by Emerson Rose
“How’s my sweet little angel pie today? Are you all ready to go home with Mama and Daddy? Yes, you are. I know you are.” She’s talking baby talk to my daughter . . . baby talk. My mother, who always made fun of people that baby talk to their children. She would say to speak to them like an adult, and they will speak properly to you when they grow up.
Who is this woman?
“Yes we’re about to go home, Gloria. I was just getting ready to talk to Holland about that. In fact, could you give us a moment?” King says. Mama nods, giving him a knowing look.
“Of course! Sure, sure. I’ll wait in the hall.” She leans over Juliette’s bassinette again and makes the scariest face I’ve ever seen. “Granny will be right back, snookum wookums.” She makes big, fat kissy lips and opens her eyes wide several times before tweaking Juliette’s cheeks and exiting the room.
“What the hell . . . no, wait. Who the hell was that?” I point at the closed door, where some deranged version of my mother just exited.
“Your mom is something else, that’s for sure,” King says, rolling his eyes. What’s a snookum wookum?”
“Uh, you got me. Mama doesn’t believe in baby talk, so I don’t know where the hell that came from. She seems to know something about my surprise, though, which makes me much more curious . . . and worried. You told her and not me?”
King has been folding clothes and putting them back into my overnight bag while I put all the flowers and gifts onto a cart to roll out to the car. There are so many flowers from so many people, most of which I don’t know. These are expensive arrangements. Some are plants and flowers I’ve never seen before. King knows a lot of people, and most of them are rich and spared no expense.
“Your mom had to know. I needed some help.”
“Help with what? What are you up to, King?”
“Well . . . I don’t think it’s appropriate for a baby to live above a nightclub. I didn’t like my pregnant girlfriend living there either, but I needed some time.”
“Time?”
“To build you a house.” King crosses the room and stands so close to me that I have to tip my head back to see his face, but he doesn’t touch me.
“You built me a . . . a house?” I don’t know what to say. I am totally at a loss for words.
“Yes.”
I still cannot speak. He’s done some pretty elaborate things for me, but this . . . Building a house is probably nothing to King. He’s got more money than he knows what to do with. But it’s a big deal to me. I’m stunned.
“Holland?” King’s big hands wrap around my arms and he gently shakes me. “You okay, baby?”
I answer by nodding my head up and down as my eyes fill with hot tears. For forty-eight hours straight, I have felt like an emotionally unstable nut job. Everything makes me cry, and it’s starting to piss me off. King pulls me into his arms, and I’m surrounded by the earthy scent of his new cologne. I didn’t think he could smell better than he already did, but somehow he does.
“You smell so good.” I moan against his chest and he chuckles.
“Glad you like it. Are you okay with the house thing? I just wanted you to have a real home, ya know?”
I look up at him and nod. “Yes, of course. I don’t know why I never thought about it. Actually, I haven’t thought about a lot of things, like where’s the nursery going to be, where will she go outside to play, what about clothes and diapers . . . oh my God, King, I’m going to be a terrible mama. I can’t do this. What was I thinking?” The tears that were welling in my eyes race down my cheeks, only to be followed by another set and another until I’m full on sobbing.
“Hey now, stop, you’re a great mother already, baby, a natural. I never mentioned any of those things because you had so much on your plate with the pregnancy and keeping up with your practicing. But the beauty of that is that it’s all done. She has a nursery filled with everything she needs. Don’t cry, baby, come on. Let’s get outta here so I can show you.”
When I’m done blubbering and my nose is red and sore from the scratchy hospital tissues that I’ve used way too many of, a nurse arrives to wheel us to the car. She shows us the proper way to secure Juliette’s seat in the car and how to buckle her into the seat to keep her safe.
King watches her every move with narrowed eyes. He’s memorizing how to secure the baby, but he’s also being a protective daddy. His hands twitch and he instinctively leans in closer a couple of times when he thinks the nurse doesn’t have a good hold on Juliette, but of course she does. I love watching him, and I’m glad he’s paying such close attention, because I haven’t heard a word the nurse has said.
She, however, has been very attentive to King, answering all of his questions and encouraging him to try the buckles himself, which coincidently brings him into the back seat, brushing up against her. King is oblivious, though he only has eyes for Juliette and me.
I love it when he makes that abundantly clear, planting a passionate kiss on my mouth right as nurse flirty pants finishes up with the baby. I swear I heard her tsk as she walked away, pushing my wheelchair. With Juliette all buckled in, Mama closes the trunk and slides into the front passenger seat next to King, and I ease myself into the back next to Juliette.
“We’re going home, little miss,” I say, watching her scrunch up her little face and stick out her bottom lip. I can’t believe how much love I feel for this tiny human that I’ve only known for two days. It’s overwhelming.
So many things are changing, and they aren’t little things either. They’re major things like adding a person to my family, driving, and now moving. It’s probably weird, but I’m going to miss the apartment. It’s where I had my first experience with King and where I spent most of my pregnancy. I also made friends with several waitresses and bartenders when I was bored and King was working in the club. I’d sit at the bar just outside the apartment and drink virgin drinks that my favorite bartender, Samantha, invented just for me. Everyone was nice, of course, because King is their boss, but Samantha and James were genuine. They really seemed to take an interest in me. James worked opposite shifts from Samantha, but James and I didn’t get a lot of time to chat. King was always suddenly done working and ready to go back to the apartment when James and I were talking.
“Are you excited, baby? Wait until you see the nursery. I’ve had such a fun time decorating it. I mean, when you don’t have a budget, everything is fun. I didn’t know she was going to be a girl, of course, so I started with grey and chose pink and teal accents for a girl’s room and yellow and navy for a boy. I went by this morning and added all the little girly things and oh, it’s just precious.” My mama is gushing about a baby room for a baby she never wanted me to have. Something is seriously wrong here. No way did she suddenly decide having a grandbaby was the best idea in the world. Something’s up.
“Mama.”
“Yeah, sweetie, what?”
“Why are you so excited about the baby and her room? You wanted me to have an abortion, remember? You didn’t want a granddaughter. You wanted a professional violinist.”
She looks at King, but his eyes never leave the road.
“Holland, baby, I think your mother is trying to make amends.” His eyes say ‘hush’ when they meet mine in the rearview mirror.
“Holland, I never said I wanted you to have an abortion. I was just disappointed that you couldn’t go to Juilliard.”
“Okay, whatever, mama.” I lean down and whisper to Juliette “I swear your dreams will always be just that . . . your dreams.” She struggles to keep her little eyes open, but she can’t, and she’s out again. This kid sleeps a lot.
Twenty minutes later, we are driving down a lovely street with established trees and large Victorian homes. I thought King said he built the house, not that I mind. I love every single house on this block. The ride has been uncomfortable and quiet since I confronted Mama about her newfound interest in Juliette, but I’ve decided not to start anything, so I keep quiet. While gazing a
t Juliette, I feel the car turn into the driveway of our new home. Just like the rest of the houses on the block, this one is a picture perfect Victorian home with an enormous wrap-around porch, an octagon shaped column on one side, angular rooftops, and scalloped siding. When the car pulls to a stop under a stone carport covered in lavender Bougainvillea Spectabilis vines, I cover my mouth with my hand. It’s a total southern fairytale. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to see little winged creatures fluttering around in the garden, dancing on flower petals and playing hide and seek. King turns around and stretches his lean, muscular forearm across the back of the passenger seat.
“So, what do ya think?”
I drop my hand into my lap.
“I think . . . I think I don’t know what to think . . .”
“That’s good, though, right?”
“Yes, very good.”
“Okay, let’s go inside. I’ll get the baby. You go ahead with your mom.”
“Wait, I thought you said you built the house.”
“I did. It’s an exact replica of the one that used to be here. The original home needed so much work that it was more cost effective to tear it down and rebuild, but the house was so beautiful that I only changed a few minor things.”
King reaches into the back seat to help me out while Mama scurries up the steps to the porch. I follow at a slower pace because a) I’m sore and b) I don’t want to be around her without King. When I look back, King is sliding the car seat from its base like a pro.
I stop and wait for him to catch up, which takes all of three steps with his long legs. When he reaches me, he leans over and kisses my forehead, nudging me to walk in front of him.
Mama opens the door with fanfare while I make my way up the steps onto the porch. To my right, a porch swing softly sways in the breeze, and I imagine sitting there with Juliette some afternoon in the summer, with the scent of the spring flowers heavy in the air. I love this place already, and I haven’t even stepped inside.
When I do, there is a cozy sitting room with a small fireplace and sofa right inside the front door. At the far end of the room is the turret I saw from the driveway. In the center of the circular area is a baby grand piano surrounded by floor to ceiling windows that flood the room with warm natural light.
Next to the piano is a music stand and my violin, ready and waiting for me to start practicing. I’ll bet Mama had a lot to do with that space. I only have time to blink twice, and she’s already made her way over there, trailing her hand along the keys of the piano.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The perfect place to practice.” The way she stands there, clasping her hands together in front of her chest with her voice all breathy makes me sick. I’m starting to really dislike my own mama.
King’s hand on my elbow eases the tension building in my chest, but only a bit. He squeezes, gently reminding me that I haven’t answered her.
“Yeah, Mama . . . pretty.”
Her face falls for a moment, but she recovers quickly . . . too quickly. It’s weird. She smiles a wild smile and moves toward the back of the house.
“Let’s go look at the kitchen,” she says with a quick hop and a clap.
She’s even more bizarre than usual today. When I look at King, he shakes his head and gestures for me to follow her. It’s hard to appreciate the beauty of the house when all I can think about is Mama’s mental stability.
I’m going to do my best to ignore Mama and pay close attention to the details that King put into our house. There is a common color scheme of soft yellow and beige and different shades of brown that flows into the kitchen and a more formal living room area toward the back of the house. The kitchen is furnished with every modern amenity, but they are included in a way that they don’t look out of place in a classical Victorian home. I love the charming breakfast area and the French doors that open onto a patio, where a swimming pool is covered with a thick blue tarp.
“A pool?” My breath lightly fogs the glass of the window, where I hang my fingertips from a muntin in the French doors as King sidles up next to me.
“I know pools are dangerous, but hear me out . . . this one has a top of the line mesh cover that can only be opened and closed with a code, and it has a motion sensor alarm that will go off everywhere in the house if she even so much as toddles close to it.”
King stands shoulder to shoulder with me. He’s adorable. I wish Mama weren’t here so I could kiss him and smooth the worry mark from between his eyes with my thumb. His eyes are full of expectation as he brushes the back of his knuckles against my cheek. He’s waiting for my verdict on the pool.
I tilt my face into his hand and he cups my face.
“I trust you to keep us safe.” He pulls me into his bubble of positive energy, and I don’t give a damn anymore if Mama is in the room with us or not. My mouth molds to his when our lips meet as he presses a kiss once, twice, three times before my heart begins to race and I slide my tongue against his.
“Ahem . . .” Mama clears her throat from behind us.
King pulls away, and I hold onto his shirt to keep him close, but he shakes his head again while smoothing my hair away from my face and mouths the word later.
What the hell is going on around here anyway? I frown, and he rubs the pad of his thumb between my eyes the way I wanted to do for him earlier.
He takes my hand and we silently walk from room to room, with King carrying the car seat and Mama in tow. The house is so incredibly beautiful and the attention to detail is remarkable. I can’t believe he did this for me, for us. How is it that he knows me so well after less than a year together? This house suits me perfectly. It’s warm and welcoming and spacious, but not obnoxiously so. It’s intimate enough for a small family like us, but large enough to entertain a few people if we wanted to. Everywhere I look, there are things of mine—books, photographs, trinkets, and knickknacks—placed here and there to make me feel at home.
My head is starting to ache. I really need to lie down.
“King, can you show me our bedroom? I don’t feel the greatest all of a sudden.”
Concern clouds his face. “What’s wrong, baby?” He sets the baby’s seat down and turns to cradle my face in his hands. Narrowing his eyes, I swear he’s trying to see what’s going on in my brain.
“Just a headache I think. Probably from all the excitement.” I smile weakly at him and catch Mama out of the corner of my eye watching us.
“Come here.” King scoops me into his arms and carries me up the beautiful winding oak staircase.
“What about Juliette? I don’t want to leave her with Mama,” I whisper into his ear.
“It’s all right, I’ll get you into bed and go back for her. Savannah is coming over later to give us some time alone. We need to talk about your mother.”
I rest my head against his chest and nibble on my bottom lip. I wonder how that conversation is going to go.
I’m excited to see Savannah. She visited in the hospital, but between all the oohs and ahhs, we didn’t really have a chance to talk. She brought her mama, and for the first time since Savannah’s daddy took off, she looked happy, healthy, maybe even a little content—quite the opposite of my own mama right now, who is frayed around the edges and losing her mind.
At the top of the stairs, there is a landing that splits off in two directions. King veers to the right, down to the end of the hall and into the master bedroom. I lift my head from his chest and squint in the bright sunlight of the room. My headache is getting worse. The sun’s rays feel like a thousand swords piercing my brain via my eyeballs.
“Can you close the curtains? My head is killing me.”
He lays me down like glass, and I sink into the feathery soft bed. The room blurs when I try to look around, so I close my eyes and listen to him lower the blinds and pull the curtains shut. When I no longer see a glow on the inside of my lids, I open my eyes and scan the darkened room. King is standing by an octagonal bay window next to a cushioned window seat. Soft, tea
l colored curtains block most of the sunlight. Even in the dark, I can’t seem to stop fidgeting. This headache is a bitch.
“Holland, are you sure this is just a headache? I’ve never known you to have headaches, especially one this bad.”
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, holding my hand.
“Go get the baby, please, I don’t know what’s going on with my mama, but I don’t feel right leaving her alone with Juliette.”
He hesitates, trying to decide which is the lesser of two evils—leaving me alone with this headache or leaving his baby with my harebrained mama.
I’m relieved when he chooses Juliette and stands to leave, but Mama is already at the door holding my baby. She’s taken her out of her car seat and carried her up the stairs, a simple task that anyone could do, but bells and whistles are going off in my head, warning me to keep her away from my baby. Mother’s intuition . . . so that’s what it feels like.
“She was starting to fuss. I thought maybe she needed to eat.”
“Thank you, Gloria, I’ll take her.” When King holds out his arms and Mama places Juliette in his hands, my anxiety level drops from high to guarded on the homeland security system scale.
“Holland isn’t feeling well. Would you mind getting her bag?”
“Yes, of course,” she says, hustling out of the room. King returns to sit on the bed next to me with Juliette.
“Do you think the pain medication they gave you for cramping would help your headache?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath in through my nose and blow it out. My pulse is pounding in my ears and I’m feeling nauseous.