Nico

by J. B. Hartnett

  “Uh, Nico?” my pop asked. “We have a situation, and that situation involves your future sister-in-law and someone named FroFroFro? Or that’s what was being moaned out in the laundry room, but uh, your boys here, they uh…”

  “Pop!” they said together, kicking up a cloud of dust when they halted in front of me. “Pop, you should see Frodo’s wiener. It’s huge!”

  Martin looked up at me. “Will mine get that big?” Then Louis was curious, as well, “Yeah. What about mine? I’m nine minutes older, so mine will be bigger than yours,” he said to his baby brother.

  My own pop, folded his hands across his chest and chuckled to himself. I asked him, “You wanna take this?”

  “No, no son. I’m gonna leave this one up to you.” His shoulders shook as he tried to stifle his laugh.

  I crouched down and said, “Okay, guys, man to man, and I mean it, this just stays between us. Got it?”

  “Got it, Pop,” they said.

  “Right. Wieners are like your feet. You know how that Jess kid wears a whole size bigger than his brother, but he’s shorter and younger?”

  “Yeah,” they said.

  “Well, wieners are like that.” I got closer to them and whispered. “But yours are gonna be like that Jess kid’s feet.”

  “But not like that Frodo guy, right?” Martin asked, concerned.

  Then Louis, “How does he walk?”

  My pop was bent in half, holding his gut when Frodo appeared with a very satisfied looking Dee.

  “Aunt DeeDee, his name is Frodo. You were saying it wrong. He’s named after an elf,” Martin said.

  “It’s not an elf; it’s a troll,” said Louis.

  “It’s a hobbit,” I corrected. “Boys, go see Gamma and get yourselves ready. It’s almost time.”

  When they were out of earshot, my pop casually walked away, leaving me alone with Frodo and Dee.

  “Nico,” Dee started. “I am so sorry and so embarrassed. I’ll pay for their therapy. Just send me the bill.”

  “Dee?” I asked.

  “Yes?” she replied with her eyes downcast.

  “You happy? I mean, you’re spending more and more time in Hobbiton.”

  “Nice touch, man,” Frodo said and smiled.

  She looked at the ground and said, “Happier than I have ever been in my entire life.”

  Frodo took her hand and pulled her into him. “Why, Dierdra Andrews, I do believe you might just love me.”

  She blushed. “Yeah.”

  It turned out, when all was said and done, life had been kicking Dee in the ass over in Merry Ole England. She had gone through all sorts of shit with immigration and work visas, and when she found out her boyfriend had been cheating on her for at least two years, that was when she came to see Lark. But Dee was on the bottom of a very long list of other shit we had to deal with.

  I’d been shot in the gut at close range and had died in Lark’s arms on the floor of the tattoo studio. They brought me back, obviously, and did six hours of surgery to repair and remove part of my bowel and try to save one of my kidneys… which they did. Getting shot didn’t hurt at the time, but the recovery was a fuckin’ bitch.

  While Lark was going to appointments left, right and, center for the pregnancy, I was trying not to go insane with boredom. I couldn’t do a fuckin’ thing for a couple of months. Mom and Pop moved us out to their place, which was really our only option. My place had stairs. I was encouraged to “exercise” each day and do all sorts of other crap to recover more quickly, but I pushed myself more than I should have. I started to feel sick and threw up everywhere. An ambulance came and took me back in for emergency surgery seeing as how I’d ripped something or other. After that, everyone watched me like a hawk. But Pop was great. He helped me outside and sat with me, just listening to all the sounds around us. Just like he had when Mom was sick, and just like he had when I was a kid.

  Lark, in the meantime, was happy, but freaking out that we had not one, but two babies on the way. She was nervous something was going to go wrong, even though she tried to hide it and be strong for both of us. But she carried those boys to thirty-six weeks, which was fantastic according to her doctor. My girl was amazing through the entire delivery. She told a nurse to “Go fuck yourself,” which we all found hilarious. Lark, not so much. Eventually, she did get the epidural then cried because she felt like a failure. Then she informed me, “Next time, I won’t get the drugs, Nico.”

  And she didn’t. Our baby girl, Maree, was born a year later. Between my recovery, Lark not exactly feeling up to it, and two newborns… not to mention we were in my parents’ house, we hadn’t had a chance to be intimate in quite a while. One day, Hank and Ramona drove up in my truck, followed by my parents in a brand new Ford Expedition. We had been using Ramona’s car to get around and just didn’t have the time to go out and buy a new one suitable for our large family.

  The Ford would not have been my first choice, or Lark’s, but it was a gift and sat about seventeen comfortably.

  Pop finally told me about my Grandpop, who was named Bill. Bill had been adopted by a rancher through an agency. The rancher, decided that Bill should have one of “his own kind,” so he adopted another boy named Seth. It turned out that Seth was Hank’s dad. So their fathers were both Lost Birds. That rancher did everything he could to find their real families, but he didn’t get very far. The man never married and never had kids, and when he died, he left his business to Hank’s dad and my Grandpop. He also bought our place in Laguna.

  After the truth came out about Lark and me and our past, Pop and Hank called each other “brother,” every time they saw each other.

  Our families looked at us and, each holding one of the boys, said, “Why don’t you kids take it for a spin. In fact,” Pop produced two packed bags, a cooler, and a couple hundred dollars’ worth of groceries, “go up to the cabin, you two. You need it. Your boys are in good hands.”

  “But I can’t—” Lark started.

  “Sweetie, they’ll be fine. All they do is eat, poop, and sleep… and look cute,” Ramona told her. “You can call us any time, but we talked about it and decided you get one phone call per day. You can call once. We’ll put the phone on speaker, and you can listen to your boys make gurgly noises. But only one time. You kids need a break.”

  “Do you wanna drive?” I asked her.

  “Hell yeah,” she said. But at the last minute, she threw the SUV into park and ran to each of the boys, kissed them, thanked our parents, and then we left.

  We conceived our daughter on that trip.

  No parents sleeping in another room, no babies waking up for feedings at different times… just us. And only the week before, my shooter had gone to trial and was convicted of two counts of attempted murder of myself and my friendly neighborhood liquor store owner, Yosh. He’d finally gotten the cameras fixed. The shooter was found at the Mexican border with a gun, my wallet, and cash from robbing Yosh.

  As a thank you for my help in doing her tattoo and connecting her with my mom, Tawnea featured Lark’s shop in the bridal magazine she worked for. As a result, Lark had to hire two seamstresses and another girl to run the shop, which ended up being Dee.

  And as for my birds…

  They still came in once in a while. Probably the most significant was Deanna. She didn’t come for a tattoo. She came in to say thank you and to apologize for her dead husband kicking the shit out of me. But any new birds went to see a guy named Frodo. He was just better able to handle it. He said he turned off at the end of the day. Whatever the birds told him, he didn’t carry it with him like I had. I told Lark he was a stronger man than I was. I wished I could have handled it better. But she said it was my compassion, and at one point even said I was sensitive. I asked her to never repeat what she told me to anyone else since it made me sound like a pussy.

  After the shooting, Zack and Frodo had found a new tattoo artist name Hannah. That worked out perfectly because I was now taking care of three kids while L
ark worked. My wife made serious cash on evening gowns, wedding dresses, and all the crap that went with them.

  As you can imagine, getting married also sank to the bottom of a long list of priorities.

  That was until Martin came home from kindergarten and asked, “Do you and mommy love each other?”

  “Of course we do,” I answered offhandedly.

  “But not a lot or you’d be married,” Louis added.

  Smart kids… and they had perfect hearing. Apparently, the grandparents were overheard talking one night, and Gamma Ro said as a joke, “If only they loved each other as much as those kids, they’d be married by now.”

  I called each of the grandparents and asked. It was how I knew.

  So, the boys were involved in picking out their little suits. Each wore a grey three-piece suit with an open white collared shirt, just like their dad. And because they had to be like dad, I went back to my jeweler and asked that he make the boys their own shark tooth necklace like mine and had him rework my own necklace so he could use the teeth. My hair had grown out again because, while I was recovering from my surgeries, getting a haircut wasn’t high on my to-do list. My boys had blonde curls we’d never cut that were the same length as mine, and Lark kept telling me, “You are gonna have a lot of angry daddies wanting a word with you about your mini-me sons and their daughters.”

  This made me proud.

  I heard the music begin and made my way to the garden. From a big branch of a pepper tree hung a floral garland of sunflowers, red and yellow gerberas, and a particular rose called Tequila Sunrise. Zack and Frodo stood next to me as we watched Dee walk up the grassy path in a pale lemon gown. She was followed by our boys holding a ring pillow each, one for me and one for Lark… their idea. Then Teensy, wearing her second gown in a peachy color—the first one no longer fit because she was pregnant again—and finally, her girl, Zola, stood at the beginning of the path and waited for her signal.

  My job in all this was to get the boys sorted and choose the music. Lark had said, “I trust your judgment, baby.” I searched and found this wedding band that specialized in classic rock, but seemed to be able to play pretty much anything. They suggested a string quartet for the ceremony, and when I gave them a look that said, “You sure about that?” the man said, “I’m sure.” I got everyone dialed in, and now, a string rendition of “Brown Eyed Girl” began, and Zola followed the beat and stood next to her mom and Dee.

  Then she appeared.

  My girl, at forty-four, looked more beautiful than ever. Her dress still fit, but with the schedule she kept, and trying to keep up with our boys, I wasn’t surprised. The gauzy fabric that made up the sleeves, skirt, and train floated around her, and she really did look like a princess. The only fitted parts to her dress were what I knew—in my new role as errand boy to a bridal gown designer—were a beaded and embroidered cap sleeve and the matching bodice with its heart… exploding with love, for me, the former asshole with the tattoo shop.

  When she made it to the front and Teensy took her bouquet, we never stopped smiling. The celebrant spoke, and Lark and I held hands. We faced each other as she lifted one and put it over the tattoo on my chest with her open palm. Overcome with emotion, she spent the rest of the vows wrapped in my arms, and when I walked back down the aisle with her, I could swear there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  Pop asked the neighbor if he would organize hay rides for the kids. I went to check on the boys, who were in a very deep conversation with Ava Carlye. I only hoped that her little brother didn’t grow up and beat the shit out of my sons, because even at four years old, he did not like the way my boys were talking with his big sister.

  My truck, well, Lark called it her truck since I drove the Ford with the kids most of the time… the truck had been decorated by the kids. I helped my girl into the cab, and we left the celebration. Our boys headed a slew of kids running with sparklers in their hands. Gamma Ro and Uncle Hank held a tearful Maree, Mom and Pop held each other, and all of our friends and family watched as we drove away.

  The cabin had been decorated, probably by the women in our families, but it was just as if we’d booked a honeymoon suite somewhere. Champagne chilled in the fridge, with fresh fruit and tons of food, as well.

  And a yellow cake with chocolate frosting in a glass dome dish.

  Rose petals were on the floor and on the bed, but Lark and I had talked about it in the hospital.

  “When you’re better, after we get married, I want to sit in the canoe with you and just float there. You in your tux and me in my dress and look up at the stars. Remember you said you would never believe it’s the same sky?”

  “I remember, babe.”

  “That’s what I want, okay?”

  “You got it.”

  But we didn’t do that when the parents sent us here, because we hadn’t been married yet. I took the huge quilt she had made and a couple of pillows to make it more comfortable. Then I quietly led my bride down the little path. I got in first and held the small dock with one hand and my other I held out to help her in. We pushed off into the middle, listening to the sounds of the forest, of the night when a shooting star burned across the sky.

  “Did you see that?” she asked.

  “No, babe,” I replied.

  “How could you not have seen that?” She laughed.

  “Because, wife, I was looking at you.”

  She kissed me and leaned back and said, “‘Til the day I die, Nicolas Grant.”

  “No,” I corrected. “‘Til the day I die, Mrs. Grant.”