"Fair point," he said. "Have you asked Nick's opinion?"
I rolled my eyes with a scoff. Nick Acevedo heard from me morning, noon, and night. I hadn't managed to go a single day since Madeleine's arrival without consulting the good doctor. "He's billing me now."
"As he should," Patrick replied. "It looks good down here. Let's go upstairs and work out a budget."
I followed him up the stairs, muttering, "Still not convinced I want to deal with this place."
"You do. It's an easy project that won't take much handholding and you'll get it done in four, maybe six weeks. You can manage this half asleep," Patrick said as he stepped into the kitchen. He pointed at the cabinets and appliances. "Everything must go."
"Everything," I agreed. "I told you, things are looking up. She got five full hours last night. It's the longest she's slept so far. That's something."
Patrick shook his head, his eyes wide and unblinking. "I can't imagine how but I'll take your word for it." He tucked his pencil behind his ear, leaned against the countertop. "How do you—you know—how do you handle that? Marriage-wise."
"Oh, you're asking if I'm having sex?" I asked, a sharp laugh in my words. "No. No, not at all."
My older brother blinked at me. Blinked again. "What?"
I leaned against the opposite countertop. "Not since before Maddie was born."
"Not even"—he motioned toward me in what I assumed to be a gesture suggestive of all the interactions on the periphery of sex—"some"—another vague hand movement—"or a little?"
"No," I said with a brisk shake of my head. "I don't know what that was supposed to imply but no, I'm not doing any of it."
He folded his arms over his chest. He had the balls to look mortified. Now, this guy was the asshole. "Is that normal? How long is it supposed to be?"
I scratched my chin as I considered this. "The doctor told Lauren to wait six weeks before, you know, anything. That just didn't seem like the right amount of time to me."
I'd experienced powerlessness before. Growing up under my father's roof guaranteed it. But that was nothing compared to standing by while my wife suffered and screamed through hours of slow, hard labor and one futile round of pushing after another. I'd been powerless—useless. I couldn't forget the silent tears rolling down her cheeks or the sweat-dampened hair clinging to her forehead or the doctors and nurses speaking in hushed, urgent tones before announcing it was time to go, time to get the baby out.
No, six weeks wasn't enough to heal. It didn't matter how much I wanted Lauren, how much I craved her. She needed more time and I needed to deal with that. And I would, regardless of whether it was incrementally killing me.
Patrick held up a hand. "I do not need the gory details. I get more than enough of them from Shannon."
"It's good you two are close like that."
"Shut up," he murmured. "Isn't this kid—what?—three months old now? That's a lot longer than six weeks, Matt. I'm no expert but when I saw Lauren last weekend, she seemed—"
"Watch yourself," I warned.
I didn't expect Patrick to step out of line but I couldn't help myself anymore. I wanted to protect my wife and daughter from everything. Every fucking thing. The Commodore and I didn't agree on much I understood him now. His priorities were my priorities. I wanted to build a stone fortress and lock my girls inside it, and I was capable of wanting that without diminishing any of their strength. I couldn't fathom a woman stronger than Lauren but that didn't mean she had to rely on herself all the time. I could be strong for her.
Hell, it was the only thing I could handle for her. Pregnancy, childbirth, nursing—I watched it all from the sidelines. And now, when we couldn't find more than five waking minutes together, something was troubling her and I couldn't solve that either. Here I was, useless all over again.
"Sturdy," he said eventually. "She seems sturdy. She didn't look like she was falling apart. She looked like she could handle some—"
"I said watch yourself," I interrupted. I scrubbed my hands over my face. Goddamn, I was the one falling apart here. "She's just now feeling better after the"—I cupped my hands in front of my chest because this conversation would only improve with more crude gesturing—"the breastfeeding thing. The infection."
"Andy told me about that. How does that happen?"
I shook my head. "I don't know, dude. Milk ducts and clogs and—I don't know. But it was terrible and I legitimately thought she was dying."
"What did Nick say about that?"
I paced the length of the kitchen, opening cabinets and glancing under the sink. "He said she wasn't dying. Told me to buy some cabbage."
"Okay," Patrick said slowly. "But that's improved? It's not—they're not—still infected, right?"
"Right," I said. "She had to stop breastfeeding. It was painful and she wasn't producing enough"—another crude gesture because why stop now?—"and Maddie went through a growth spurt at the same time so we had to supplement. The baby wasn't thrilled about those changes."
"Yeah, I'm sure she had a lot to say," Patrick remarked. "I'm no expert but it sounds like you're afraid of having sex with your wife."
"I am not afraid of having sex with my wife," I snapped.
"I'd be afraid," he said with a shrug. "If Andy went through all that giving birth and then the breastfeeding thing and a baby who wouldn't sleep on top of it all, yeah, I'd think twice before returning to the scene of the crime." Another shrug. "Then I'd probably get over it."
"Oh, yeah?" I asked. "You'd get over it? You'd just tuck that shit away and throw her on the bed?"
He ran his hand over the back of his neck. "I'd get a vasectomy first. Then, after an appropriate amount of recovery time, I'd throw her on the bed."
I didn't say it but the thought had crossed my mind. Often. At least once a day since bringing Maddie home from the hospital. I didn't mention it to Lauren because we barely had time to discuss anything outside of the baby's sleeping, eating, and diapering requirements. I wish someone had told me my life would one day revolve around the frequency and form of my child's poop. I wish I'd known. I wouldn't have done anything differently but I would've been prepared for this new, poop filled chapter in my life.
Aside from those issues, I didn't want open the conversation about having another baby. My mother-in-law kept talking about the next one as if that kid was already on the way. Every time she brought it up, I was certain Lauren was going to shoot fire from her eyes.
We'd had all these ideas about moving to a big house outside the city and filling it with kids and dogs. Those ideas sounded crazy now. Straight up crazy. We rarely slept at the same time because we'd carved the night into shifts. We didn't have time to talk—really talk—without her parents or my family in earshot. And I was terrified I'd break her, hurt her, push for something she couldn't bear. After everything she'd been through, it seemed inevitable.
I needed her time, her attention, her warm body beside me. I needed her. If filling our house with kids meant forfeiting any of that, I didn't know how I'd ever make anything but a selfish choice. Perhaps our love was limitless but our time was not. And I wasn't sure I could watch Lauren tear herself apart all over again.
"I can't believe you've survived this long," Patrick said. "On all counts. No sleep, no sex. I don't understand how you're functioning."
I barked out a laugh. "I'm not. Isn't that why you're lobbing me this softball project?"
"I'm giving you this property because we don't know what else to do about it and you need something that won't demand a ton of time," he replied. "Not sure if you remember but you knocked out so many projects before the baby arrived, you cleared your schedule straight through to November. That's why we've only sent structural reviews your way since you came back to the office a couple of weeks ago."
I glanced from side to side. "I don't need to be here right now?"
"I'm not saying that at all. I want this property off the books," he replied. "But if you want to take it slow and nap
in your office this month, you have the flexibility to do that."
I stared down at the grimy linoleum tiles. Once upon a time, they'd been white. Age and time and wear had turned them gray, black at the seams. "Good to know."
"You also need to get that kid to sleep right fucking now."
"Don't I know it," I replied with a laugh.
"Why is it so difficult? You just"—he swept his arm to the side—"put the kid in the crib. Right? Then she falls asleep. It's not that complicated, Matt."
I gave him a tolerant grin. One of these days, I'd stand in another drafty Dutch colonial and tell him to put his tiny baby in the crib. Simple as could be. With any luck, that baby would make a habit of spitting up on him and only him. "Believe me, man. It's easier said than done. Your time will come and then you'll know how it is."
He shot me a scowl. "We'll see about that."
"Come on," I cried. "Andy's at my house right now, dressing Maddie in costumes and arranging her with cute pumpkin props. You're gonna be right there with me, tired and miserable and then feeling like an ass for being miserable because your kid is the most amazing thing in the world. And you're going to be afraid of breaking your wife after she broke herself to give you a baby. You're going to be there any day now."
Patrick stepped into the adjoining dining room. "That's a conversation I'll have with my wife but thank you for your input."
"Yeah, you say that but all I hear is 'You're right, Matt. You're always right,'" I called after him. "Try it. Say, 'You're right.' See how that feels." I crossed the kitchen into the dining room, and found Patrick staring at the light fixture. "You know I'm right."
"You're not right," he mumbled. "Go home. Get reacquainted with your wife. But do everyone a favor and pull out this time."
I waved him off. "As enticing as that sounds, I'm not letting you set the budget without me. Not if I'm managing this property."
Patrick rocked back on his heels with a sigh. "I can do this without you."
"I know you can. I told you that ten minutes ago. But since you dragged me out here on a Saturday morning and then announced I was running this show, I'd like to participate in the budgeting process," I replied. "And I need your advice on something."
He headed into the living room, shaking his head as he went. "It's not difficult. When the time comes, you just…pull out. Seriously, Matt. You'll get the hang of it. I do it all the time."
"Really? That's it?" I asked, the sarcasm thick in my words. "That's not the advice I need, asshole. Lauren's parents are looking after Madeleine tonight. We're going out. Alone."
He turned, hitting me with a skeptical glance. "You're asking for sex advice."
"Oh my god," I hissed. "No, Patrick. I need you to recommend a restaurant. For fuck's sake."
He flattened his hand on the wall, leaning there for a second as he stared at the battered hardwood floors. "Oh. All right. What do you have in mind?"
I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Not sure. Nice atmosphere, good food, quiet enough that we don't have to yell to hear each other. Fancy but comfortable."
"Got it." He tipped his head to the side, nodded. "Are you ready? You're going to want to write this down."
I pulled a pen from my pocket. Clicked it open, then closed. "Go ahead, Optimus."
"Stop it with the pen, Jugger."
Clicked it six more times in rapid succession. "I don't have all day."
"If you're going to be obnoxious, you can ask Riley for advice," he said.
Another six times. "Riley takes his fiancée out for sandwiches. I need to do a little better than that. Nothing served in a plastic basket, you know?"
"Then ask Sam," Patrick replied.
"The list of things Sam doesn't eat is longer than what he does and I'm not taking Lauren out for a fuckin' smoothie bowl." Another click. "I guess I could just call your wife. We all know she's the one with real taste."
Patrick reached for his pencil and scribbled in his notebook. "Go ahead," he murmured. "I'm just cutting your budget in half."
"Hey." Another click. "I'm waiting on you, man. You've got all the info and I'm ready to hear it."
"Abstinence has turned you into a dickhead," he muttered.
Family. It didn't get much better than this.
3
Lauren
"Am I supposed to drink the rest of this by myself?" Andy asked, a slim finger pointed toward the pitcher of spiced mules between us.
I glanced at my mostly full copper mug and responded with a shrug. "I've been off the sauce for almost a year. I need some time to build up my tolerance."
"That's fine and everything," Andy replied, "but I can't be the only drunk one here. It's awkward. It's strange. It gives people the wrong idea about me."
"I don't know, Andy. I think holding my newborn baby in one arm while pounding hard liquor with the other gives people a pretty bad idea too."
She held up her hands as if to flick away the thought of anyone judging a new mother.
"Do you think Madeleine will let us dress her up in the turkey costume? What about posing in the roasting pan? I brought carrots and celery and sage to make it look authentic. She'd look so freaking cute with a bunch of sage in her chubby little fist." Andy tilted her head to get a better look at the baby sleeping on my shoulder. "We could line the pan with a little blanket. It would be just like putting her in the bassinet."
I glanced at the assortment of props splayed over my kitchen island. I hadn't noticed the roasting pan until now. "Let's skip that one," I said with a quiet laugh. "I need her to sleep now so she'll be on the right schedule tonight."
Andy topped off her mug. "What's happening tonight?"
Without conscious thought, I let out a lengthy sigh. "Matthew and I are trying to get out of the house for a bit. Dinner and…whatever."
She glanced at me over the rim of her mug. "That's what we call it now? 'Whatever'?" When I didn't reply, she continued, "Is this where I'm supposed to inquire about sex after childbirth? It's still good, right? Tell me it's not a mine shaft. I can't handle that."
"You can inquire," I said. "I don't have any insight on the matter since I haven't had any sex after childbirth."
Andy gasped, pressed her hand to her breastbone. "No. No, not you."
"Me," I replied with a nod. "It doesn't make sense but when I think about it, I understand how it happened. First off, twenty-six hours of labor followed by a C-section meant my lady business was closed for the season. Real talk, I didn't want anyone in my amusement park that first month. Most of the second month too."
"Understandable," Andy murmured, raising her mug in salute.
"Then the double case of mastitis took me down for another week or two. And don't forget, this kid refused to sleep at night until recently. By recently, I mean Tuesday. If we didn't have my parents here to help out, I wouldn't have noticed the shortage of sex in my marriage because I would've been crying right along with the baby."
"Wow," she breathed. "Wow."
"Yeah." I took a small sip of my mule. It was delicious but my head was already soft and loose from the liquor, and I couldn't have that. I didn't want to sleep through date night.
"What did Shannon say when you told her about this dry spell?" Andy asked.
I busied myself with straightening Maddie's blanket. "I haven't told her."
Andy laughed. "Somehow, that doesn't seem like a barrier to Shannon knowing everything."
"Also true but I don't think it occurred to her this would be an issue," I replied. "Think about it. This is not a problem Shannon's encountered in her marriage. She was pregnant with her second baby by the time the first was three months old. If she had any trouble coming back after either of those deliveries, I haven't heard about it."
"Maybe she'll take more time after this next one arrives in March," Andy said. "Or maybe she'll be finished after three."
"I can't imagine more than one. I might be with Tiel on this topic. One and done," I said, laughing. "But I think
Maddie is turning the corner with her sleep schedule and that means good things for everyone."
"And you're going out tonight for dinner and whatevering," Andy added. "Good things for everyone."
"That's the plan," I said. "I'm just going to tell him I'm ready. Maybe hike my dress up and hang some flashing lights. That's all I can do because my subtle hints haven't worked."
She stabbed her finger at me. "Maybe he's staying away because he thinks the rides are still closed. That is a fair and valid assumption. I can see Patrick grappling with that issue. He'd wait until I had a permit from the city. I mean, he requires written notice from me when shark week is over. If I don't say something, he'll stay away for a full month. He doesn't mind but he knows I don't like sex during that time. But he'd never ask for an update on my period. It's just not his style." She tipped her mug toward me. "Maybe it's that."
"Or maybe we aren't the people who have sex just about every day. Not anymore," I said, hating the sound of those words. It wasn't about the sex itself. It was the intimacy. The closeness that was more than hugging, kissing, holding each other. It was the way we knew each other, and it'd always been that way. "Things have changed. Our time together is different. Our priorities are different. Maybe we're a different couple now." I pursed my lips as I glanced down at Madeleine, not wanting to cry again. "Relationships change."
"Don't say that," she warned, still stabbing that finger at me. "Don't you dare say that because if you can't have a kid and keep it together, I don't have a shot in hell of doing it."
I waved my hand at the hot mess that was my house. Even with the help of my parents and my best friends, it looked like the aftermath of a baby supply store explosion. It would only get worse once my parents left. "I don't have anything together. I've showered, put on clean clothes, and kept this baby dry and fed. That's the best I can do right now."
With a hum, she settled her feet on the ottoman. "But you're going back to work next week. Right?"
After a pause, I said, "Yeah, I'm back part time starting Monday. I'm working mornings until—"
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