And we wouldn't be interrupted.
"Your peach habit is getting expensive," I told her with a smirk. "I figured we could save some money if we pick them ourselves. At least until our trees get big enough to produce decent fruit.
That had been my gift to her for not murdering me in my sleep for insisting we buy a money pit of a house. I had known Reagan was not a roll-up-her-sleeves and get to work on house renovations sort of person. But she had been there with me on weekends pulling weeds, spraying down wallpaper, refinishing floors. She didn't love it. But she was there.
I planted two peach trees in the backyard while she was at work one day as a thank you for seeing it through and not insisting we put it right back on the market even after it needed to be completely re-wired, had to have the windows replaced, and the siding redone.
"I hope you brought your pack-horse muscles," she declared, already taking one of the baskets the place provided, walking over toward a tree.
I watched her for a minute, humming that goddamn song about peaches and cream that she'd been singing the first time I realized I loved her.
Then I reached into my pocket.
And I got down on my knee behind her.
Waiting.
"Nixon, I need another bask--" she started, trailing off when she turned, when she looked down.
Her stunned gaze moved from my face to the ring and back.
"Yes!"
"I didn't ask you yet," I reminded her.
"I think the asking is implied. What with the knee and the ring and all. Do you have a speech prepared?" she asked. "Are you going to compare me to a summer's day? Oh, please tell me there is a poem."
"Listen, smartass," I cut her off, watching as her eyes crinkled she smiled so big.
"There's my guy," she teased.
"I'm trying to do something here," I reminded her.
"Right. Yes. Proceed," she told me, smile saucy.
Any words I had planned to say flew right the hell out of my head, leaving just the raw truth.
"I don't know why the fuck you decided to be with me," I admitted, pulling the ring out of the box as she fanned her fingers out toward me. "But I figure I better lock that shit down before you change your mind," I told her, slipping the ring onto her finger. "Marry me?"
She pulled me up, wrapping a hand around the back of my neck, pulling my lips down to hers.
"Yes," she said against my lips.
Then, well, let's say I was glad I rented the whole place out.
I had a lot of memories with Reagan and peaches.
This one was by far my favorite.
Reagan - 1.5 years
"Wait, what are you doing here?" Lea asked as Fiona walked in the door, a giant cup of coffee in her hand, looking entirely too pleased with herself.
"What do you mean, what am I doing here? It's Sunday. I am here to pretend to cook, and talk a lot of shit. That's what we do here," she told us, dropping her purse onto a chair, moving over to the island with the rest of us.
"Rush told us that there was a big corporate event this week," Scotti said, brows drawing down. "Like a rented-out lodge and being alone in the woods and stuff. One of those retreats meant to make everyone friends and shit."
"Mmhmm," Fiona said, looking away, clearly lying.
"Then why aren't you there?" Lea asked, eyes keen.
"Gee, you know, it was the damnedest thing. I seemed to forget to send the invites out. Or even get them made up..."
"But Rush had an invite," Scotti insisted, trying to figure out Fee's angle.
"Oh, right. Well... I somehow had two invites made up. And two flights books. And two cars rented..."
"What did you do?" Autumn asked, smiling. "You're not usually a meddler."
"Well, look," Fiona said, shrugging. "I am just going over a few phone conversations with my people and clients. You know, making sure everything stays wildly inappropriate. But also that no one working for me is doing anything they shouldn't. I had one girl last year offering to meet up with callers in her private time and, well, making money a different kind of way. And, hey, more power to her. Sex work is real work. But, y'know, I'm not your pimp."
"You're digressing," Lea reminded her."
"Right. Well, yeah, I screen sometimes. Just to keep an eye on things. And I uncovered something very interesting..."
"Spit it out, or I am going to have you on grating duty again," Helen demanded, making a shudder move through Fiona who'd managed to skin three knuckles the last time she'd been given the task.
"Well, as you can imagine, Rush's line isn't the busiest. I mean, when he gets a caller, he is on with her for a long time. You know women," she said, shrugging. "Anyway, I noticed about six months ago, he has had one caller."
"Wow, he's losing his touch, huh?" Lea asked.
"No. See. That's the thing. He gets calls in. But his line is always busy. With one caller."
"Jesus. That must be costing her a fortune," Helen said, shaking her head.
"Believe me, it is. And, hey, no judgements. People get lonely. If she wants to spend her money talking to some random guy, good for her. The thing is... I recognized that voice."
"Is it one of the other women?" Lea asked, face scrunching up.
I'd been to Fee's office. For the most part, the women who worked in phone sex were moms and older ladies. They took calls while knitting or creating Halloween costumes by hand.
They weren't exactly the sort who seemed like they'd have some giant crush on Rush, enough to spend all the money they made working there, calling in there.
"Well, yes and no," Fee said, taking an exaggerated sip of her coffee, eyes watching us, knowing we were all waiting to hear what she had to say, all prepping and cooking ceasing for a long moment.
"Fee," Helen said, tone a little firm. And despite our love for each other, despite knowing she was as good a woman as they came, we all jumped to do whatever she wanted when she got her mom-voice on.
"Well, it's not one of the other call center girls," Fee said.
"Wait, there's no one...oh," Lea said, smile spreading slow and big. "Oooh," she added, eyes going a little dreamy.
"I know, right?" Fiona said, smacking a hand against the counter. "I am not a meddler. But, well, if I didn't meddle here, we all know nothing would have ever happened. I just wanted to give them a little nudge."
"Trapping them in the woods together is quite a nudge," Helen said, but her smile was soft and sweet too. "Did you make sure there was enough firewood for them, or are they supposed to share body heat to keep warm?"
"Well... let's just say... things should get interesting," Fiona said, looking pleased with herself.
"Someone needs to call Mark in," Scotti added. "It looks like we have something else to place bets on."
"I don't know why we even bother," Savvy said, shaking her head. "Mark always loses. Helen always wins."
"Wait now," Lea piped in. "We still have that one ongoing."
The one where they placed bets on when I would get pregnant.
"Yeah, and, for once," Savea agreed, "it looks like Helen is going to lose."
Helen's gaze slid over to me, those familiar eyes all-seeing, all-knowing.
Her gaze slipped to my belly then back to my face, a smile toying with the edges of her lips.
Because we both knew.
Helen had won another bet.
I was going to make a father out of Nixon.
In approximately seven and a half months.
Which meant Helen would continue her winning streak.
Nixon - 1.5 years
We threw the wedding together in about two weeks' time.
Reagan wanted to have wedding pictures where she wasn't showing too much.
And I wanted to do the right thing and make it official before we brought a kid into the world.
Thankfully, between the Mallicks and Rivers, Krissy, and her parents, there really ended up being nothing for us to do but get up, showered, dressed, and show
up.
Which was good because Reagan had barely been able to stay upright for an hour put together without needing to run to the bathroom.
Already skinny, she'd lost a couple pounds due to the morning sickness.
We were counting down the days to the second trimester when, hopefully, the sickness would go away, and she could start enjoying her pregnancy.
And when she wasn't enjoying it, yeah, no one was enjoying it.
Let's just say that an unwell Reagan made Mal seem even-tempered and sweet.
"It's so hot," she grumbled, fanning herself with a baby magazine she'd brought with her in the short car ride from our place to the wedding.
"Babe, it's like seventy degrees."
Yeah, as soon as that was out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. And the sound that came out of her wasn't entirely human.
"Here, I'll crank the air up," I offered, closing my vents and aiming the others directly at her.
"Why are we having a wedding at a beach?"
"You love the beach."
"What if I need to throw up?"
"I'm sure the girls have bought some fancy-ass trash can for you to do so in."
"The minister is going to know I'm pregnant. Before the wedding."
"Nah. We'll just tell him you're wasted," I offered, making a choked laugh escape her as her hand flew out to smack my arm. "Hey, I am just offering helpful alternatives here, babe."
She gave me a small smile before resting her head back, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry I've been so surly lately."
"Figure, you signed up to deal with my surly ass for the next, what, sixty-something years if we're lucky. I can put up with your surly ass for another seven months."
"That sounds fair," she agreed.
"It's just an hour on the beach. Then we are back to the Mallicks' for the reception. You can change into your comfy clothes, and throw up in peace there if you need to."
"What a romantic wedding day we're having," she said as we pulled into the lot, our family scattered around, waiting for us. "Morning sickness and lying to a man of God."
"Wait," I said, grabbing her arm before she slid out to follow the girls to get changed. "Here. Wear these," I demanded, reaching for a case, handing over her heart-shaped glasses. "Got my mom with me," I said, showing her the quarter. "You have Sammy with you."
She gave me a big smile then.
And, sure, she threw up twice on the beach. Into a fancy basket lined with a plastic bag. And, yeah, the minister either knew she was pregnant or thought she was a really bad drunk. But the pictures were beautiful. The marriage was official.
She was mine.
After an hour laying down back at the Mallicks', she got back up looking and feeling a lot better, nibbling on some plain crackers, sipping flat ginger ale, but enjoying the celebration, opening gifts.
"Okay. Last one," she declared, getting up, going behind the couch where I was sitting, picking up something wrapped in white paper with gold wedding bands. Big, but not heavy. "My wedding gift to you," she said, smiling bigger than she had in a long time, excited about whatever it was.
My hands went for the paper, suddenly very aware of all the eyes on me as I ripped it off, pulled it away.
To find the goddamn devil painting I thought we'd luckily lost in the move of houses.
But nope.
There it was.
"I tracked down the original artist," she declared, practically bouncing in excitement. "Which was no easy task because she had sworn off painting about five years ago. But I found her, and I got her to agree to fix the painting."
"Babe, why the fuck would you have her give the devil a ghost to hang out with?" I asked, staring at the creepy fucking duo, one leering at me, one looking into my soul.
"She painted a peach tree!"
"Babe, that's no peach tree. It's a ghost. A Dickensian ghost with his cloak open and souls trapped inside."
Reagan dropped down beside me, running her finger across the canvas. "Bark, leaves, peaches."
"Body, arms, trapped souls."
"Really, I think you need to see a therapist," she declared, shaking her head. "I tried to do a nice thing," she said, pretending to be exasperated.
"Tried," I agreed, putting an arm around her. "And failed. Epically," I added when she snorted. "Can somebody do me a favor and take this outside? Burn it? Bury the ashes in consecrated ground?"
"That painting is going to be hanging over our marriage bed," she declared, giving me small eyes.
"Wow. You're really determined not to have more kids, huh?" I asked, tugging her hair gently.
It was an unconventional wedding.
But perfect in its own way.
And that goddamn picture would haunt our marriage for years to come.
Reagan - 5 years
Marley was coming back for a visit.
Freshly finished with college, she was coming back to the area for the first time in nearly five years.
I had maybe gone ahead and not told Calvin about it.
What can I say? After Krissy putting the idea in my head, and watching Fiona be so right about meddling, I had maybe found I was rooting for the two of them to see each other again.
I was damn near giddy about it.
"Jackson, easy," I reminded the preschooler who was ramming his little lawnmower into the walls of my office.
Yes, Jackson.
We'd decided to stick with presidential when he came around finally. I was probably one of the very few women looking forward to childbirth. But I'd had a terrible pregnancy. Morning sickness that went well into my second trimester. Then high blood pressure which eventually led me to bed rest. I was so happy to feel better that I barely remembered the pain of the birth itself.
And then there was Jackson.
A quiet baby with a judgmental glare much like his father.
Helen had won her bet.
And I decided that I was one-and-done biologically. We were looking into getting Jackson a little sibling, but we understood it was a process. One that made me have a lot of respect for my parents, who went through the grueling home study process to get me.
"He doesn't bite, Krissy," I called to her from where she was standing in the doorway, watching my son like he made no sense, despite having been around him since he was born. "Anymore."
"It's strange."
"What is?"
"How something I enjoy so much creates something I am completely terrified of."
"They're not so scary when they're your own."
"Oh, you mean when they're clawing their way out of your body. Through a very sensitive space?"
Krissy had decided to try to be in the room with me when I delivered. It was a decision she would never stop regretting. I had never seen someone turn the shades she had turned when Jackson was being born. And that was saying something because Nixon had turned a pretty impressive shade of green/gray.
"Well, they only claw their way out once. For a few hours. Then after that, they're there and they--"
"Cry? Spit up? Need to be--" she paused there, gulping, "changed." Clearly, she also regretted the one time she'd offered to change Jackson, so I could get a shower.
"Well, yeah, they do that. But they smell good, and they belly laugh, and they look at you with wonder in their eyes. They're neat."
"I love you. And I love Jackson. You know, from a distance. But, yeah, I am incredibly thankful I live in a time where I can take a pill every day, and not have to worry about telling something to stop licking the chair. He's licking the chair!"
Yep.
That sounded about right.
"Come on, bud, let's go see what Uncle Harvey is doing," I suggested, picking him up, depositing him under Harvey's desk where he kept a collection of Lincoln Logs because Harvey secretly never grew up, and loved to get down to build stuff with him. I imagined when Jackson was old enough, the two of them would bond pretty hardcore over Legos."
"She should be here any
minute," I whispered to Krissy as we grabbed our coffee, moving over toward the doorway to my office, getting the best possible view.
We would see Marley walk in.
And we would see Calvin seeing her walk in.
Krissy and I heard the heels on the steps. I didn't know about her, but my belly was flip-flopping. It was silly and over the top, but I had turned into a bit of a sap, it seemed. Between learning all the Mallick and Rivers stories, even seeing a few of those relationships bloom myself, yeah, it had softened me, given me the heart of a hopeless romantic.
Krissy's hand reached for mine, giving it a squeeze, letting me know I wasn't alone in my giddiness as the heels clomped closer.
Both our gazes slid too Calvin.
It had only been a few years, but they had recommended him, as they often did for men coming out of their teens, starting to really lean into manhood.
His thinness had filled in a bit more. His features had hollowed out. His jaw got stronger.
He'd always been good-looking.
But with time helping to ease some of his anger, he'd become a truly stunning man.
And since he refused to have any social media, there was no way Marley could have known that.
"Squee!" Krissy hissed under her breath as Marley finally moved into the space.
She was our Marley.
But the years had refined her.
The Marley we had known was one for ill-fitting jeans, baggy tees, flat shoes, wild hair, and a bare face.
This Marley, she had come into her own sense of adult style. More mature. But still fresh. She had on a camel-colored faux suede skirt that was almost dangerously short, but she had on black opaque stockings underneath. She paired the skirt with a three-quarter-length black tee, form-fitting, and a pair of black pumps. Her wavy blonde hair that had once been down to her butt was chopped just above her shoulders, still wavy, but more managed. Simple diamond earrings sat on her lobes.
Her face was as gorgeous as ever, but she had learned to make her cornflower blue eyes pop all the more with a little mascara and liner. She'd tamed her brows a bit. She had even put on a pink lipstick.
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