by Lori L. Otto
“Let me see it.” Jon holds out his hand and waits patiently for her to pass it over. When she doesn’t, he finally gets up and takes it from her. “Let’s see what you’re watching…”
My daughter has mastered the look of guilt and innocence mixed together. I study her wide eyes as she stares at her father.
“What is this?” he asks. I hear the voices of both Edie and Willow coming from the iPad, directing my attention there. “Edie, what is this?” He stands up, facing her, but he continues to watch the video.
“Then, you take the brush like so and gently drag it up the cheekbone,” I hear her say.
“Jon, what is that?” I struggle to move, but it hurts too much. “Let me see it.” He’s ignoring me. “Jon!” When he looks up at me, his face is ghost white, but he’s angry. I try to piece the story together. “That’s not on YouTube, is it?”
He nods his head.
“Give it to me.” Considering my current state, he walks over and sets the device in my lap. I survey the screen quickly, seeing a username of ‘LadyEdieScott’ above the video that continues to play, showing my daughters in Edie’s bedroom as the oldest demonstrates how to put makeup on the younger one. “Edie, what did you do?”
“I made a video,” she says softly, shrugging her shoulders and looking away.
“How did you make a video?” Jon asks her loudly.
“I borrowed Mama’s phone. I set it on a pile of books and propped it against the wall.”
“Did you know about this?” He turns to look at me. I simply glare at him, and he turns back around to confront Edie. “You didn’t borrow Mama’s phone. You stole it from her without her knowing, didn’t you?”
“She was asleep,” she explains.
“Eighty-six-hundred-and-twenty-three likes,” I mumble, feeling sick to my stomach when I see the statistics for her makeup tutorial. “My god, Edie. How did you know how to do this?”
“I just know how to do makeup, Mama.”
“Not the makeup!” I say tersely. Jon takes the iPad from me and looks at the page again. “Who set up an account for you?”
“I did it.”
“Did you lie about your age? Isn’t there a minimum age requirement?” I ask her.
“It’s 18,” Jon tells me, “or 13, with a parent’s permission. I looked it up a few weeks ago when she asked me if she could have an account. And what did I tell you, Edie?”
“I don’t know,” she says, looking down at the floor.
“You do know,” he argues with her. “I told you no. I told you we would revisit the question when you’re 13.”
“Edie!” I say, taken aback by what she’s done and horrified to know that my precious, young daughters are being watched right now by God knows who. By God knows who, times 8,623. And those are just the people who liked it. My skin crawls and my eyes water. “Jon, you have to take it down.”
“What do you think I’m doing?” he responds, sitting next to my feet on the bed, tapping away on the iPad.
“Daddy, no! I have followers already!”
“No, you do not have followers. Nine-year-old girls do not have followers. Do you understand me?” I tell her.
“I can’t believe you put your little sister on the internet looking like that, bunny. You’re supposed to protect her,” Jon says.
“What do you mean?”
“Men look at things like that. Bad men.”
Edie quirks her brows, not understanding. “I did it for girls my age, Daddy. It’s a makeup tutorial. Why would boys care about watching that?”
“Jon,” I say, shaking my head to stop him. He meets my eyes and immediately knows he’s not sure he wants to venture into this conversation, either. She’s innocent and has no idea about the seedy world her father is alluding to.
“Go get your sister,” he says. She walks out of the room quickly.
“You’re not going to talk to them about this, are you?” I plead with him.
“I have to say something… I’ll talk on their level. I promise. We’ll do this together. We have to make them understand the severity of this, Liv.”
“Do not scar our babies,” I say as they come back into the room together, holding hands.
“Sit down on the bed with Mama,” he tells them. “Be careful. You know she’s in pain.”
They both climb up on the pillow to my right where Jon normally sleeps. Willow strokes my head with her hand a few times as if I were a pet of hers. It’s sweet.
Jon pulls his chair over to the side of the bed to be close to all of us.
“Listen, girls,” he says calmly. “What you did today is not okay. I know it seemed like a fun makeup video. I know it looked just like all the other ones you see posted out there on YouTube, but your mom and I aren’t okay with it.
“You know how we try to keep people from photographing you two when we’re out in public, right?”
“Yeah,” they answer together.
“We want you to have a normal childhood, even though we are fully aware you don’t come from a normal family. We have to take special precautions sometimes, okay?” From my peripheral vision, I can see both of the girls nod their heads. “We would prefer the world know as little about you as possible. It keeps you safer. You just have to trust us on this, okay?”
“Yeah, Daddy,” Willow says.
“Do you think bad guys watched my video, Daddy?” Edie asks him.
“I don’t want you to worry about that, girls, but I want you to know that there are some men in this world who will look to date girls no matter how old they are, and that’s not okay. It’s sick.”
“But we’re not old enough to date.”
“No, you’re not, but they don’t care, and when they look at you, they don’t see that. And that’s why they’re sick, bad men. So, we don’t want to give them things to see, right?”
“Right.”
“If there are no pictures and videos out there, then they won’t look at you in that way. This is one way we have to protect you girls. It’s why social media sites have those age restrictions, Edie. To protect you. Do you understand that?”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. I just wanted to help other people.”
“Eeds,” I say, “there are so many other ways–better ways–to help people. We do volunteer work to help people and we donate clothes and toys to help people, right?”
“But you paint your murals for poor cities. And Daddy makes them look prettier somehow, too,” she says. She’s never understood Jon’s job as an architect and his important work on the city planning board. “You donate what you’re good at to help people. I’m just doing the same thing.”
“A few things about that, bunny,” Jon says, talking to her sweetly. “At nine years old, you are far better than any makeup… designer… I’ve ever seen. But you’re only going to get better as you get older, so just imagine how amazing your videos will be when you’re 18, right?”
“I guess,” she pouts.
“And finally, I don’t ever want to see Willow look like that–ever again.”
“I looked pretty, Daddy,” our youngest says. I put my head against hers.
“You looked like a 40-year-old street walker,” he says. I purse my lips together and chuckle, feeling the pain in my back when I do.
“What’s that?”
Neither of us answer.
“A hooker!” Edie yells. I cover my mouth to hide the laughter, not expecting her to know. I’ll let Jon handle that. I have to manage the back pain and the giggles right now. “She did not!”
“What’s a hooker?” Willow continues to ask.
“Edie,” Jon talks over her before she can define it for her sister, “you’re too wise for this world,” he says, nodding his head. “I didn’t know you’d understand that term and your little sister doesn’t need to know it quite yet.”
“Don’t try to talk over me, Daddy,” she instructs him sternly. “I have a big vocabulary.”
“I’m sorry. But she had on too much makeup. Everything in moderation. It’s a lesson you need to learn.”
“He’s right, Edie. But you gave your sister some very pretty hair,” I add, trying to soften the blow. I crane my neck to see their responses. Both girls smile and touch Willow’s hair.
“Go get your iPad, kid,” he tells our youngest.
“I didn’t do anything bad!” she protests, bouncing on the bed a bit too much for my back’s liking. I hold my breath and pray she calms down.
“I’m not taking it away. I’m just going to adjust the settings and then I’ll give it back.” Willow scoots to the end of the bed to get off, then stomps off into her room. While she’s gone, Jon doles out the punishment to Edie. “Two weeks, no screen time except for your math tutoring sessions… and when you have homework, Mama and I will be here to help you. We’ll hold onto the iPad.”
“This stinks.”
“I know, right?” he says.
“And the next time you borrow Mama’s phone,” I tell her, “I’m going to borrow one item of my choosing from your closet and give it to charity.”
“Same goes for Daddy’s.”
She climbs off the bed and stands in front of us with her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open.
“I’ve got my eyes on your denim jacket. The one with glitter,” I tell her.
“That’s a nice one,” Jon agrees.
“I promise, I won’t do it again.”
“Okay. Go to your room and clean up that mess you made this morning, and then go downstairs and get your watercolors out of the spare room. Coley and Trey are coming tonight, and I want this house clean.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Thanks, bunny.”
He immediately looks at me. “Now, if you don’t want your brother coming over tonight, we can cancel the invite.”
“I don’t know that I can get out of bed,” I tell him, “but I guess I’d like some company. He’s seen me look worse.”
“We can move that table and chairs over here,” he says, pointing, “and bring in a few trays for the two of us. We’ll just watch a movie in here and catch up with them. The girls can have a picnic on the floor. They’d love that.”
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah, that’d be great. My muscles are already sore from the basketball game anyway,” he laughs. “I may as well be bedridden, too.”
“No, you have to take care of me,” I say with a playful whine.
“Don’t you see? We’re inviting them over to take care of us and the girls? I’ve got plans,” he jokes.
“You’re cute.”
“Okay, I’ll take care of you. Do you need anything now?”
“No, I’m good right now. Maybe just some rest.”
Willow brings in her iPad and hands it to Jon. He sends her back to her room to pick it up. “Mind if I join you for a power nap while they’re cleaning?” He climbs onto the bed, carefully lying next to me and putting his arm around my torso.
“I don’t want the company,” I tell him, holding his hand.
“Oh,” he says, trying to pull away.
“No, you’re fine. But can you maybe ask Trey and Coley if they can come next Saturday instead? Maybe we can just do this all day,” I suggest, having changed my mind.
“I doubt the girls will go for us lying here all day, but let’s shoot for as long as we can get away with it.”
“Perfect,” I tell him, accepting the kiss he plants on my cheek.
Chapter 7
My mind wanders to a million other things as I try to listen to an audio book on Saturday. I find myself in bed again, this time with a migraine. The back spasms didn’t last long; they were gone by last Sunday, thankfully, but I’ve been overly tired ever since. A few days this week, I’ve head headaches, but this migraine that struck last night is the worst I’ve had in a while.
Meanwhile, the baby finally started being rambunctious, kicking up a storm. I should be enjoying these moments, but with my energy drained, I feel annoyed, blaming this pregnancy and its effect on my hormones for all the changes to my health this time around. And then I feel very guilty.
Touching the cushioned pack on my eyes, I remove it from my face when I realize it’s warmed up to room temperature again. Frustrated with my current state, I do the only thing my body has the energy to do.
I cry. For the fiftieth time this week, I cry, feeling sorry for myself.
Jon must have been in the library down the hall, because he’s in our room in seconds.
“What’s the matter?” He stops the book that had been playing on my phone. Already, I’d tuned it out to the point that I didn’t realize it was still going and wonder how much of the story I’ve missed.
“You’re raising this one on your own, Jon,” I tell him, at my wit’s end. I’m mainly teasing, but right now, I just want him to be born and out of my body. “I’ve gotten him this far.”
“Stop saying things like that, Liv,” he says, laughing. “I know this pregnancy hasn’t been ideal–for either of us.”
“Oh, poor you!” I come back bitterly. “I know you liked the first two better, when my hormones were all out of whack, working in your favor. This time, your boy-child’s cockblocking you. Rest assured this has nothing to do with me. I’m innocent in all of this. The completely absent sex drive. The high blood pressure. The low energy. The headaches. I blame him.”
“You’ll never make me not like him, baby.” Sweet like always, he sits down next to me and takes one of my hands in his. With his other one, he wipes tears from my cheeks. “Or even regret not making another beautiful little girl with you. I’m happy we’re having a son. I’m so, so sorry it’s been rough, but I promise it will all be worth it when he’s here. You’ll see. Boys are great. We’ll have so much fun with him. Edie and Willow are so excited.”
“You realize Edie’s going to put him in dresses, right? He’ll be the next star in her banned YouTube videos.”
He nods and smiles. “As long as they’re careful with him, and inclusive of him, that’s fine with me. I will love our children the same as long as they’re all nice to one another.”
“They’re almost the same age difference I was with Trey. So that’s how it will be.”
“You were… as expected with Trey. I think our girls are a little less spoiled than you were.”
“Hey!”
“Liv, come on. You were the only child of Jack and Emi Holland. You wore a tiara and diamonds to my slum-high school prom.”
“And you loved me in them.”
“I did,” he says, kissing the back of the hand he’s holding. “Nevertheless, we’ve done very well raising our girls to get along with one another. They’re… they’re nearly angelic.”
Against my better judgment, I can’t contain my laughter. My pounding head gets tighter; pounds harder. I close my eyes tightly to try to counteract the pain. “You’re wrapped around their little fingers,” I argue with him.
“This headache’s put you in some kind of mood, Olivia. What can I do for you?”
“Swap out my ice pack and get me another dose of pills,” I request. He checks his watch to make sure it’s okay for me to take them again. “Then rub my ankles,” I say, softer.
When he leaves, I find a relaxation soundtrack on my phone to play in the background.
He comes back upstairs with sparkling water, my mild pain killers, a new ice pack and some magnesium spray. “That’s a good idea,” I tell him, closing my eyes as I let him apply it to my forehead. He rubs it in gently to my temples and massages it through my scalp. “That’s nice.”
“I know,” he says, confident. “It’s why you keep me around.”
“You anticipate my needs.”
“I love you,” he corrects me. “That’s why.”
“And that. Listen, I want you to go ahead and tell Trey and Coley to come. I don’t want to let the girls down again this week. If I’m not up to it, I’ll just shut the door.”
/>
“Well,” he hesitates, “Max wanted to tag along. Callen’s on a business trip. Does that change your mind?”
“They get rowdy, but no. It makes me want you to make sure they come. You haven’t seen him since you guys had the talk with him, right?”
“No. I was looking forward to catching up. Trey reports he’s doing fine. He says he hasn’t bought or smoked any more. I just know when my brother’s lying, so I wanted to casually ask him… see if he was being honest about it.”
“Then please… definitely get them here. And I’m going to lie here while you rub my ankles and then sleep some more and hope to God something makes this migraine go away,” I tell him. “But before you start, your son’s been listening to you and kicking up a storm. Come say hi.”
The smile on his face is one I’ll cherish until the day I die. He kneels on the floor next to me, lifting my shirt and putting his palms against my skin.
“Hey, son,” he starts. “You having a good time in there?” When he feels a strong kick, Jon looks over at me in awe. “It never gets old, baby,” he says to me.
“It kind of does,” I tell him. “But sometimes, it’s nice.”
“Jonny,” he continues talking to the baby, “can you do a big favor for me? Your mama’s not feeling well today, and she needs some rest. Do you think you could take a good nap so she can get some sleep? And whatever you’re doing to cause her headache,” he adds, glaring at me, obviously not believing it’s the baby’s fault, but playing along with me nonetheless, “can you chill with that for a bit? If it’s, you know, growing hair or fingernails or lungs or whatnot? I mean, keep growing, but maybe not at the migraine-inducing pace.”
“No, Auggie,” I say, placing my hand next to Jon’s. “You keep doing whatever you need to do to become a strong and healthy little boy. Mama’s fine.” When Jon puts it that way, it makes me feel selfish.
“I don’t think he knows you’re talking to him when you call him that,” Jon taunts me.
“Auggie knows his name.”
“That is not his name,” he argues, kissing my belly before he gets up. “Mark my words. When you see your son, you’re going to realize that is no name for our child.”