of the most gorgeous cupcakes I’ve ever seen, which is a good thing because I hadn’t planned anything for dessert. I find myself practicing my yoga breathing as the house fills with bodies. While everyone moves into the kitchen to load up their plates, I grab my coat and do twenty quick laps around the driveway.