Trouble Me

by Beck Anderson

  “And before you know it, you’ll all be back in Boise. One happy family.”

  “Yep.”

  Mari looks down at the sleeping girls. “Happy families. What a nice thing.”

  We make it home later that evening. After we met back up with them, Tucker and the boys insisted on visiting stores in Times Square that were more boy and less pink, and everyone insisted on eating mac and cheese and milkshakes at Schnipper’s. Now, with the crew thoroughly wrung out, Andrew greets Tessa and me at the door.

  “Is there anything left in Manhattan to buy?” He gives Tessa a little peck on the cheek, wraps me in his arms and squeezes me, the hug still lopsided from the injury.

  Tessa smiles as Tucker carries in Josie and Genevieve, both fast asleep, one over each shoulder. Hunter follows with Jasmine, who’s awake and on her feet, but just barely. “Everyone is thoroughly shopped and touristed out. There’s still stuff left, but nothing in pink.”

  Andrew waves to the kitchen. “We brought takeout home. Did you eat?”

  “We grabbed a bite after the Empire State Building. The girls couldn’t wait.” Tessa sets her purse down. “I’m going to lie down. I don’t get peace like this very often.”

  She drifts down the hall to the room we’ve put her and the girls in. The condo might be the height of luxury, but we’ve packed it like a tenement house. The boys are squeezed into one room now (and arguing about it), Tessa and the girls are in Beau’s room, and there are Tucker and Jeremy about like always. One big cozy family.

  Andrew leads me into the kitchen. The boys must have retreated to the TV room. No one is around.

  “This is eerie. I don’t think it’s been this quiet since we moved in.” Andrew gets me a glass with ice in it, pours a bottle of tea into it. “How was the day?”

  I sit at the island. “Nice. Mari and Tessa seemed to like each other. And the jig is up. We talked about you.”

  He shakes his head. “You took Mari with you?”

  Here it comes. He’s going to be mad at me for not keeping my distance. “Tucker was with us. She’s nice, Andrew. I know you think she’ll sell us out to the paparazzi or something, but I don’t think so.”

  He shrugs. “I’m not so worried about that.”

  “What’s the worry, then?” I don’t know where he’s going with this.

  “Nothing. She didn’t make a big deal out of me?”

  I want him to relax. “Not at all. I think it’s going to be fine. Really, Andrew.”

  He tilts his head a little, and it feels like he might be letting go of something. The shoulders shrug up again. “She already knew about me at the pool, the day after the accident. Not hard to figure out, I guess.”

  “She won’t say anything to anybody. She didn’t say anything about you back when she saw us at the pool. I like her. I feel like she needs somebody, like I need somebody.”

  “What makes you say that?” He sits next to me at the island, rubs my hand in circles.

  “Her needing me or me needing her?” I’m tired and not making sense.

  “Either.” He tips his head a little. That’s his close-listening mode. We haven’t had much chance to sit and really listen to each other, not for a while.

  “I needed someone in New York. We’re going to swim a ton before I have to leave too.”

  “What’d Rudy say about the MRI results?”

  I frown. “Still no running, probably for six weeks. Joe’ll double check when we’re in Boise, but I think Rudy’s probably right.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “I’m worried, Andrew. I know depression, and I don’t want to do it. And pregnant is one thing, but add postpartum to no exercise, and it scares me.”

  He nods. “I know. I promise to keep a close eye on you. I do.”

  “But you shouldn’t have to. You’ve got enough. You’re hurt. That’s enough to think about.”

  “Let me decide what I worry about. I’m a man. I’m all tough and stuff. Don’t worry about me.”

  I touch his cheek, and he leans over and kisses me. At first it’s just a peck. Then he lingers, and I find my hands moving over his body. The kiss deepens, and I like the feel of my pulse racing in my arms, neck, my blood quickening.

  “Andrew.”

  “Kelly?” There’s a glint in those blue eyes of his.

  “’Spose we sneak off to the master bedroom to continue this discussion.”

  “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

  “If you’re up to it, yes.”

  “I’m not going to walk through that wide open door of a joke you just gave me, but, yes, I’m in.”

  “Your shoulder’ll be okay?”

  “Beyond okay. Who cares? I don’t.” He stands up and takes my hand. I follow him down the hall on tiptoes.

  He whispers to me before we sneak to our room. “Remind me to send you out shopping more often. I like this end result.”

  “Don’t spoil it by waking napping beasts.” I place a finger to my lips.

  He kisses me, over my finger, nods silently, and disappears behind the door.

  Naptime rocks.

  24: Bridge Over Troubled Water

  THE POOL ROOM IS HUMID THIS MORNING. I fight against the uncomfortable closeness of the air. It feels heavy as I draw it into my lungs between strokes. Mari’s due to meet me in a minute. It’s been a few days since the American Girl store adventure, so I texted last night to make our first “swim date.”

  She comes through the door now, towel wrapped around her slim waist. She has on a pretty emerald green two-piece, kind of retro.

  I pause and tread water to say hello. “I like the suit.”

  “Thanks. I wanted to wear it to show off my new present to myself.”

  She slides into the water and kicks over to me, tentative. A complicated relationship with water, that’s what she said. She moves carefully, as though on guard.

  “What is it?”

  We’re in the shallow end, and she turns her back to me.

  On her shoulder, from the top down to the bottom of her shoulder blade and twisting underneath it, is a tattoo.

  And what a tattoo it is: a pair of disembodied eyes, floating over a sea of emerald green. Lights from a carnival and Ferris wheel float between.

  The eyes are full of tears, and one tear drips out of the left eye and into the ocean below.

  “Is this a Gatsby tattoo?” It’s still pink around the edges. She must have just gotten it. I just saw her the other day, and it hasn’t even scabbed over yet.

  “How perceptive of you. I love the eyes.”

  “It’s like the cover. I can’t tell if these eyes are a woman’s or a man’s, though.”

  She bobs up and turns around to face me. “They might be a boy’s.”

  “It’s beautiful. What’s the occasion?”

  She swallows hard. “Just ’cause, mostly. It’s partly an anniversary and partly a new beginning. Feels like things are falling into place for me—things I’ve been patient about for a long time.”

  “Things?”

  “A thing. Maybe a person.”

  “So, a tattoo to celebrate a person?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t mean to be vague. It’s about two people. Someone I want to remember. And there’s someone I’ve liked for a long time, and it feels like finally we might be together.”

  “What’s holding you back?”

  “I might be holding myself back, you know? I think every girl needs to be strong. Not needy, especially if the other person’s going through a lot. I’m working on being the kind of girl who’s not a burden. Takes care of herself. Isn’t clingy. I think that kind of stuff drives men away.”

  “Being strong is never a bad thing.”

  “I know the guy I like; he’s got enough going on. He doesn’t need drama from me.”

  I can’t help but think of Andrew. This is why my whining about my knee, whining about being pregnant, it needs to stop. He’s got enough going on. He’s in pain.
Real pain. “I hope things go right for you with him.”

  She dips her head back a little and pulls her wet hair over her shoulder. “I try to bring good things into my life now. Maybe the tattoo is a good luck charm.” She touches it, hand over her back, and her eyes focus on a spot somewhere far away. Then she shakes herself out of it. “Or it’s just a tattoo I want because I want it for me. Doesn’t have to be a big thing, does it?”

  I turn on my back and float a little, looking at the ceiling. “Well, I think those are all good reasons for a tattoo. And you’re allowed to do something just for yourself. I like that.”

  She pulls her goggles down on to her eyes. “You should try it sometime.” She smiles, then tenses for a moment and slides under the water, headed to the other end of the pool.

  “Funny.” She’s already swimming and can’t hear me. I blow out a big breath and let the water swallow me up too.

  The next day, on Tessa’s last night, Andrew takes all of us out to dinner. I worry, of course. It seems like a huge risk. And there’s chaos with all our kids together under normal circumstances. Adding New York and the paparazzi to the mix? That’s just crazy.

  Tucker pulls Janus along for the fun. We all pile into two black-windowed SUVs and head up toward Central Park.

  Andrew seems so self-assured about the whole thing. I sit next to him. Beau’s on the other side of me, but he’s turned around, making faces at Jasmine, who’s in love with him. He’s in heaven, of course.

  “Where is this place?”

  “It’s by the Met.”

  “I could’ve had lunch there with Mari when we went to the museum.”

  “But tonight it’ll be ten times cooler, because you’re lucky enough to eat there with me.”

  I crinkle my nose at him. “Mr. Ego. Nice.”

  He slides an arm around me carefully. “It’s called Crown. There’s a hidden private room.”

  Beau turns around. “What?”

  “The restaurant. We’re eating in the private dining room. It has a hidden entrance, behind a marble staircase.”

  Beau nods in approval. “That’s cool.”

  “And that’s why you’re so smug about us eating out, huh?” I wrap my hand in his.

  “Basically, yes. They’re expecting us.”

  I lean over and kiss him. “Thanks for taking such good care of us.”

  His expression changes. “I wish I wasn’t the reason you needed taking care of.”

  “Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah, let’s not talk about it. I want to have a nice, peaceful night out with my family.”

  Jasmine lets out a giggle at this same moment and hucks a My Little Pony from her car seat up toward Beau. Beau ducks the flying Rainbow Dash.

  I smile. “I wouldn’t count on it, Mr. Pettigrew.”

  Then, barely twelve hours later, here Tessa and I are again, saying goodbye at an airport. I drove with Tucker to drop her off.

  We sit in the backseat as the Skycaps pull lots of pink luggage out from the back of the car.

  “It was too fast,” I say, hugging her tightly.

  “I know. But you’ll be in Boise for Hunter’s birthday, so we might as well not even say goodbye.”

  “Okay.” I try not to cry.

  “Everything has a way of working out. You know it will. You always make it through.”

  “I know.” I don’t seem to have much to say.

  “And I like Mari. She’s someone good to know. Maybe she can come out and visit in LA while Andrew’s filming—if she doesn’t have school.”

  I hadn’t thought about that. “I wish you could come.”

  “You know I’ll be there for your shower.”

  “You know I don’t want a baby shower.”

  “You know I’m Tessa, and I’ll do what I want. I’m throwing you a shower. Your mom would botch the whole thing up. I have the party skills.”

  She’s right. Tessa plans parties with deadly precision. Birthday parties for triplets have honed that skill.

  “Okay, one more smooch. I’ve got little wombats to herd.” She plants a big kiss on my cheek and smiles at me. “Take care of yourself. Baby Movie Star needs a happy mama.”

  I nod. I can’t talk.

  She scoots out of the car and hustles to the curb, gathering up the girls. I see her thank Tucker and say something else to him. She’s probably giving him orders to spy on me.

  Then she and the girls disappear through the doors into the terminal.

  I sit next to Tucker and try harder not to cry. I’ll work on the happy mama thing tomorrow.

  25: Better Be Home Soon

  “Mom?”

  “Yeah?” Beau and I sit at the kitchen table in our Boise home. It’s the end of September. What a relief, to be in our house. Ditto the dog keeps sniffing at us, either put out by our absence or trying to figure out who the heck we are.

  Beau puts paper cupcake holders into the tins. “Who decided what size muffin tin holes would be?”

  I look up at him. I’m waiting for Andrew to text, to tell us he’s on his way for Hunter’s birthday party tonight. It’s the end of filming on The Bull, The Bear, and The Dragon, and Andrew’s catching a flight to Boise in an hour or so. He’ll just make it.

  “What’d you say?”

  “Was there a Geneva Convention ruling or what? How come the papers always fit the tins, no matter what brand you use?”

  I pull him to me and kiss the top of his head. “That brain of yours amazes me. And I don’t know the answer. You better Google it.”

  He gets up and drifts off to somewhere else in the house. My phone buzzes.

  It’s a text, but it’s Mari, not Andrew:

  Tell Hunter Happy Birthday. Kisses, Mari

  It’s been a few days since we came home. Hunter’s happy, back with his buddies, though he’s definitely milking the “I have to go to LA for the rest of the semester” angle. Beau’s milking the “I get a tutor in LA and haven’t had to go to school yet this semester” angle. That makes me really nervous, but Andrew promises we’ll get a top-notch tutor to make up for the late start.

  Beau and I went to the party store and got all manner of streamers, centerpieces, and balloons. I want to make this a good birthday for Hunter. I know things haven’t worked out the way he wanted them to these past few months. He invited about eight good friends for the party, and the big plan is to wear out the Xbox One and eat pizza. Thank God for boys. He didn’t invite a single girl, didn’t even think about it, and didn’t want a big production, as much as he talked about it. He was thrilled to open the Xbox early this morning, since that was on the top of his birthday list.

  I get the cupcakes into the oven, and there’s still no text from Andrew. Now I start to worry. Surprising, I know. “He’s going to miss his flight.” Ditto looks at me, like I’m talking to him. “Maybe I’m talking to Hiccup, did you think of that?” I give my belly a little rub.

  Finally, finally, I’m into the decent stage of pregnancy here in month five. The morning sickness is gone, and so is the life-sucking fatigue. I’m not quite big enough to start with the swollen ankles or terrible heartburn at night, though that’s coming soon. For now, I feel decent.

  I saw Dr. Joe, Tessa’s husband, yesterday, and running is still out for me, but PT is working, and it looks like I won’t have to have my knee scoped. I can stand that, I think. I just need to get to LA, and I can figure out a morning workout that doesn’t hurt and keeps me from going crazy.

  “Knock, knock, not really.” Tessa strolls into the kitchen.

  “How’d you get in?” I never lock the doors in Boise, but Andrew told the boys he’d pay them each twenty bucks if they kept them bolted. He’s been protective, more so since the accident. He says he doesn’t trust that a stray paparazzo won’t try to wander in if we’re not vigilant.

  “Beau saw me. If he was supposed to help you, you’re down a man. He went off toward the school with Hunter and some other kid to shoot
hoops.”

  “And they didn’t let me know. Hunter thinks he’ll get away with murder just because it’s his birthday.”

  “I’m supposed to tell you. Don’t shoot the messenger, crabby pregnant lady.” Tessa gets into the fridge and finds a bottle of water.

  “Tell me you’re hanging out with me until the party.” I give her my best pitiful look.

  “You’re in luck, actually. Joe’s taken the girls out for some playground time, then lunch and fro-yo downtown. He’ll swing by with them later. You’ve got me all to yourself.”

  I clap my hands. “Yes! I wish we could have a glass of wine or something.”

  “Um, you’re pregnant, you never drink, and it’s, like, ten in the morning.”

  I check my phone again. “This isn’t good. Andrew’s supposed to be at the airport, headed through security. His flight’s at eleven thirty. If he misses it, he can’t get in until, like, eleven tonight.”

  “Have you flown with him? I doubt he has a leisurely walk down the concourse. How’s he supposed to text you until he’s in the lounge or on the plane?”

  This is true. Airport security bows to no man, and when Andy Pettigrew goes through airport security at a major US airport, every man, woman, and nosy puppy dog knows he’s on the move.

  Tessa drags me out of the kitchen and into the living room. “Come on. Let’s hang up balloons and stop fretting.”

  No text, and it’s eleven forty-five. Tessa and I take Ditto for a walk.

  At twelve thirty we have lunch, and I call. His phone goes straight to voice mail.

  It’s one p.m. If he’s not on the plane, he won’t make the party.

  At two thirty I’m at my wits’ end.

  At five, Tessa has her cell out. We’ve tried Andrew’s cell, Jeremy’s, and Tucker’s. No luck. Either there’s some massive power outage in New York, or they all made it on the plane but never bothered to check their phones beforehand.

  “I don’t like this. If he’s still on set, I’ll kill him.” I can feel my jaw tighten at the thought. “He promised. He promised me, and he promised Hunter.”