The Serpentine Butterfly

by Addison Moore

“Oh, sorry, no. I just zoned out. I’ve been up all night, and I couldn’t sleep if I wanted to. I’m too nervous to take my eyes off these boys.”

  “Speaking of shut-eye.” Mom looks to Tad, who has managed to nod off at the table, sitting upright while his head bounces back and forth like a bobblehead. “Tad Landon, are you sleeping?”

  “Nope” He startles to life. “Just checking my eyelids for leaks.”

  “Very funny.” She takes off to the kitchen. Em and Nat leave the room while discussing something in a fury of whispers, and my sisters bolt upstairs.

  “What’s up, Dudley?” Gage takes Nathan from me and sits by my side. “You come to get a better look at your new adversaries?”

  If I weren’t holding Barron, I would smack Gage—playfully, of course. Marshall would never consider my children anything but his own.

  “Not at all.” Marshall is affronted by the idea. Ha! Told you, I want to say, but in reality, I didn’t say a thing to begin with. “In fact, I consider them quite the opposite.” He leans over and touches his fingers to the dark plume of feather soft hair on Barron’s head. “These special boys are my relation.”

  Gage frowns. “I think you’re forgetting they’re mine, not Logan’s. You and I are not related.”

  “No, but they are related to my bride, and that is all that matters. I’ll arrange for a sanctification ceremony with the Sectors right away.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” a deep voice comes from over my shoulder, and I turn to find Demetri grinning like an evil kook. “These children require a Fem sanctification, a ritual sacrifice and a chalice of suffering. This, my friend, will be done the right way and not half-cocked by a bunch of mediocre celestial bodies who are no more useful than a dictionary used as a doorstop.”

  Crap. I look to Gage. The last thing I need—anybody needs is a showdown between good and evil in the Landon family room.

  “Demetri! You’re here!” Mom bursts into her operatic octave once again. “And you brought flowers, too! Gerber daisies, Skyla’s favorite.”

  Marshall holds up his pristine white roses for me and nods, pleased by his selection.

  “The flower of the gods.” Marshall kisses a bloom before handing my mother the bouquet.

  “You boys are too much!” Mom takes off with an armful of flora and fauna as Nathan begins to stir in Gage’s arms.

  “I’d better feed them.”

  Both Marshall and Demetri head for the door.

  “Wait!” I call to Marshall, but unfortunately, they both pause. “I need to see my mother,” I whisper, giving Demetri the stink eye for listening in.

  “I’m sure I can arrange it.” Marshall motions to the baby in my arms. “Let me know when you have a free minute.”

  “Oh, I plan on taking them with me.”

  “Absolutely not.” Demetri snaps before straightening and forcing that manufactured smile back to his face. “It’s against rules and regulations. They’re far too young for intercellular disbursement. It’s simply not recommended at this stage of life.”

  Funny, they disbursed just fine in utero.

  Marshall frowns. “Translation—your mother draws the line at newborns. She’s banished them from the lake. It’s a binding even she can’t undo. I’m sure Jock Strap is capable of minding them for a moment.”

  Gage shakes his head. “I’m going with you.”

  Marshall steps back into the room and caresses Nathan’s little cheek with his finger, but Demetri lingers in the doorway like a phantom.

  “What is it you might be needing to see Candace for?” Demetri directs the question to Gage just as my mother appears with two glasses of fresh squeezed lemonade. She hands one to Demetri and the other to my spirit spouse.

  “Nothing in particular.” Gage cuts his father, aka the sperm donor, a hard look. “I just so happen to like supporting my wife. She has a tough time with her mother.”

  “Just like you do with your father,” I say it sweetly in a show of solidarity with my husband.

  Mom’s jaw drops as if she’s just heard the juiciest piece of gossip. “I didn’t know that you and Barron didn’t get along.” Her eyes widen as she drinks Gage in. The Olivers are a pretty perfect family—sans me, of course. So I can see how something like this might be shocking.

  “We get along fine,” Gage flatlines, and my mother is left to do that patriarchal math.

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I don’t see.” Demetri smiles. “It’s simply not true. Lizbeth”—he turns to my mother—“I’ll be throwing a christening ceremony next week for the boys at my home. I’ll need you to make quick provisions.”

  “Of course! I’ll get right on it!” Mom hops to his will like an obedient puppy. “Oh, wait.” She chews her fingernail a moment. The enthusiasm on her face sinks like a stone. “The boys are far too young to be going out in a week—especially around an entire group of people.”

  What’s this? Lizbeth Landon shutting down one of Demetri’s demented soirees? Delicious!

  I glance back at Marshall to make sure he didn’t miss my mother’s daring display of bravery, and he offers a wink.

  “I’ll take whatever suggestion you offer, my lady.” Demetri gives a little bow, and Mom loses it in a fit of schoolgirl-like giggles. My stomach churns just watching the display. I glance over at Tad who’s busy jiggling a finger in his ear.

  “About a month,” she concludes. “That gives the boys time to build up their immunity, and it gives me some time to create the best christening party known to all mankind.” She clasps her hands together midair as if catching a fly.

  Gage and I sniff at each other. Mankind implies humans, and we all know there won’t be a single full-blooded one of those in the vicinity.

  Marshall takes a breath and expands his chest wide as the sea. “I’ll see to it that a proper consecration takes place. We Sectors have our own rituals.”

  “You can save them,” Demetri quips with a greasy grin. “We Fems have a ritual that cannot be tampered with.”

  I growl at Demetri. I don’t mean to growl, but it must be the Celestra in me reacting to the Fem in him. Just the thought of Demetri performing a ritual around my sweet baby boys sounds perfectly perverted.

  Gage nods as if he’s read my thoughts. “I think Skyla and I are just shooting for your average dedication. No consecrating or rituals necessary.” He looks to my mother. “A simple cake will be enough. No need to go overboard. No champagne, no hors d’oeuvres. If we need to, we can order a pizza.”

  Her mouth gapes as if she’s just been shut down herself. Go, Gage! It’s about time we took back our lives. After that wedding vow renewal fiasco, in which half our guests were crying out to the Messiah himself for mercy, I think putting our foot down should be routine from here on out.

  “Duly noted.” My mother shrugs to Demetri.

  “Ms. Messenger.” Marshall gives a slight bow. “Mr. Oliver, you both did exceptionally well. Young Nate and Barron will enjoy a bright future, I’m sure”—he frowns at Demetri—“gene pool considering.”

  Demetri mumbles something about visiting again soon, and both he and Marshall take off, but I’m too busy noticing a horrid, rock-hard feeling in my breasts to say a proper goodbye. They’ve gone from cow-like udders to concrete bowling balls in the span of one hour.

  “Mommy,” I whimper, clutching at the granite spheres attached to my chest.

  “What is it?” She zips in front of me with the finesse of a poltergeist.

  “My boobs just turned into boulders—solid, hard, and explosively large. Oh God.” I give a little cry. “This can’t be good.”

  “Oh, silly, that’s normal. It’s time to nurse. Come, come.” She flicks her fingers at me. “Take that top off. These boys are hungry, and it’s mealtime.”

  Gage gives my hand a soft squeeze. “Shouldn’t we go upstairs?”

  For the first time ever, Gage Oliver actually looks frightened. Ironic since not even the most disfigured wicked Fem could shake
him, but the thought of me whipping out my newly lead-lined boobs in the middle of the family room rocks him to his very core.

  “I can’t. Just the thought of climbing those stairs right now makes my lower half cringe and my upper half want to scream. Sorry, but I need to do this here.”

  Mom helps lift off my tent of a T-shirt, and I vaguely see Tad speeding out of the room with his hands in front of him like Wile E. Coyote.

  “We’ve got to get that house of theirs fixed up quick!” Tad shouts as he ascends the stairs. “There are enough exposed teats in this home. We don’t need another set!”

  “Who’s exposing their teats?” Mom rolls her eyes as she shouts back.

  “You, me, the boys—who, by the way, are the only people allowed to bare their nipples. No other teats allowed! You hear me, Lizbeth? This is a breach of Landon code of nipple conduct. All female genitalia shall henceforth be banished under layers of brassiere wear and conservative dress. It’s the new law.” His voice vanishes with the rest of him.

  “Oh, he’s just teasing.” Mom gives a little wink as she helps push poor Barron’s face onto my freshly scolded nipple. “We need to get a good latch.” She plunges two fingers down onto my boob. “Goodness, you’re hard as sheetrock. You’ll have to sit here a good hour at least. Here—” She beckons Gage to give her Nathan. “Normally, I’d suggest just one at a time. Of course, it’ll take twice as long, but who are we kidding? You’re going to live to be doing exactly this, right here, for the next four to six years!” Her voice shrills like a siren.

  “Four to six years? I don’t think so.” I wince as Nathan latches on as well, and soon, I can feel their urgent little suckling mouths pulling on me in tandem.

  “I think it’s working!” I marvel at the two tiny dark heads doing their best to gain sustenance. “They’re really nursing. This feels so strange.”

  “It feels wonderful is what it feels,” Mom corrects as she plunges a finger near each of the boys’ lips as if inspecting for leaks. “How did it go last night when I left? Were they big eaters?”

  “I don’t know. The nurses gave them a bottle, so I could try to get some shut-eye.”

  “Skyla!” Mom shouts and disrupts the homeostasis we just took five minutes to engineer. “You do not let a single bottle near these babies’ mouths. Do you hear me, young lady? You need to train these boys to take only from you. Once you start giving them options, they’ll choose the easy way out. It’s our nature. Sometimes, the right decision is a hard decision—painful even at times.” Her eyes enlarge as she nods. It’s as if she’s speaking between the painful lines. “I’d better go check up on Tad. Whistle if you need me!”

  I’m almost afraid to look at Gage, afraid he’ll be green and squeamish watching his wife utilize his fun bags for something far more functional—like udders.

  “You’re beautiful.” He strokes my hair lovingly. The softness in his eyes makes me blush.

  “Oh, come on”— I jostle into him with my shoulder—“say what you really mean like I wish you had another one so I could join in on the fun.”

  “All right, I get it. You’re a mind reader.” He presses a kiss to my ear. “But I’m okay with just the two. The boys will have to share with their pops.”

  It’s nice like this, just the four of us together—alone at last.

  The front door bursts open, and Bree waltzes in singing “Happy Birthday” while carrying a sheet cake over her head. Drake straggles behind carrying his own sheet cake sized box—and holy crap, there’s an entire procession with Emily and Ethan holding up the rear. They set the oversized pastries down onto the table, all the while keeping their rubbernecks craned in my direction. Drake and Ethan plop down onto the couch near the window, their faces contorting into a dozen different looks of horror.

  This is probably the part where I should cover up, or scream, but my body is in too much discomfort to care if an entire football team were watching.

  “Cool.” Em picks up Ember and shoves her under her shirt to do the same. “Did it get painful yet?”

  “What? No. It’s fine.” My boys are easy, apparently, and I’m feeling perfectly smug about it.

  “It’ll get painful,” Em assures. “Really painful.”

  “All right. She heard,” Gage grumbles as he fumbles for something to cover me with, but comes up empty. He puts his arm protectively around us as a shield, his hand caressing the side of my neck. You got this. Heck, we got this.

  Bree snaps a couple of birthday hats onto her head like horns and watches with a look of longing. Brielle has never really had the full mothering experience with Beau. My own mother sort of took over in that department. Come to think of it, my mother had Ember for almost a year—some people even mistook Em for the tagalong babysitter on occasion.

  The boys grunt and squirm, and every now and again give my nipples a good tug. Their warm bodies are snuggled up together, their limbs tucked in a ball, their backs rounded like turtles. I soak in their tiny perfect noses, their tiny adorable dimples blinking on and off like Christmas lights as they continue to drink down deep. They are so precious, so completely beautiful. Tears come to my eyes, and I’m unable to stop them from falling.

  Gage and I have got this.

  With Nathan and Barron in our lives—we have got it all.

  Hours bleed by. Weeks pass in a blur. Gage and I haven’t slept since November. My body aches constantly. The sound of a baby crying sets off a grenade of acid in the pit of my stomach. And the nursing, the incessant feedings—my cracked and raw nipples can’t take another knife-piercing minute of it all.

  Mom comes at me with Barron, and my fingers tremble as I take him. He latches on and—

  “Shit,” I cry.

  “You’ll have to watch your language,” she reprimands lightly.

  “I know, but it feels like needles are being jabbed into my nipples.” I let out a quiet groan. “They’re cracking and so raw it wouldn’t surprise me if they fell right off.” Bleeding is probably next, but I can’t even think about that.

  Gage has gone to the bowling alley to help Logan repair a lane. I wish to God I could have gone in his place, and he could be the one here nursing the boys. Two healthy little angels really are a blessing, but they’re wearing me out in ways I didn’t think possible. I remember when bathing was so easy and necessary, and now, like the rest of my hygiene, seems rather optional.

  “You know, Gage has it so easy.” I sit up in bed. Gage and I have both bassinets in the bedroom, making the already tiny room impossibly small. It’s like playing a game of Tetris just walking to the bathroom.

  “Don’t they all,” Mom quips, taking a seat at the foot of the mattress while cradling Nathan. “But we’re the lucky ones. You get to hold these precious little beings and let them suckle off your bosom for hours while doing absolutely nothing but staring lovingly down at these perfect little creatures. Oh, how I wish your father could be here.” She nuzzles her nose into Nathan’s neck. “I’m sure what’s-her-face has already told him that you’ve named a child after him.”

  I glance out the newly repaired bedroom window in the event Candace What’s-Her-Face Messenger decides to lash out at my poor earthly mother for the quasi name-calling and break it again. Demetri sprung for the repair, and, even though it inspires a frown from me, I’m more than grateful. Wow—grateful to my father’s killer. I shake my head, disgusted in myself.

  “We thought Mia might be a boy,” she goes on. “We already had you, so all of our pink dreams were fulfilled, but, I guess, it wasn’t meant to be. If only your father knew you had two boys!” Her voice becomes strangely distant, and my head fills with a quiet rush as I nestle into the pillow. I clutch my arms tight around the tiny, warm bundle as I feel myself slipping away, slipping straight out of my body, out of my room.

  “What’s happening?” I whisper as my mother’s laughter warbles like a dream.

  Ahava forms around me. Candace Messenger is at the helm of this divinely inspired nig
htmare, and here she is—in the flesh. It’s just like looking into a mirror if that mirror hadn’t given birth a few weeks ago. Personally, I’m still sporting maternity wear, but I’d swear on a stack of Bibles it’s because I’m too tired and busy with the boys to dig out my old wardrobe. Not to mention, I might be a tiny bit afraid to pull out my old jeans. It’s like someone replaced my entire wardrobe with a bunch of miniature Barbie clothes. When was I ever that tiny? And will I ever be again? Tough questions with potentially scary answers.

  “What in the—?” I gasp as I note my empty arms. “Where’s Barron? Mother!” I gape at my lookalike relation. “I am nursing a baby! As in my body just can’t up and disappear!” Oh my dear God, the inmates really are running the asylum.

  Her eyes widen and retract. “You are most definitely not here in body, Skyla. I have ways, you know.”

  “Dear God, your ways are putting both my child and my left nipple in peril! By the way, my left nipple might not survive this latest debacle.”

  “Be still, child. Your mother is in the room. She thinks you’re sleeping. She’s already steadied the baby, and he’s sucking away blissfully. I trust Lizbeth’s supervision, and so should you. After all, I chose her to supervise my own child.”

  My mouth opens to say something, but I just can’t.

  “You’re soulless, Skyla. It’s a cheap party trick in my neck of the woods, and before your pretty little head goes there, I’ve wrapped you with a hedge of protection. So you need not fear a possession.” She touches her finger to my nose, and I gag.

  “Under no circumstance can I ever be possessed. Are we clear on that?” I’m not so sure what Candace Messenger understands anymore. Knocking me unconscious while I’m nursing an infant—her own grandchild no less—takes soul-knapping to a whole new level.

  “We are most certainly clear.” Her lids lower in annoyance. “Sector Dudley apprised me of the fact you were anxious to see me.”

  “Yes, I was—three weeks ago. Gage wanted to come along for the ride.” I glance around and note his absence. “I can see the request was met.”