A Family Woman

by T. B. Markinson

  She stared back at them. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Just like the woman who gave birth to them.” I boosted her hand to my lips and kissed her fingertips. “Shall we have the entire family over for Christmas?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Before Sarah rang the doorbell, she gave me a once-over and asked, “You okay?”

  I nodded, not feeling confident at all.

  She pressed the bell; no turning back now.

  The massive wooden door swung open to reveal Helen. “Welcome.” She piloted us in. “Here, let me help.” Helen took the bulging baby bag from my left hand. In my right, I carried Ollie in her car seat.

  “I remember lugging all this stuff around not too long ago,” she said, smiling.

  The entryway to her home was huge but not overly decorated. A figurine of a ballet dancer sat on a shelf over the staircase, and she led us off to the right, down a soft yellow hallway. Sarah’s heels click-clacked on the newly polished wood floor as she carried a giggling Freddie.

  “It’s so nice out for November, so everyone is outside. Your father is manning the grill.” Her smile was heartfelt, honest. Charles Allen Petrie wasn’t the type of guy who typically manned a grill. Actually, any man who had a chauffeur to drive him to the grocery store probably wasn’t the type of guy to expertly throw a few steaks on when he returned. “Hope you like your steaks chargrilled, emphasis on char,” she added with a laugh.

  Sarah and I laughed with her as Helen shepherded us through a kitchen that had more shine than Mr. Clean’s bald head. Spotless as it was, it was still a kitchen for serious cooks: the wear and tear seen on the knobs of the oven and the hanging pots and pans was testimony to Helen being the true chef in the family.

  Family. The thought struck me like a stone. My dad was a member of Helen’s family. He had been for years, and I hadn’t had a clue. Would that traitorous thought ever not feel so traitorous? How did Peter feel? He had hitched his professional life to my father’s reputation, and he always made it appear as if “our family” was a top priority. I’d lost count of how many articles I’d seen in the papers featuring a photo of the semi-smiling father and son Petrie. Would those photos include other sons from now on?

  “Lizzie and Sarah, so glad you could make it.” Dad set his tongs on the grill’s shelf and strode toward us. “Sarah, you look lovely.” He gave her a peck on the cheek. Now that my father was the type to grill, he was also the type to give my wife a peck on the cheek, apparently. “May I?” He moved to Olivia in her car seat.

  “Of course.” I unclipped Ollie. “Say hi to your grandpa, Ollie.”

  Dad cuddled her like a pro. Had he ever held me that way when I was a baby?

  Jesus, Lizzie. Get the fuck over it.

  “Hello, Ollie.” He stared into her cooing face.

  Freddie fussed in his seat.

  “I think he’s saying, ‘What about me?’” Helen held out her hands for Fred.

  Sarah freed our son and glanced at me, misty-eyed, before handing him over. She nodded. “Say hi to Grandma, Fred.”

  Helen and my father stared into each other’s eyes, both slightly teary as well. Fortunately, their attention didn’t land on me. My feelings were all over the board: happy, relieved, and scared that everything was illusionary.

  “Hey there, little Freddie.” Helen wiggled his tiny hand. “Lucky for you, you don’t have to eat any steak.”

  Dad puffed his chest out. “What do you mean? The steaks—” He reeled around, his face paling when he saw the smoke circling in the dark blue sky.

  A man clad in jeans and an Eddie Bauer plaid button-up dashed to the grill and started pulling the filets to safety. Laughing, he said, “Everyone wanted well-done, right?”

  “Is there another way?” Sarah fought a giggle.

  “That’s what Lea & Perrins is for, to give the meat flavor.” Helen rubbed her chin against Freddie’s fuzzy head.

  “I bet shoe leather has more flavor than those,” interrupted a kid who didn’t yet have a hair on his chin. His scrawny neck poked out of a lightweight Gap sweater. He had a dimple in his left cheek and two in his right. I couldn’t peel my eyes away from him.

  “Hush, Allen. Your father tried. That’s what matters. Now, I better go inside and prepare the rest of the meal.” Helen handed Freddie back to me, snapping me out of my stare.

  “I’ll help you.” Sarah followed her into the kitchen.

  Helen stopped abruptly. “Goodness, where are my manners? Sarah and Lizzie, this is—”

  “Hi, I’m Gabe,” Helen’s firstborn interrupted, sticking his hand out. I shook it. “And this here is Allen.” Gabe tossed a brotherly arm over his shorter sibling’s shoulder.

  Allen nodded shyly, as did I.

  “And these are Lizzie’s twins. Ollie.” Dad raised Olivia as a way of introduction. “And Freddie.” He gestured to the baby in my arms.

  “Aren’t you a handsome fella?” Gabe played with one of Freddie’s socked feet. “He has your eyes.”

  I started to agree when I realized Gabe was referring to my father’s eyes, not mine. Allen, Freddie, and I all had Dad’s blue eyes.

  Sarah rubbed my back.

  “And you, beautiful.” Gabe stroked Ollie’s cheek with a fingertip. “You have the cutest nose.” He tweaked it gently, delighting Olivia.

  It was clear Gabe was the businessman in the family. Unlike, Peter, though, he didn’t have a smarmy way about him. I didn’t believe one-tenth of the crap that spilled out of Peter’s mouth. With Gabe, so far I’d believed at least half.

  Sarah and Helen retreated inside, but seconds later, Sarah stuck her head out the door. “Charles, Helen wants to know if you can put two more steaks on the grill—Peter and Tie are on their way. Also, she asked for you not to massacre them this time.” She sniggered, already feeling like part of Helen’s family.

  “Shall I do it, Pops?” Allen looked hopeful.

  “Go ahead. Your mother clearly doesn’t trust me. Besides, it’s my turn to hold Freddie.” Dad handed Ollie to Gabe and took Fred from my arms.

  I studied Gabe, trying to determine whether he really wanted to hold Ollie, and was surprised to witness him cooing in her ear, completely at ease. Helen’s sons were better people than most, I decided—not that I had too much experience. Too bad Helen hadn’t raised Peter. Was it too late for my brother? For me, for that matter?

  “Peter’s about fifteen minutes out.” Helen reappeared on the deck, with Sarah in tow. “What can I get you to drink, Lizzie?”

  “Water is fine.”

  “Are you sure? We have cream soda.”

  “I haven’t had cream soda in years.”

  “It was your favorite when you were a kid. That and root beer were your go-to drinks.” Dad didn’t look at me, and I wondered why.

  “Finally, a beer Lizzie will drink.” Sarah prodded my shoulder with hers.

  “I take it you aren’t much of a drinker,” Gabe said.

  “She hasn’t had much to drink since we found out I was pregnant. Me, I pumped earlier so I could have a glass of wine tonight.”

  No one seemed ill at ease when Sarah mentioned pumping breast milk for the twins. It still amazed me that she was so free talking about breastfeeding.

  “Red or white, Sarah?” Gabe clasped his hands together, eager to play cohost.

  “Red, please.”

  Ollie let loose a howl.

  “Feeling left out, baby girl?” Sarah took Ollie from Gabe’s arms. “I need to get her bottle from inside.”

  “Let me show you two to the study. It’s quiet and cozy.” Helen gestured Sarah inside.

  “Is she the fussy one?” Dad asked.

  “That’s an understatement. Fred takes after me.”

  “You and Allen have that in common. Allen never cried as a baby.”

  My half brother turned a shy shade of pink, and I shuffled my feet.

  Helen
returned with two cream sodas on the rocks, handing one to me and the other to Allen.

  I laughed, slightly unnerved. “Another thing we have in common.”

  “And history.” Helen swiped Allen’s bangs from his eyes, much to his dismay. “Allen is considering studying European history.”

  “Really?” I asked. “Do you have a time period in mind?”

  “The Russian Revolution.” His eyes met mine briefly before flittering toward the aspens in the yard.

  “Ah.” I rolled back on my heels, squinting at the gold, red, and orange leaves on the oak tree in the corner. “I should introduce you to Michael Paulson, one of the scholars I met at a conference last year. We’re both scheduled to speak at an event in Boulder this spring.”

  “You know Michael Paulson?” Allen’s voice squeaked.

  “Not intimately but we had dinner together last year. You a fan?”

  Allen nodded vigorously. “One of his books got me hooked on the time period. Before I read that, I’d planned on studying the American Civil War, my second-favorite time period.”

  “For his high school graduation, we’re traveling to Fredericksburg and Gettysburg.” Helen smiled at her youngest son like a mother bestowing a priceless gift.

  “And Washington DC,” Allen added, the corners of his mouth coiling up ever so slightly, making him look even more like my enigmatic father.

  Helen shivered and rubbed her hands together. “Shall we move inside?” The temperature had cooled several degrees since our arrival.

  “Yes, we don’t want the youngest Petries catching a cold, do we?” Dad snuggled Fred, who calmly accepted the attention. All this time, I’d thought my son was so much like me, but seeing him in Dad’s arms made it clear that he took after his grandfather. I wondered whether Freddie’s stoicism would be a help or a hindrance in the years to come. I was only beginning to grasp how different my father was around Helen, Gabe, and Allen.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it.” Helen was off before anyone had a chance to blink. Soon enough, she returned with the final dinner guests.

  “Ah, Peter. So glad you could make it.” Dad stuck out his palm, and Peter shook it, businessman-like. “Allow me to make the introductions. This is Gabe, Helen’s oldest, and this strapping young lad is Allen…” He let the rest of the statement fade away. No one had to be told Allen was Peter’s half brother.

  Peter shook Gabe’s hand formally, the same way he had Dad’s. When it was time to shake Allen’s hand, he hesitated. The younger man blushed even redder.

  Nice going, Peter, making Allen uncomfortable in his own home.

  “I’m Tie-Fannie.” Tie wrapped her arms around Gabe and Allen in her enthusiastic, bone-crushing fashion.

  “That’s an unusual way of pronouncing Tiffany.” Gabe clearly wasn’t the type to let someone’s nonsense go unnoticed. I waited for him to call her a bullshitter or what was the hip term: jive turkey?

  “Most call me Tie,” she said, unabashedly.

  “Tie it is. What’s your poison?”

  She eyed Sarah’s wine but placed a hand on her belly. “Water.”

  “And, Pete, I know you like bourbon. I picked up a bottle of Blanton’s especially for you.” Gabe about-faced and left the room.

  Peter blinked excessively. He still hadn’t said a word. I had never heard anyone call him Pete before. One look at Peter’s face confirmed he wasn’t entirely sure how to take it either.

  Helen ushered us into the dining room.

  Sarah, carrying Ollie on her right hip, joined us.

  “Gimme, gimme, gimme!” Tie squealed, thrusting her waiting arms toward Olivia.

  Olivia, much to my chagrin, cooed at Tie’s boisterous greeting. To add insult to my shock, once safely settled into Tie’s arms, Ollie flashed her the widest grin.

  “Don’t worry. In a week, Ollie will outgrow her,” Sarah whispered in my ear, and I had to stifle a laugh with my palm.

  “Cap, would you mind helping me bring the food out?” Helen rubbed Dad’s back.

  Dad rounded about to Allen. “Time to get to know your nephew.” Before Allen had a chance to protest, Freddie was placed in his arms.

  Peter visibly bristled. Why was he so outraged? Fred was my son. Or was it the verbalization that Allen was a blood relation?

  “Hello, Fred.” Allen meandered to the far side of the room and stared out a window that overlooked the Castle Pines golf course. The entire wall consisted of yellowish, burnt-orange bricks with four large windows set among them. I wondered whether golf balls ever came crashing through.

  I turned to Peter, who was still surveying the room. The house had an elegant, cabin-like feel. In the corner was an adobe-style fireplace. Rustic wooden beams jutted along the ceiling. An antique rug sat under a massive cherry table and chairs, with a modest chandelier above. The features blended well together, making the home feel lived in, the complete opposite of the home I’d grown up in.

  Gabe returned with the drinks, including a refill of my cream soda.

  “Soda, Elizabeth? Really?” Peter swished his bourbon and took a long sip, as if at a liquor tasting for billionaires.

  “I’m driving.” I didn’t know why I defended my drink choice.

  “I imagine having two little ones at home makes it hard to drink. How much sleep have you two had?” Gabe’s eyes were kind.

  Sarah laughed. “Sleep? I think I remember what that is.”

  “Here we go.” Helen carried in a tray laden with food and placed it on the hutch to the side. Dad’s tray was twice the size. “Please, everyone fix a plate and take a seat wherever suits you.”

  Peter set his drink down by the chair at the head of the table, much to my amusement. Gabe grinned and set his drink opposite Peter. Secretly, I hoped Peter would challenge him to arm wrestle. I suspected Gabe would handily whoop Peter’s ass.

  “I’ll get the car seats for the twinkies,” I said.

  “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll fix you a plate.”

  By the time I returned and settled the twins in their seats, everyone was ready to eat. Dad and Helen sat next to each other, whispering like schoolkids with crushes. Allen sat next to Gabe and me, while Tie was as far away from Peter as she could get. Sarah met my eye, communicating that she’d noticed.

  Dad stood and raised his glass. “Helen and I would like to thank all of you for coming. Tomorrow, this woman”—he gazed down at Helen—“is going to make me the happiest of men by becoming my wife, and it’s an honor to have all of you share in the event.”

  Peter shifted in his seat.

  Dad forged on, even though I was certain he picked up on it. “It’s been a long road to this day, as all of you know.” He met everyone’s eyes, staying fixed on Peter’s a moment longer than necessary. “But that’s life. Nothing can be perfect, but having a partner with you through thick and thin makes it bearable.”

  Dad briefly turned his attention to Tie. I would have paid one hundred bucks to know what she was thinking. Was it Dad’s way of warning her about her husband, or a way of telling Peter to squash whatever rebuttal was surely bubbling under the surface?

  Sarah nudged my leg with hers under the table.

  Dad sniffed, showing the most emotion I’d ever seen him display. “To Helen. Thank you.”

  We all toasted Helen and my father.

  A quiet settled over the table as everyone tucked into their food.

  “Peter, I hear you’re a golf man. One of my buddies has bailed for our game next Saturday. Care to join us? Oscar Mendez and Reggie Whitcomb are the other two.” Gabe’s smile was inviting.

  I wasn’t normally the type to know the who’s who of the world, but even a business neophyte such as myself recognized the names. The first was an Internet entrepreneur, along the lines of Mark Zuckerberg, and the second was the son of a successful hedge fund manager. Their photos were constantly in the news.

  “Next Saturday, yo
u say?” Peter rubbed his chin, but it was clear he was frothing at the mouth like a coyote about to pounce on a rabbit. “I’m pretty sure I can clear my calendar.”

  “That’s Kit’s birthday,” Tie piped up.

  Peter cleared his throat. “I’m sure Kit will understand if I’m a little late to his party.”

  “He’ll probably take it as a gift—you not being there at all.” Tie sipped her drink innocently, her face devoid of any emotion.

  Gabe laughed good-naturedly. “Good. It’s settled.”

  “How do you know Mendez and Whitcomb?” Sarah asked.

  “We went to school together.” Gabe cracked black pepper over his burnt steak and potatoes au gratin.

  “Where was that?” Sarah dipped a slice of filet into peppercorn sauce, leaving it longer than normal, maybe in the hope of softening the meat.

  “Harvard.”

  “Wow! The flower business must pay well.” Tie’s eyes bugged out.

  My father stared down at his plate.

  “I’ve been fortunate.” Helen motioned for my father to pass her the silver salt and pepper shakers.

  Peter looked to my father and then to Gabe, processing the information in the way only Peter could: how much had that taken away from his inheritance?

  “I’m a Stanford man, myself.” Peter tousled his gel-free hair. I tried remembering how many hairstyles I’d seen him wear over the past few months. Mine was always slicked back in a ponytail these days. “Elizabeth never left the state and settled for CSU.”

  “You make it sound like a bad thing,” I interrupted. “I have a beautiful wife, two amazing children, and I work with the top historian in my field.”

  “And she doesn’t have to go golfing to beg people to invest with her.” Tie popped a glazed carrot into her mouth.

  Peter stared at his wife. His expression barely hid his disdain. I imagined he was fantasizing about wrapping her autumn-colored scarf around her bird-like neck until it snapped.

  “The life of a businessman is only glamorous in the society pages.” Gabe poured more wine into his glass. “Anyone else need a refill?” He raised the bottle.