by Lilian Darcy
Yes, she answered, smiling, but that doesnt mean were not allowed to be elegant about it.
I guess not. She probably knew exactly the way he usually ate. I like your kitchen, by the way.
Thank you. So do I.
The high-ceilinged space was crowded with interest and color, a far cry from his sleek, incomprehensible appliances in stainless steel. She still used an old-fashioned gas cooker that must date from the 1940s, and the rest of the room followed the same theme. Old wooden cabinets had been stripped and freshly stained, and the paintwork was done in warm cream with contrasting detail in porcelain blue.
On a high shelf sat a row of antique china teapots, and below them another row of more down-to-earth kitchen equipmenta set of heavy metal scales with cast-iron weights, a cast-iron mincer with a worn wooden handle, a couple of antique rolling pins, a Mixmaster that had to be one of the original models from the Fifties.
Did someone dumb question, he realized halfway through, but finished it anyway do this for you?
You mean a professional? A decorator?
Its all you, right?
Me and about twelve years of collecting. I love all these old appliances. The teapots, the rice and flour bins.
Do you still use them?
Some are just for show, I admit. I wouldnt trust the power cord on the Mixmaster, even though the motor still runs just fine. I do have the modern necessities, as well, as you can see. She gestured to a blender on the countertop, and a dishwasher built in to the row of cabinets beneath it. And I have about a hundred bone china teacups that used to sit on the bottom two shelves, here, but theyre packed away until the twins get more civilized and I have more time to dust. Shall we take all this to the coffee table? Dont want to be eating cold shrimp.
Could we eat here, instead? Talk a bit, have some wine and save the DVD for later? Jake heard himself say.
Considering hed recently accused Stacey of being stuck in a suburban rut, he was surprisingly curious about everything she had to say. And considering he used to enjoy shoveling takeout into his mouth too fast with no one around to remind him about table manners, he now discovered that the idea of avoiding his recent bouts of heartburn by eating slowly while he and Stacey talked held an unexpected appeal.
Sure, she said.
Eating on our own in front of TV is
probably something both of us do too often.
You, too, huh?
Since the divorce.
I eat too fast.
Me, too. She made a fist and a sour face, and tapped her chest. Which do you go for? The liquid or the pills?
I dont think either of em work real well. I usually just sit up too late cursing chili.
They both laughed, and laid her elegant place settings on the kitchen table instead.
It was such a good evening. With his palate spoiled by authentic oriental cuisine eaten in places like Hong Kong, Sydney and New Yorks Chinatown, Jake discovered Stacey knew how to find a good Chinese restaurant even in suburban Portland. The wine slipped down easily, a glass and a half each, sipped slowly over a good hour or more of talk.
At around nine, they loaded the dishwasher, stacked the cartons of leftover food in the fridge and made themselves comfortable on her squishy couch to watch their movie, which had enough laughs mixed in with its romance to lull him into thinking that chick flicks, as his brother Scott called them, werent so bad after all. Jake put his arm around Staceys shoulder and she nestled into him and they stayed that way until the end credits rolled.
Then he made some token murmurs about getting home and she told him not to be an idiot and they went upstairs to bed.
They made love more slowly this time. More thoughtfully. More experimentally. A little more conversation in the mix. She kissed and touched every inch of him, turning it into the most erotic and sensual massage hed ever imagined. He grew painfully aroused and at the same time as relaxed as a lion sleeping in the sun. She felt like a big cat, tooso sinuous and sleek and soft. When he entered her at last, they barely needed to move. Their bodies were so sensitized and attuned, so ready.
So ready.
And then so sleepy.
He barely stayed awake long enough to hear her drowsy murmur of his name. Sorry, she finished. Too sleepy to tell you. Amazing.
Dont have to say it, he answered. I know.
The clock beside her bed read 3:12 when he awokesuddenly, the way he did when his hospital pager sounded, or when he was in a hotel room and at the mercy of a new citys unfamiliar sounds. One of the twins must be having a vivid dream. He heard a little cry and some fragments of unhappy words coming from along the corridor. He lay there, muscles tensed, wondering what to do.
Should he go to their room?
Remembering Max and Ellas reaction to him when theyd awoken from their naps this afternoon, he decided against it. If the words turned into crying, Stacey would wake up and do whatever she usually did, and that would be best.
Forcing himself to relax, he listened for more sounds but none came, and the sweet, sleeping female body lying warm beside him didnt stir. He felt her slow, rhythmic breathing nudge his side, in and out, in and out.
Rhythm.
Rhythm was nice.
Maybe he hadnt had enough of it in recent years. The rhythm of someone elses breathing, because hed too often slept alone. The rhythm of the seasons, because travel had dislocated them and turned them upside downscorching hot Christmas in Australia, steamy humidity any month of the year in Cambodia where hed done three short-term stints as a medical volunteer.
After the last of those, hed flown direct to Denver where the landscape had been covered in February snow. Even the rhythm of a day-to-day routine wasnt familiar, because obstetricians kept odd hours and single obstetricians kept the oddest hours of all with no family to anchor them.
Yes, the rhythms of an ordinary life had a definite appeal.
He felt in no hurry to get back to sleep, slipped his arm around Stacey and buried his nose in her shampoo-scented hair. He would sleep again eventually, and then morning would come, heralded no doubt by a pair of alarm clocks disguised as children. Stacey said she went to them pretty fast now, as soon as she heard them, because they eagerly attempted to climb out of their big cribs as well as the little portable one shed brought to his place, and she thought their climbing efforts would soon succeed.
Morning.
Max and Ella finding him in their mothers bed.
Stacey didnt want it to happen, he remembered.
Shed talked about it in relation to John and a potential new girlfriend. Shed sounded emotional about it, and shed made sense.
If he had a casual fling, how would I feel about the twins discovering a woman in his bed in the morning? Its important, and you get protective, shed said.
Oh, but he couldnt leave. How the hell could he leave? The bed felt so warm, and Stacey felt so good beside him. He could imagine them both awaking at the first hint of dawn, warmth turning to heat, making love again
And the twins picking today to learn the crib climb and showing up in Mommys bedroom all proud of their new achievement, right in the middle of the action.
Pond scum.
I must be, Jake thought, because Id take the risk. Wed stop if we heard them. Wed have the covers pulled up.
He had a whole raft of easy rationalizations on the subject.
Because he really didnt want to leave.
Stacey stirred in her sleep and unconsciously snuggled closer. Jake couldnt see clearly in the darkness, but he could swear she had a smile on her face. If he slept through until morning, what was she going to do about it? Would it be such a terrible crime?
She stirred a little more and he thought that if she woke up, then hed ask.
He waited, hoping, wondering if he could, say, tap her shoulder or tickle her. But then she half rolled in the bed and he heard her breathing deepen and slow once more. He knew he had to go, as shed asked.
Quietly, he slid to the edge of the bed, flipped back
the corner of the comforter and climbed out. Gathering his clothes, he took them into the bathroom and dressed there. He kept listening for any sound coming from the bedroom, but all stayed silent.
Downstairs, he found pen and scrap paper in the kitchen and wrote out a note.
As per our earlier discussion, Im going home. He hesitated. The statement sounded too stilted and formal, and yet he didnt want to write it in words of one syllable.
You told me you didnt want the twins to find me in your bed.
That soundedaccusatory, somehow, as if he was telling her, Youre being a pain, but Im going along with it.
After some more thought, he decided that there was an appropriate jauntiness to what hed written. It didnt come across as too heavy, and that was good. He added, Ill call you. Youre fabulous. Jake.
He drove home in the dark. There was a fine slush on the roads, making them slippery. His bed felt cold and too new. Two hours later his pager sounded and it was Dr. Lindsay Forrest again, to let him know that Mrs. Murchisons symptoms hadnt settled down, in fact theyd gotten worse, and it seemed unavoidable that theyd have to deliver.
Did Jake want to do it? Mrs. Murchison was asking for him, and Lindsay herself was a little nervous about the whole case. The triplets were at twenty-six weeks gestation. They would be dangerously premature, all three of them were badly positioned in the womb and one triplets placenta lay far too low.
He dressed again and drove to the hospital.
Stacey found Jakes note as soon as she went downstairs with the twins at six-thirty.
Well, she was looking for a note, so it wasnt hard to see.
As per our earlier discussion, it began.
Still creaky from sleep and not even dressed, while the twins acted as if they were ready to run a marathon, she couldnt think. What earlier discussion? Finally, while the coffee dripped through the filter and Max and Ella ate cereal, she thought shed worked it out. He meant the discussion about him staying the whole night.
She read the note again. As per our earlier discussion, Im going home. It sounded prickly, in her head, as if shed put his nose out of joint with her overprotective insistence. She couldnt remember the discussion word for word. She knew it hadnt lasted long, a couple of quick lines when she was heading upstairs to put the twins to bed.
Ill call you. Youre fabulous, sounded a lot better than the first part, but still she wasnt sure.
Hed call her when?
Hed gone home when?
And she was fabulous where? Just in bed? Or maybe in a couple of other significant rooms, as well? Such as the kitchen, where theyd had that great conversation while they ate?
This was the kind of thing women always obsessed over when they shouldnt. An hour of going over the whole eveningin fact the whole of yesterdaydidnt leave her with any more insight or certainty regarding Jake, his note or his feelings than shed had after the first five minutes.
Shed known from the start that she was laying her whole heart on the line by getting involved with him again. Shed gone into it with her eyes open and her courage high. But the courage had ebbed a little, and the obsessing didnt help.
Dont you sometimes wish you had a Y chromosome, honey? she said to her daughter. Sooo convenient on the potty, and in the area of relationship analysis, too. And isnt it great that you dont understand most of the words in what I just said?
Ella agreed. Go outside? she asked hopefully, in reply. Max thought this was such a great idea, he ran at once to get his shoes.
How about we wait on it a little, my sweethearts? Stacey suggested. Like until the sun actually comes up?
She somehow thought she couldnt expect Jake to call, either, until the sun had properly risen in the sky. Men were completely unreasonable about things like that.
Women could be pretty unreasonable, also. Stacey listened to her messages from yesterday, and along with a couple of telemarketer hang-ups, there was another one from her sister. Hi-ee! Just calling to chat. Did you get my message last week? Call if you get this. Love you and miss you! Bye-ee!
Stacey called Giselle back at nine, when the sun had well and truly risen behind the low clouds and Jake would have to know that a mother of toddler twins was up, dressed, breakfasted and more than ready for some phone action.
The theory was that Stacey calling Giselle would make Jake call Staceythis was the unreasonable partand the call waiting tone would break into her conversation with Giselle and shed be able to tell him in an offhand manner, Im already on another call, so can I get back to you? as if she hadnt been hanging out to hear his voice for two hours.
Im sorry I didnt call you back, she told her sister.
No sweat, Giselle trilled. I didnt even think about it until yesterday. I have been sooo busy! You wouldnt believe it! She listed several glittering social engagements, and the outfits shed had to purchase for each. Stirling is climbing the ladder of success so fast hes burning his hands on the rungs. Hes just having a dream run. She detailed various proofs of her husbands success, including the fact that some celebrity executive wife was being sooo friendly, practically treats me like a baby sister, the things she confides in me.
Thats great, Giselle.
What wasnt so great was the ominous silence she could hear from the living room, where the twins were playing. Hurrying in there with the cordless phone still pressed to her ear, she found that Max and Ella had somehow taken an opened packet of breadcrumbs from the pantry and were now totally absorbed in spreading the crumbs in a very exciting layer of smooth crumbiness all over the seat of the couch with the splayed palms of their little hands.
Suppressing her stricken cry, Stacey accepted that the mess would have to wait until Giselle had finished her gushing account of lifes recent successes. Twenty minutes later, after her sister had failed to ask a single question about the twins or Stacey herself, she put down the phone, wondering if she only existed in Giselles world as an envious listening ear, and if even calling their relationship amicable was a stretch.
No call waiting tone from Jake had interrupted the conversation.
Almost noon, Jake saw as he poured himself a tired cup of coffee in the on-call room.
Almost noon, with three triplets surviving and now in the hands of specialist pediatricians and nurses, while their mother had lost a scary amount of blood during her dramatic postpartum hemorrhage but had survived, too.
He felt wiped.
His blue scrub suit showed the evidence of his expert work, and his head wouldnt slow down. Those tiny babies were not out of the woods, yet. Even though their care and survival fell outside of his professional boundaries, he kept thinking about their odds and his role.
Mrs. Murchison had wanted to breast-feed as a supplement to formula, but she might not have the strength to establish an adequate milk supply. The babies would need tube feeding at this point. They were all on ventilators. Theyd been conceived through IVF and theyd be the only children Kathy Murchison would have after what hed had to do to bring her bleeding under control.
He could make it home now, for a few hours, but he wanted to come back and check on her again later in the day. Lindsay Forrest, the junior obstetrician whod been covering for him this weekend, had performed well during the crisis. She could probably have gotten through it safely without his presence, but he was glad shed called him in, all the same.
The time hed spent with Stacey last night seemed like days ago rather than hours.
Reaching home, he changed into casual clothes and tossed his soiled surgical scrubs in the laundry hamper, glad that he had housekeeping help starting part-time tomorrow. He found a red plastic block behind the kitchen door and wondered how it had gotten there. Clutched in a toddler hand and then dropped at random, probably.
His otherwise immaculate residence showed further signs of little hands. There was a smear of yesterdays lunch on the mirrorlike front surface of the dishwasher, a wet leaf in the mudroom sink and a squished berry remnant on the floor.
Why, whe
n he was so tired and getting very hungry, was he touring every room like this, searching for signs of Max and Ellas mess?
Because of his mixed feelings about their mother.
Because he was pond scum.
Ill call you, hed written to Stacey in his note.
But when?
Now?
He thought about it, felt the tension in his muscles, the frustration still simmering inside him at the reality of triplets born fourteen weeks early via a difficult Cesarean delivery. He didnt want to call Stacey now, didnt trust his negative mood to stay safely out of the way. He would end up trampling on the whole conversation with some ill-thought comment. He knew he would.
In fact, he should hold off on calling her for a couple of days, until hed had a chance to think, and get some perspective. For both their sakes, he had to be careful not to get too close. Theyd had a fantastic night, tuned to each other in bed like instruments in an orchestra, but that wasnt the point. It was only a fraction of what really mattered.
To get some distance, he went out, grabbed a drive-through burger for lunch and hit a couple of cycling stores in search of the perfect bike to use in one of the countrys most bicycle-friendly cities. Keen to get his fitness up to its peak again after finding too little time for exercise in recent weeks, he came away with a top-of-the-range machine that left him several thousand dollars poorer.
In passing, he noted that there were more options for carrying or towing small children on a bicycle than hed ever realized before.
Chapter Eight
K ids, you want pita? Staceys friend Valbona called down her basement stairs. Is out of oven five minutes.
Stacey stretched reluctantly in the comfortable armchair and picked up her empty mug, ready to return it to the kitchen. We should go, Valbona. It was almost five oclock on a Wednesday afternoon. There would be traffic. She still had to stop at the store, and she was working tomorrow and Friday, as usual. She had to make some attempt to get her house in order and meals planned for the next two days.
Nooo! Valbona protested. Stay for pita. Kids love it.