by Julia Kent
“Yes,” I say immediately as Dec flags down the server.
Holding his credit card between two fingers, he waves it slightly. She comes over, looks at me, and tells him, “It's taken care of.”
Dec insists on paying every other time, but I beat him to it today. He rolls his neck and slides the card back in his wallet.
“Again?” he grinds out.
“Always.”
“You're such a dick.”
“Well,” I say, standing and patting him on the back, “I am James McCormick's son, after all.”
13
Amanda
Everything is in pairs at this baby shower.
Everything.
When you're having two children at the same time, of course, this is how it works.
The only thing we don't have two of is the cake, which–hey! There are multiples of every kind of alcohol.
Where’s the second cake? Especially a Cheeto-vanilla cake?
I demand parity.
Or, at least, my stomach does.
“Hey. You look upset. What's wrong?' Andrew asks, rubbing my back right in the spot that's been aching recently.
“Thinking about how unfair it is that there's only going to be one cake. Mom said Marie is bringing it.”
“It's yours.”
“What?”
“Pam has trays of cookies. If you want the entire cake, go for it.”
Mom's hosting the baby shower. We're at her house, which is spotless. I look at the cookies on the table and perk up.
“Marshmallow treats!”
The doorbell rings and I hear the jingle of Spritzy's collar as Mom answers it. Thankfully, she's having a good day. The Lyme disease protocol she's been on for a few months now seems to be slowly leading to some improvement, though I have my doubts sometimes.
“Pamela,” my father-in-law says with deep affection from the front door, their conversation turning to backdrop as I make my way to the Cheeto marshmallow treats, grab one, and take a bite of the crunchy, gooey stuff. The roof of my mouth argues back a bit, and I know tomorrow it'll be sore from the rough texture, but I don't care.
One of the babies does a flip, making me laugh. Andrew immediately puts his palm over my belly, feeling it.
“This just doesn’t get old,” he says, kissing my cheek.
The baby kicks in affirmation.
“Get a room!” says a bubbly voice as I'm side hugged by Shannon's mom, Marie. Her hands join Andrew's on my belly, the fingernails perfectly manicured, any idea that there might be a boundary about touching my bump inconceivable to her.
“Hi, Marie.” She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, and presses gently on both sides of my personal, attached blimp.
“Hi, babies,” she whispers, her lips inches from my belly button. “What are their names?”
“Sun and Moon,” Andrew deadpans.
“Sun and Moon?” Marie repeats, incredulous. Is her eye twitching?
“Sunshine and Moonbeam, shortened to Sun and Moon.”
“Ha! You would never do that to your children. Those are horrible names!”
“How about James the Second and James the Third?” Declan says from behind us, voice filled with sarcasm.
Not that this is any different from his normal voice.
“That won't work,” Marie says, turning to give Declan a hug.
“Why not?” he asks, winking at me.
“Because James had his chance for a namesake and he blew it. He gave you his name as a middle name,” she says to Andrew, who nods. “You get to pick whatever names you want for your sons.” She plucks a piece of lint off Andrew's shirt, scrunching her face. “Except Sunshine and Moonshine.”
“Moonbeam.”
She waves her hand. “Whatever. Don't give your kids weirdo names. We stuck to Carol, Shannon, and Amy, and look how well they turned out!”
At that exact moment, Carol walks in carrying a cake that looks like... a baby being born out of a woman's vagina?
“MARIE!” Mom shouts. “What is that?” For my mother to raise her voice means whatever's been done is a big, fat negative.
“The cake,” Marie answers, clearly pleased with the result.
“I asked for a Cheeto-vanilla sheet cake.”
“It is. On the inside. But you wanted a boring, white rectangle with orange roses and that was just so... boring, Pam!”
“What's the brown fudge under the baby's head as it's being born?” Andrew asks, peering at the cake with increasing alarm.
Like all of us.
“It's, um....” Marie struggles to explain, which is very unlike her.
“Oh, ewwwww,” Mom whispers, eyes wide, hand going to her stomach as if in pain.
Horror at Marie or Lyme disease antibiotics? You decide.
“We'll just cut this up fast and hope no one realizes what they're eating,” Carol says, reading the room. The oldest of the Jacoby girls, she's the one who fixes her mother's social messes most often. “Put a scoop of ice cream on top and no one will notice they're eating the sugared-up version of an umbilical cord.”
“Did you say Cheeto-vanilla cake? Let me come with you and help,” I venture.
“You just want to sneak a piece.”
“Yup!”
“Here.” She picks up a spoon and scoops some chocolate frosting.
“This looks just like the top of the Turdmobile,” I say as I pop it into my mouth.
Andrew's turn to clutch his stomach.
“Mmmm. Chocolate coffee cream,” I gasp.
“Really?” Carol takes a taste. “Yum!”
“You two are disgusting.”
“No,” she says, patting Andrew's cheek. “We're mothers.”
He's definitely not convinced.
“How is childbirth class going?” Carol asks, eyes twinkling. “Real childbirth class, this time.”
Just then, my friend Josh walks over to us.
His eyes cut to the abomination on the table before us. It looks like Carol is dissecting an alien baby with orange insides.
“Uh, hi?” he says to me, hugging me with thin bands of steel that pretend to be arms. Josh worked with Shannon and me at Consolidated Evalu-Shop, a mystery shopping company that Anterdec acquired a few years ago. Josh is a techie, and still works with me at Anterdec, though he was moved out of mystery shopping and consumer evaluation and into accounting.
Plus he swears the pool of eligible bachelors is better there.
“Josh! I am so glad you're here!”
He thrusts a present at me. It's two boxes stacked, wrapped in white and navy-blue stripes. An adorable card with two little baby feet dangles off the red gift bow. “Happy babies.” Nervous eyes drift to my belly.
“Can you believe there are two in there?” Marie says, grabbing what I think is a Swedish fish posing as the clitoris from the cake and chewing on it. Her hand drifts to my belly again.
Josh peers at my midsection and says, “Absolutely.”
“Hey! I'm not that big.”
Everyone in the room goes quiet.
Oh, crap. I am that big.
“Speaking of childbirth class,” Carol says, clearing her throat and looking at Josh, “I was just asking Andrew and Amanda how it's going.”
Andrew squeezes my hand. “It's fine. Really simple. No instructors wanted by the narcotics squad this time.”
Josh looks at me, mouth a little shaky as he whispers, “Vulvatron.”
“Hey!” I give him an elbow jab, but the memory of mystery shopping a childbirth class at the local hospital–the very same place where I'll be delivering–hits me.
Josh just laughs.
I grab his arm, horror ripping through me as his mention of the past kicks in. “Josh?”
“Yes?”
“I'm Vulvatron.” I look down at my crotch. Can't see it, of course. All I can see is my innie belly button that's turned outie, the nub outlined by the stretchy jersey of my dress. “Me. I'm Vulvatron,” I repeat.
&nbs
p; “That was a joke. We were pretending to be an expectant couple for that stupid childbirth class mystery shop,” Josh hisses. “Don't hold it against me now!”
“Were you joking back then when you told me I wasn't fit to raise a sea monkey?” I shoot back.
“Of course I was! The entire mystery shop was a joke.” He runs his hands up and down his body, pointing. “I was pretending to be hetero. We were acting. You're more than capable of raising a sea monkey.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Hey,” he says, brow furrowed in concentration. “Remember how we learned that some women eat the placenta? Are you planning to do that?”
“Yes. I'll eat half right after the birth and freeze the other half. Then I'll wait a few months, until I'm back at work.”
“Why wait until you're back at work?”
“So I can cook it up, slip it into my lunch bag, and put it in the staff kitchen at Anterdec. Then when you steal my food, you'll eat it.”
“You wouldn't!”
“What good is making an entire organ with my body if I can't use it to torment you? And aha! You didn't deny being the leftover thief!”
“Of course I'm not.” But his shifty eyes give him away.
Of all the moments for my father-in-law to appear.
He looks at the carved-up alien baby on the table.
“I see Marie made the cake herself,” he says dryly, reaching for an unopened bottle of whisky of such high quality and expense I'm one hundred percent sure he brought it as a contribution to the celebration, but with the intent of consuming most of it himself.
“No! I found someone on Facebook Marketplace who does baby cakes,” Marie chirps.
“That's supposed to be a baby? It looks like someone hit a clown with a Humvee and you scraped it off the turnpike.”
We all do a double take, because that's exactly what it looks like.
“It's nothing some good ice cream can't fix,” Carol says patiently.
James shakes the whisky bottle midair. “This will suffice as my dessert.”
I grab the slice with the baby's nose and chomp down. Mmmm. Caramel.
Jason joins us. The bottle in his hand is amber, and must be some kind of locally brewed beer.
“Andrew.” They shake hands, Jason turning to James to do the same. Then his eyes settle on–take a guess.
My attached boulder.
“Two in there, huh? We never had two babies at the same time. That's going to be so much fun.”
“You have a warped idea of fun, Jason,” James comments.
“I love babies. You two ever need a babysitter, let me and Marie know.”
“Hey!” Declan says to his mother-in-law. “You're our babysitter.”
“Ellie's growing up. We need a new baby to hold,” Marie says pointedly. She actually sniffs.
“Is that a subtle hint?” Shannon asks, coming in next to Declan to slide her arm around his waist.
“Since when do I hint?” Marie replies. “I've been saying Ellie needs a sibling since...”
“Since we conceived her,” Dec mutters.
“If you two want to get started on another, go for it. I'm sure there's a closet somewhere here at Pam's where you can have privacy,” Marie says to Declan.
Who points at Andrew and me. “They're the ones with a thing for closets.”
“Maybe that's how we stop fighting about cribs,” I say to Andrew with an elbow nudge. “Just give them a walk-in closet to sleep in.”
“Who does that? Sounds cruel. Besides, we can afford new cribs.”
“You can afford to build new walk-in closets,” Jason says drolly as he offers up a piece of poop.
Which I accept gratefully.
“Why are we eating cake first? Don't we normally do this later?” Declan asks, spearing a chunk of red cake that must be from the placenta and chewing thoughtfully. He scoops a piece of poop off his plate and eats it.
Andrew turns green.
“What kind of party games did Shannon come up with?” Marie asks, eyes bright with excitement. “Remember Porn, Labor, or Constipation?”
“How could we forget, Mom?” Amy says, frowning as she enters carrying a red and white polka-dotted gift. She looks at me, teeth gritted, eyes shining maniacally as she adds, “I'm never having kids after playing that game.”
“Come on! The pain isn't that bad.”
“I meant the constipation pictures.”
“Oh. Yes. The first postpartum poop is–”
Amy shoves a piece of chocolate poop in her mom's mouth. She moans.
“I love these chocolate shavings around this pink cake!” James says, appearing with a slice. “How inventive. The shades of pink and purple are so vivid.”
“It's a hairy vulva,” Marie explains.
Instantly, Andrew turns on one heel and leaves.
“A what?” James inquires politely.
“Hairy vulva.”
“Is that a Latin term?”
“Like cunnilingus?” Marie replies, clearly perplexed. James begins to choke.
Good to know my father-in-law knows the meaning of that word.
“Don't you dare mention Cardi B. and Megan Thee Stallion's song,” Shannon whispers in my ear. I laugh, which nearly makes me pee, which confuses my central nervous system, and suddenly, I'm hiccuping and have an eyelid twitch.
“If we're going to talk about vaginas at a baby shower, it should be mine. Not the one on the lovely cake Marie brought,” I say, trying to divert attention.
It works.
“And have you seen the album?” Mom says loudly as she picks up on my cue and changes the subject. “Amanda's baby photos.” Mom looks at James. “We have one of Andrew, too, thanks to his father.”
“You do?” Andrew says, surprised.
“Of course. Remember the copies I made years ago and gave to you for Christmas?”
Declan looks at Grace, who is now across the room, chatting animatedly with Gina. “You mean the copies Grace made and put into the albums we all received.”
James waves his hand dismissively. “You have them. I assume the boys will look like Andrew,” he says in a tone that is so annoying it's as if it's all affect, but it's not. James came out of the womb clutching a mergers and acquisitions contract and an ego the size of Missouri.
“You can't assume that.”
“Why not? My sons resemble me.”
“They have some of Elena in them, James,” Grace points out, joining our group. I notice Gina now at the table, picking up a Cheeto marshmallow treat, sniffing suspiciously.
“Fine. And the boys would certainly be well served by big, smart eyes like Amanda's,” my father-in-law says, offering an unctuous–and rare–compliment.
I blame the scotch.
“Thank you,” I say politely, earning a dazzling smile from him. The guy may be in his sixties, but I see how he manages to get women in their twenties to date him. Charm doesn't fade from men like James McCormick.
Or from his sons.
Andrew's arm wraps around my expanding waist and squeezes my hip, his nose in my hair. “I hope our boys take after you. But when we have a girl, she'll–”
“Hold up there, bucko. Let me get through this pregnancy first.”
Mom watches us, eyes rolling from Andrew to me. “You want more?”
I rub my belly. “Eventually.”
He kisses my cheek. “Four.”
“FOUR?” James and Mom gasp in unison.
Andrew gives his dad a flat look. “Sure. Have to do one better than you.”
“Hmph. I'm not too old to produce another child, you know. Don't poke my competitive streak,” James replies.
Poor Jason has just wandered over to us.
“Are you crazy? You'd be dead before the child turned eighteen!” A booming, unexpectedly caustic laugh makes everyone stare at him in surprise. For a mild-mannered guy, this is out of character.
“Clint Eastwood had a baby in his seventies,”
James huffs. “I could, if I wanted to.”
“And I could have a surgeon cut off my arms and attach them to my forehead like horns if I wanted to, but I'd be crazy and there would be no point,” Jason shoots back, but his entire demeanor softens, as if he's realizing the fight isn't worth it.
“It doesn't matter,” Andrew interrupts. “You're not having more kids,” he says to James, “and even if you did, we'd just beat you by having another.”
“We would?” I squeak.
“What about us?” Declan demands, pointing between himself and Shannon, who startles like she's been hit with a cattle prod. “We could have five, if we wanted to.”
“FIVE?” Shannon screams in horror.
“FIVE?” Marie squeals with sheer delight.
Shannon turns on her mother, finger in her face like she's ready to give her a nasal swab test with her fingernail. “We are NOT having five kids!”
“But Declan just said–”
Shannon turns to her husband, same finger in his face. “We are not having five kids to fulfill some sick competitive streak of yours.”
“We'll talk later,” he says smoothly. He turns to Pam. “How are you doing? Shannon told me you learned the fibromyalgia might be caused by Lyme?”
Pam and Declan begin talking as Shannon stands there, gape-mouthed. Her husband has just smoothly finessed his way out of a fight.
“How does he do that?” she hisses. “I can't complain publicly because he's expressing compassion for Pam. But he left that grenade hanging without a pin!”
“He'll have to put the pin back in the slot someday,” I say with a wink.
Her eyebrow cocks. “Ooooo. Leverage.”
“Awwwwwwww,” comes a collective outburst from the living room. Shannon and I share a perplexed look and follow the crowd.
A slideshow is being projected on the wall.
Terry is holding baby Andrew in a photo, Declan behind them, playing with a toy truck, the 1990s on display.
In the present, James has a funny look on his face, arms folded over his chest. Andrew stands next to him, looking like his dad.
A hand goes to my shoulder and I turn to find yet another McCormick man in my Mom's house.
“Terry!” I say, instantly in a hug with my brother-in-law. Of the three McCormick boys, he's the most distanced from the family. The eldest, with the deepest voice, he's the rebel. He was groomed by James for greatness, but he quit Anterdec after their mother died and James handled it all so poorly, turning Declan into the scapegoat.