by Beverly Farr
As she drove home, Olivia remembered the day her youngest brother Trevor was born. She and her brother Kevin had joked that Trevor was a good name for a dog, not a baby. She couldn't remember much of his infancy. She'd been busy with high school, band and the drama club. She often wished she could go back and relive the past, paying more attention this time.
The cats met her at the back door, meowing loudly. “Hello to you, too,” she said and yawned widely.
She was exhausted. What a day. What a night. It seemed like weeks since she'd been ice-skating with Michael. She yawned again. No wonder Michael slept like a log. He regularly took care of five children, not just three for one day. She was wiped out.
Olivia checked inside the refrigerator: yes, he'd taken his keys.
Someone knocked at her back door.
Could it be Michael? She checked her reflection in the microwave door and smoothed her hair before opening her back door.
A tall, well-dressed woman with salt and pepper gray hair stood on her porch with an empty cup in her hand. “Hi, I'm Jana Claiborne, Michael's mother. Could I borrow a cup of sugar?”
Olivia was startled. “Come on in.” She held the door open wide.
Mrs. Claiborne continued, “I was making his favorite cookies, and I ran out of sugar. I just hate that, don't you?”
Olivia didn't bake many desserts because it was too tempting to have them around the house. She hoped she had a cup of sugar in her cupboards. “Please, sit down, Mrs. Claiborne,” she said.
The other woman insisted, “Please, call me Jana.” She sat at the table and looked around, silently assessing the kitchen and the den.
Thanks to the glass incident, at least the floor was super clean. Olivia said, “What are Michael's favorite cookies?” She opened her cupboard doors.
“Snickerdoodles.”
Olivia found a four pound bag of sugar behind the flour. “Here it is.” She carried it over to the table. She yawned and had to cover her mouth. “I'm sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn't get much sleep last night.”
She suddenly realized how that could sound to Michael's mother, a minister’s wife, and felt the heat rise up her neck. Great. A blush was as bad as a detailed confession. She looked at Mrs. Claiborne. She could see a strong resemblance to Michael. He and his mother had the same cool blue eyes. She wondered what Mrs. Claiborne was thinking. “I hope you weren't worried last night. Michael fell asleep on my couch, and I couldn't wake him.”
Mrs. Claiborne interrupted with, “My dear, Michael doesn't report to me.”
No doubt her cheeks were red, too, but Olivia tried to ignore that. “How were the children?”
“They were perfect angels. Everything was fine.”
“I’m glad. I had to leave in the middle of the night. A friend was having a baby and I went over to watch her kids. . .” She was rambling. She ended awkwardly with, “I hope Michael got home all right.”
His mother smiled. “He's fine.”
Where were her manners? Olivia suddenly realized she hadn't offered Mrs. Claiborne anything to drink. She must be tired. She wasn't thinking clearly. “Would you like a glass of juice or water?”
“Juice would be nice, thank you.”
As Olivia poured her a glass of apple juice, Mrs. Claiborne said, “I admired your flowers as I walked over. You have a lovely yard.”
“Thank you.” She handed her the glass.
Mrs. Claiborne nodded. “I see you have a cat.”
Watson stood in the den, watching her warily. “I have two,” Olivia said. “The other one must be sleeping somewhere. He usually comes down if I have company.”
Mrs. Claiborne sipped her juice. “Michael likes cats. He likes all animals. I remember when he was younger, always bringing strays home, making poor Peter sneeze.” She smiled at the memory. “His father is allergic to pet hair.”
Olivia sat down at the table. If Mrs. Claiborne wanted to talk about Michael, she was certainly willing to listen. “So what did you do?”
“We found homes for most of them, but there was one cat Michael refused to give up. Peter insisted that the cat stay outside, and Michael did all his homework in the garage, just to be near that cat.”
Most kids would have tried to sneak the cat inside. “What was Michael like when he was growing up?”
“He was a wonderful boy. Smart. Respectful. Always interested in computers. If he wasn't building something with his father, he was sitting at the computer terminal. I used to worry about his eyes, but apparently it didn't hurt him.” She paused. “What do you do for a living, Olivia?”
Michael's mother had a way of asking questions with a lilt to her voice that implied, “I know I'm being nosey, but you're so very interesting, I really want to know.” Olivia was charmed. “I'm a graphic designer. But my real love is writing books. Children's books.”
Mrs. Claiborne brightened. “So you like children.”
“Yes.”
“Have you met the quintuplets?”
Olivia smiled. “Yes, they're beautiful children.”
“Aren't they?” She smiled, too. She was the epitome of proud grandmothers. “When they were first born, they were so tiny, under two pounds every one but Washington, and we were so worried about Grant. But they've grown bigger and stronger, and now it's hard to remember how tiny they were.” She eyed Olivia closely. “You know that their mother left them?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Claiborne tsked. “Mary Ellen should never have had children. She cared more about keeping her nail polish from chipping than those babies.”
Olivia glanced down at her hands with their short nails. That certainly wasn't her problem. But she shouldn't be listening to gossip about Michael's ex-wife, even though she wanted to. She asked, “Are you going to be in town for the babies' birthday?”
“Of course. I wouldn't miss it for the world. I've bought the cutest outfits and hired a photographer to come take their pictures.”
Olivia listened while Michael’s mother outlined her plans for the big day. The photographer would be followed by a huge cake and a professional clown. It sounded a bit excessive for a toddler birthday party, but Olivia didn't say anything. “That's one of the reasons I came over,” Mrs. Claiborne added. “I wanted to invite you to the birthday party.”
Olivia knew that wasn't completely true. Mrs. Claiborne had come over to see what kind of girl Michael had spent the night with, and now that she'd passed the test, she was rewarded with an invitation to the party. Not that Olivia resented her actions. On the contrary, it reminded her of something her mother might have done, if Kevin or Gil had been out all night with the girl next door.
“I'd love to come,” she said, and wondered whether Michael would want her there. After last night, she didn't know how he felt about her.
“Good.” Mrs. Claiborne stood up. “It’s not this Thursday, but next Thursday at six.”
“I’ll write it down,” Olivia said.
Mrs. Claiborne paused at the door. “Do you like my son?” she asked bluntly.
No matter what she said, it would be awkward, so she decided to tell the truth. “Yes.” Too much.
Mrs. Claiborne reached over and patted Olivia's cheek. She smelled of lilac and hair spray. “He likes you, too,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper. She picked up the empty cup and laughed. “I didn't really need the sugar, anyway.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“She's talking to him. She's walking out to his car. She's getting in the car.”
Michael said, “Mom, get away from the window. And stop using that ominous tone.”
“They're driving off,” she went on. She stood by the glass doors that looked out onto his patio. She squinted through the curtains. “She's gone out on a date,” she said in an accusatory tone.
Michael lay on the living room floor with Amelia and Grant climbing on top of him, pulling at his hair and nose. Wash was playing with blocks; Jeff and Linc were asleep. “Olivia is a free agent. She can go out with anyone she
wants to.”
“If you'd asked her out, she would have been with you, instead of that other man.”
His mother had been after him all week to take Olivia on another date. Michael had given up trying to explain to her that they were nothing more than friends.
His mother continued, “She's such a nice girl. And she likes children.”
Michael said, “What did he look like?”
“Shorter than you.”
“What kind of car was he driving?”
“A BMW.”
Michael wondered if it was one of the men she’d gone out with before. “You shouldn't spy on her.”
Jana Claiborne flounced down upon the couch. “I wouldn't have to spy on her if you'd let me talk to her. I can't believe the father of my grandchildren won't let me get to know a potential mother for them.” She held her hands out to Linc so he would crawl to her. She picked up the little boy, held him close and said over his head, “They need a mother, Michael.”
Michael was not moved. “And I can't believe my mother went over to Olivia's house, behind my back, to borrow a cup of sugar.”
“I was just trying --”
“I know what you're trying, Mom, and I don't want --”
“But she said she liked you,” Jana Claiborne insisted.
Michael had heard the details of their conversation several times. “As if she'd tell you if she didn't like me,” he countered. “If you're so keen on getting me married, what about Alexis? She's great with the kids.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Michael. She has a tattoo.”
Michael hid a smile. He had wondered how long it would take his conservative mother to notice the rosebud imprinted on her shoulder. He held Amelia under her arms and lifted her up above him. “Here comes an airplane,” he said and pretended to fly her down to the ground. Grant grabbed at his arms. “Hold your horses. You'll get a turn, too.”
Jana Claiborne watched them play with a worried frown on her face. “I just hope Olivia will still come to the birthday party.”
#
Olivia sat across a restaurant table from her date William. Medium height, thinning hair. A lawyer. He was another man she’d met through the dating service. She hadn’t particularly felt like going out with him, but they’d made plans two weeks before and it seemed rude to cancel at the last minute. So she went and tried not to compare him to Michael.
Michael, who hadn’t said a word to her since their non-date.
His mother thought he liked her, and he probably did, but he’d told her that he wasn’t interested in being anything more than friends, and she believed him.
Olivia thought of her mother and the advice she’d given her before she left for college. “Don’t chase men. Let them chase you. The women who chase men get exactly what they deserve -- selfish guys who think the world revolves around them.”
“The world has changed, Mom.”
“Perhaps, but men haven’t. They are hunters. They only appreciate what they --”
“Hit over the head and drag home?”
Her mother laughed. “Not quite. But look at me. I’ve had nine kids. I certainly don’t look anything like I did when we were dating, but your father adores me. He still thinks he was lucky to get me.”
Olivia sighed, remembering.
William frowned. “Is everything okay?”
Olivia looked down at her plate. She’d eaten half her meal without tasting any of it. She smiled. “Everything’s fine.” No more thinking about Michael, she told herself. She should pay attention to William, instead. She needed to give him a fair chance. “Tell me, what do you like most about your work?”
#
“They're coming back,” Jana Claiborne announced. “They weren't gone long enough to see a movie. I wonder where they went.”
“Mom, get away from that window.”
“He's parked the car and they're talking.”
Michael walked over to his mother and pushed the curtains closed so that she couldn't see through them. She pouted and he shook his head sternly. “I'll go check on the babies,” she said and with chin held high, she walked down the hallway.
Michael knew his mother well. She wasn't going to check on the children. She was going to peer out Grant's window. But at least he wouldn't have to listen to her play-by-play.
#
“You're leaving early.”
Olivia looked at Paul, who was still at his drawing table, surrounded by mock-ups for the Baroness' Age-Defying skin care line. Olivia was glad she had been assigned the DPR Annual Report instead. There was a limit to what one could do with a gold script B inside a pink circle. “Early?” she repeated. “It's almost seven. I've been here more than ten and a half hours without a break. I'm totally brain dead. I’m going home”
Paul smiled. “Fine. See if I care. Go have your fun.”
She shifted the strap of her purse up higher on her shoulder. “What makes you think I'm going to have fun?”
“You've been watching the clock since four. Do you have a date?”
Paul was married, and like most of her married friends, he assumed she had an active social life. “On a Thursday?” She laughed. “The only date I have is with the frozen food section at the grocery store.”
That wasn't completely true. Tonight was the quintuplets' birthday party. It had started at six. She was already late and by the time she got home, it would be over.
She sighed. After all her agonizing over whether she should go, what she would wear, and what she could say, it no longer mattered. Deadlines at work were looming and she hadn’t felt right about leaving early.
Olivia walked out to the parking lot and got into her Honda. She was low on gas, and that meant another delay before she would be home. She thought of the wire and bead toy she had bought online. She'd paid extra to have it sent by overnight delivery. She'd wrapped it in some sweet paper decorated with babies holding umbrellas. The package had sat in her work room, safe from the cats, for two days now.
She had looked forward to seeing all the children in their new clothes. She'd imagined them eating birthday cake with their fat little fists, smearing it on their round faces and getting some of it in their wispy hair.
She'd seen herself laughing with Michael and talking to his mother. She would help clean up the crumbs and wash little hands. For an hour, she'd pretend she was part of the family.
But not now.
Don't be such a pessimist, she told herself as she drove home. She could drop by with the gift and an apology on Saturday. It might even be better than going to the party itself. She had no idea how many people would be there, and she might not even get a chance to talk to Michael. But if she went on Saturday, Michael might invite her inside for a few minutes and they could talk without being distracted by a noisy party.
But she loved birthday parties.
Olivia turned on her radio and cranked the volume up high. Time for a bouncy dance tune.
#
The photographer took forever to take a decent shot of the kids. Every time he had them sitting where he wanted them, one of them would start crawling away, or roll over, or grab his neighbor. “When you said you wanted a group picture of five children, you didn't tell me all five were one years old.” The photographer smiled when he said this, but his voice was full of frustration.
Michael said, “Maybe we should line up the car seats and strap them all down.”
By this time, the photographer was willing to take any suggestion.
“Absolutely not,” Jana Claiborne said. “If I wanted a picture of them in car seats, I would have taken it myself.”
The photographer said slowly, “Ma'am, if you can get them to sit still, I will be happy to take whatever picture you want, but until then . . .”
Grant belched loudly and spit up on his light blue suit. Jana Claiborne picked him up and carried him to the kitchen to wipe him off.
While his mother was out of ear shot, Michael asked, “This isn't going to work, is it
?”
“Not without a tranquilizer gun.”
“Okay, then. Take five individual pictures and use whatever digital magic you need to put it all together.”
While the photographer was taking Amelia's picture, the clown arrived at the front door.
“You're early,” Jana Claiborne exclaimed, then glanced at her watch. “I can't believe it's seven already. Come in and sit down while we finish taking pictures. Michael,” she hissed. “Change Linc's diaper. And Jeff needs another bottle.”
Amelia took one look at the clown and burst into tears.
The photographer swore.
The clown stepped over the photographer's equipment and sat down on the couch. He held a battered suitcase on his lap. He was tall and skinny, but with all the make-up it was difficult to guess his age.
Michael changed Linc and Wash, too, and prepared five bottles of formula. He popped one in the mouth of every child, except Grant, who was now getting his picture taken.
“You'll get yours as soon as the nice man takes your picture,” Jana Claiborne crooned.
Michael held Amelia and Wash on his lap to keep them from grabbing electrical cords. Jeff stood by the couch, waving his arms up and down while he sucked on his bottle. Linc played with the laces on the clown's huge black shoes. “You're taking all this in stride,” Michael said to the clown.
The clown wore a green and purple curly wig and a sad painted face with a tear coming down from one eye. He smiled. “This is nothing. You wouldn't believe some of the kid parties I go to. I don't mind sitting and waiting. I get paid by the hour.” He looked at the children, then back at Michael. “All these are yours?”
“Yep.”
“Quintuplets?”
“Yep.”
He whistled. “What kind of vitamins do you take?”
Michael laughed.
The photographer didn't leave for another forty minutes. Michael followed him out to his van and slipped several extra bills into his hand. “You earned it,” he said. “I didn't know my mother had such grandiose plans.”
The photographer began, “If I'd known you had quintuplets, I would have --”
Michael said, “It doesn't matter. We'll have a few pictures for the baby books. It's fine. Thank you.”
