by Sybil Smith
Instead of taking her dress to the hamper for dry-cleaning prep, she lays it on the edge of the bed before hoisting the still-underweight-for-his-age Noah on one hip and the puppy under the other arm. Her son immediately clings on tight like a monkey, and the dog squirms as he fights her grip. At least one of the heathens seems calm for a moment.
However, once she's downstairs, everything is much the same. In fact, it may just be even more chaotic. Tesla, the oldest twin by a minute, runs around the couch, dark curls bouncing this way and that. Her shirt is lost somewhere amidst the toys strewn across the living room, and her bare stomach is tattooed with washable markers. At least Olivia remains plopped on the couch, but that's not much of a victory considering she's throwing handfuls of her favorite cheesy crackers on the floor. Tears dry on her pale face as she digs out orange crumbs dangling from her left nostril with a lone finger.
If all the other babysitters within a twenty-five mile radius hadn't already boycotted babysitting their children, Evelyn would hire another one on the spot. It's apparent that three kids, a puppy, and a two-story townhome are too much for Alicia's inexperience to manage. But as it is, Becky is the only teenager left in the city that will come within ten feet of their house. Though they're on financially-stable footing, neither she nor Vera are quite ready to fork over fistfuls of money to a professionally trained nanny.
"I gave them some snacks," Becky says from where she leans against the front door.
"I can see that," Evelyn sighs. Strands of hair fall in her face as she drops Noah and the dog to their feet. "How were they today?"
"Fine," Alicia shrugs, popping her chewing gum. Her hand comes out like an offering plate.
Evelyn digs around in her wallet for a crumpled wad of money as she looks around the disaster of a living room. "It doesn't look like it was fine," she murmurs under her breath.
Alicia quickly shuffles through the bills. Once she gets to the last five dollars, her eyebrows skyrocket upwards in disbelief.
Evelyn tilts her head. "Did we not agree on thirty-five?"
"I mean yeah," Becky answers, drawing out the word. "But Liv took off her diaper and accidentally peed in the floor. Tesla threw her pudding cup and it got in my hair," Alicia explains. "And I just got it dyed this morning, so I'm not even supposed to wash it until tomorrow. But I can't go to school with that in my hair…"
Evelyn sighs softly as she digs through her wallet again. She has to find another babysitter. Preferably one that doesn't guilt her into forking out another fifteen dollars every single night. "If you ever feel like you're in over your head again, you know to call either Vera or myself."
"Yeah. Next time," Becky says she adds the extra money to the rest of her wadded-up stash. "Thanks, Mrs. Banks. I knew you'd understand."
Evelyn would correct the last name if it didn't remind her of her very beautiful, very behind schedule wife. Becky practically runs out the door, leaving Evelyn standing in the middle of screaming toddlers, toys, booger-crackers, and a dog tinkling at her feet. Not quite caring about going on a hunt for Clorox at the moment, she cleans it up with what is probably Tesla's lost shirt, and then makes Vera's favorite, wonderfully nutritious dinner of macaroni from a box. Sometimes making a five-star dinner is discarded in favor of getting everyone to bed on time.
Tesla stands in her chair, demanding that she get chocolate milk instead of water, and the dog runs laps around the table trying to catch Cecilia's discarded food as it wetly plops against the hardwood floor. Noah actually stays seated and well-behaved, but that small ounce of goodness hardly matters on a night like tonight.
The front door opens and swiftly clicks shut as Vera and her whirlwind energy finally arrive home. Evelyn practically jumps up from her seat at the table to greet her.
Vera looks around the living room, the food stuck in the twins' hair, Evelyn's near-pleading eyes. "Wow. Uh, okay." Leaning down, she gives her wife a quick peck on the forehead. "That kind of day, huh?"
Evelyn manages a smile. "That kind of day."
Marching into the kitchen, Vera passes out hair-ruffles and kisses to each of her children. Her presence, like always, riles them up—ratcheting up the energy around the table even further. Like Evelyn, she futilely tries to get everyone to settle down after giving each a few minutes of her undivided attention. But sometimes even her best persuasion tactics don't work on these hooligans, and, as a detective, she was trained to be the best there is. Ultimately, it's the promise of taking them to the park on the weekend if they're good that gets them all to calm down and eat their food with almost no complaints.
After dinner is finished and the dishes are done, Evelyn offers to take the near-daunting task of coercing the twins into bed. For the first time in two weeks, she lucks out and only has to coax one into pajamas while Tesla, ever-independent, decides she's old enough to do it herself.
They look so sweet and innocent when they're sleeping. She has also had to extend her hours at work, meaning she sees them less and misses them more. So she stays an extra few minutes to watch them curl under the blankets and drift away.
Tesla, practically a carbon copy of Vera with dark brown curls and dark eyes with an unfathomable depth to them, grows more headstrong and autonomous daily. Already two inches taller than her sister and with a personality larger than life, Evelyn's chest clenches at the realization that her little baby girl isn't quite so little anymore.
Where Tesla has a dark-complexion, Olivia holds firm on the other end of the spectrum. Her hair is so light that it almost fades in with the pale yellow sheets underneath her head. Light freckles spatter her cheeks from hours riding on Vera's shoulders at the park, and her light eyes silently take in the world around her. She's clearly the least dominant of the two (except for days and nights like this where she's been away from her mamas for so long), but no less sure of what she wants and when she wants it.
With a kiss to each of their foreheads, Evelyn finally leaves to help tuck Noah into bed. A light is on in her own bedroom, and she walks down the narrow hall towards it, where she's sure Noah will beg to sleep in bed with them tonight. He's almost too old for that, but after such a long day and terrible case, she may just agree to it.
"Noah," she calls as she steps inside her bedroom. "Time for…"
She trails off as she realizes the decision of where he will be sleeping has already been made. Vera, propped up against the headboard, has her arm curled around him where he lies in the middle of their king-sized bed, with his head pressed against her side, snoring. A smile involuntarily grows on her face.
"Sorry," Vera whispers as she crawls into the other side of the bed. "He did that look—yeah, you know the one—and I couldn't say no."
"I don't mind," Evelyn answers, her voice dropping to match Vera's. She scoots close and brushes some of his too-long hair from his eyes. "He needs a haircut."
"After that butchering he got last time, I don't blame him for not wanting to," Vera retorts. "He looked like a q-tip for a month."
Evelyn playfully purses her lips. "It wasn't that bad."
"Says the woman that made him wear a hat in public until it grew out."
Evelyn's laugh is soft. "Touché." She leans over, waiting for Vera to meet her halfway, before giving her a kiss. "You should sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow."
"When don't we have to get up early?" Vera grins, reaching behind Noah to fiddle with the soft ends of Evelyn's hair. "I just want to sit here for a minute. I miss my family."
Evelyn intertwines her fingers with Vera sympathetically. She, too, misses her family—Vera and Noah and Tesla and Olivia—when they work tough, weeks-long cases. She misses Vera's laugh and Noah's growing wonder with the world; she misses her twins toddling about, getting into trouble and making messes and begging to be carried on her hip. She misses the love that surrounds her and fills her completely when she's with them.
It's times like these, quiet times filled with reminiscing and love and comfort, that she misses Tr
istan, too. Evelyn finds herself wondering what he would be like, what he would enjoy doing, what kind of growing young man he would be. And while it's true that these thoughts have dwindled to every third or fifth-day of the week, they never diminish completely. I
n the fall, she thinks of his sandy-blond hair blowing in the wind. In the winter, she remembers the way his tiny nose would turn pink from the cold as she carried him home. In the spring and summer, she's reminded of playing with him outside—running through sprinklers and chalk doodles and tricycle races in the driveway.
But now when she remembers him, she's no longer hit with overwhelming sadness and loss. She's reminded of how lucky she was to have him as a son, for the chance to know and love him. And when she recounts those memories to Vera now, there is no bereavement etched on her face or tears in her eyes. Instead, she's smiling, peacefully, and his name rolls of her tongue like a blessing that she knows very few are fortunate enough to experience, even if only for a moment.