The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  I put on some coffee while Lina herds the kids into the living room. I can hear them messing around in there, making “tinsentacles”—that is, shuffling across the carpet in their socks to get some static going, then watching the tinsel reach out to them from the tree. We’re going to be finding tinsel around the place well into February.

  By the time I bring in the coffee, and cocoa with marshmallows for the kids, Joey’s pretty much a second Christmas tree, tinsel-festooned from head to toe. Katie’s got a few strands in her hair. I point her at a particular box under the tree. “Open that one first.”

  It’s the digital camera she’s been begging for all year. Got one for Joey too, a drop-proof, waterproof, kid-friendly model. Figure the two of them will spend all day snapping pictures, so we’ll be set for memories.

  Lina presses a long, flat box into my hands. “Here—it’s kind of stupid, but I sort of blew most of my budget on the kids.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.” I tear off the wrapping paper, to reveal a long, narrow picture frame with three separate windows. The first has a program from the comedy club we went to on our first sort-of-date, kind of creased and dogeared, with a sticky fingerprint on it. The next has a tarot card—not the Death one, I’m glad to note—and the last one’s still empty.

  “I thought you could—we could put a picture from today in that last frame.” She looks away. “See? I told you it was dumb.”

  “No, it’s not.” I slide my arm around her waist and squeeze her tight. “How do you even have this?” I tap on the glass over the comedy club program. “That’s from the actual night! I recognize that name—that was the herpes guy. You were laughing so hard....”

  She chuckles at the memory. “I picked one up on the way out. Found it in my back pocket next time I went to do laundry.” She gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “Thought I might want to remember that day.”

  “You didn’t steal the tarot card from that fortune teller, did you? ‘Cause, I don’t know—she seemed kind of witchy. Like she might put a curse on us, or something.”

  “Nah—found a used deck at Goodwill. Picked out a card that seemed to fit us.”

  I peer at the card. It shows a woman in white petting a lion. “Strength?”

  “Yeah. The booklet that came with the deck said it represents endurance, the will to triumph over any obstacle. Seems to me we’ve come through a lot together, and....” She gestures at the kids, the tree, the brightly-decorated room. “Well, can’t argue with these kinds of results.”

  I couldn’t agree more. I reach under the tree. “Got you something too.”

  Despite the fact that I wrapped her gift like an ape, Lina manages to get the paper off in one piece. I like that about her, her neat way of doing things. Her jaw drops when she sees what’s inside.

  “A new Macbook? This is... Wow; this is really....”

  “You can’t do an entire computer science degree using the ones at the library.”

  “Hey, I like the library! It’s quiet, and it smells good.” She brushes a stray scrap of cling film off the computer. “Still, this is...so generous. And thoughtful. Thank you. I love it.”

  “Flip it open.”

  She does, and a slow smile spreads over her face, when she sees what I’ve left on the desktop. Relief washes over me—I was afraid she’d think it was too much, too soon. But I’ve been thinking it for weeks. And now she’s reading it in a Word file: Time for you and Joey to officially move in?

  Lina hugs me close and whispers in my ear. “I didn’t know how to ask if we should stay or go—I’ve been dreading having to go back there after...you know.”

  “Definitely stay,” I tell her. “Stay forever.”

  I have something else to talk to her about too, but I’m saving that for after dinner, after the kids are in bed. I’ve decided it’s time. Time to stop making huge sums of money for a handful of people; time to start changing the world in the ways I always wanted to. I think Mark would approve. By this time next month, I’ll have handed the firm over to a new CEO, and I’m hoping Lina will work with me on my new enterprise.

  We made a great team, putting together the Happy Bean Christmas parties, and I have a feeling there’s not a lot we couldn’t do if we joined forces on a more permanent basis.

  I tuck that away for later, though. For now, there’s presents to open, skating to do, and of course, Christmas dinner.

  Joey comes up to investigate Lina’s new computer, and to take a crooked, low-angle picture of us. Lina looks great, of course, but you can see straight up my nose. I tap on the preview window. “Oh yeah—nostril-cam!”

  Joey giggles. Lina lifts him up on the couch so he can get a better shot. The next one comes out pretty much perfect. Katie gets in on the action, snapping us with three different lenses. She and Joe agree that the 20mm takes the best photos, but the fisheye’s the most hilarious. I get the feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of that fisheye.

  “Okay, invasion of the paparazzi!” Lina takes Joey’s camera and flips through the pictures. “Save some space for Grandma and Grandpa, hmm?”

  “We going over there now?”

  “Nope—we’re meeting them at the park for some skating. You kids got your skates ready?”

  “Yeah, skating!” Joey runs off, hopefully to get dressed.

  “I’d better go after him, make sure he remembers to wear his Christmas sweater.” Lina finishes off the last of her coffee and unfolds herself from the couch. “I haven’t skated in years, by the way. So you’ll be in charge of keeping the kids from faceplanting.”

  I laugh. “Katie’s a budding figure skater. But I’ll hold onto Joey.”

  As it turns out, Joey’s a pretty good little skater. And padded out the way he is, in his puffy green snowsuit, the few spills he does take prove harmless. Cruising around the rink with a kid on each side of me, watching Lina slip and slide between her parents, feels about as close to heaven as it gets, this side of eternity.

  Katie circles around me and takes Joey by both hands. She skates off backwards, pulling him along with her. He laughs and shouts. Lina looks over, smiling. I snap a couple of pictures with my phone.

  I’ve always tried not to be too optimistic, not to set myself up for a fall, but picturing a lifetime of Christmases just like this doesn’t seem much of a stretch. I can see it all in my mind’s eye: Katie and Joey growing up, bringing home kids of their own, me and Lina swelling with pride. It all feels quite real, easily within reach.

  For once in my life, I’m going to relax and enjoy.

  160

  Epilogue (Elina)

  “Wouldn’t it suck if the varnish wasn’t quite as dry as we thought?” Nick asks. “If, when we went to get up, we realized we were hopelessly stuck to the floor? Like two mice in a glue trap?”

  “I don’t know.” I fumble for his hand. The backs of our fingers brush. “It’s pretty nice here. And I’m not sure I’ll be able to move any time soon, anyway.”

  We’re sprawled out across two fat sunbeams in the middle of the brand new crafts cabin, with its high rafters, floor-to-ceiling windows, and freshly-varnished floor. Not sure I’ve ever seen a floor this perfect, so shiny you could do your makeup in it. In a couple of days, the first group of kids’ll be here, scuffing it up, slopping puffy paint and Elmer’s Glue all over it. But for now, it’s just us, soaking up the last of the late afternoon rays. And reveling in our accomplishment.

  I wasn’t sure about this idea at first. But watching the site of my kidnapping ordeal transform into a summer paradise for kids and families has been surprisingly satisfying. Especially with me and Nick pitching in so much. Taking control of this place kept me sane through those long, nail-biting months, waiting for the outcome of Joe’s trial.

  It was hard the first few times, coming out here, seeing the cabin where he held me prisoner, the rusted-out trailer across the way, but all that’s gone now. It hasn’t looked like the same place for months. Feels like I ripped the site of my worst
memories out of the world, and replaced it with somewhere great. Somewhere a whole new set of visitors can make their best memories.

  I slip my hand into Nick’s. “I hate to say this, but there’s a part of me that’s not sure how to feel, knowing he’ll never, ever see this place, never know what we did with it.”

  He strokes my palm with his thumb. “Just a tiny part of you wants to rub it in his face?”

  “Is that so wrong?”

  “Nope.” I can hear the smile in his voice.

  The floor we’re lying on is maybe twenty feet from where Joe and Nick had the fight that bumped up his charge to kidnapping in the first degree. The state argued he’d used my captivity to terrorize Nick, and had planned to take advantage of the commotion to abduct his own son. Add two assault charges, plus trespassing and grand theft auto—turns out that wasn’t even his car—and the judge threw the book at him. Forty-five years. He’ll probably be out in twenty, but it’s good. Really good.

  I let out a long sigh. “Would you believe a few of my old friends actually reached out to me?”

  “Mm?” Nick turns his head to look at me.

  “Yeah. That woman from the bike club—the one who kinda led the charge against me—then two of my old co-workers, and my best friend from college.”

  “What’d they have to say?”

  “Sorry, mostly. For not seeing me as his victim too.”

  “Must feel good.”

  “Mm....“ In truth, it surprised me how little I cared. There was a time when just one person taking my side would’ve meant the world, but now... It’s already behind me. And I won. I’m not even mad any more. I can look at those people and smile, forgive without hesitation. “What do they say? All’s well that ends well—no skin off my nose.”

  Nick finally peels himself off the floor. “And an excellent nose it is too.” He boops my snoot with his index finger. “Beep!”

  “Oh, not you too!” Joey’s been running around beeping everyone’s nose. His friend Emin had a birthday clown a couple of weeks ago, and his act seems to have started a nose-honking trend. Normally harmless, but some of those pinches and pokes have been enthusiastic! And I’ve had more than one unfortunate finger/nostril situation.

  “C’mon.” Nick holds out his hand. “Let’s do one more sunset tour before the insanity hits.”

  I let him pull me to my feet. Honestly, our twilight walks have been my favorite part of the construction process. Feels like this is where we really got to know each other, after the initial whirlwind. Hand in hand, we broke in the new hiking trails, watched the seasons change, inspected the cabins that sprang up like a mushroom circle around the newly-expanded clearing. We even stole the first skinnydip in the new pool last night. It’d just been filled for the first time: not a Band-Aid, maple key, nor dead bug in sight.

  This time, he leads me down by the stream, to the spot where we first found the fireflies. They’re just starting to come out for the night, winking into view between the leaves and over the water.

  I plop down on one of the picnic tables. “Kids are going to love this place.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ll miss it....” I pull Nick down next to me. “I mean, it’s not like we’ll never watch another sunset from this table. But after this, it’ll be everybody’s sunset. This’ll be the last time it’s just you and me and the fireflies, nobody else for miles.”

  Nick nods. “It’s strange. I hated this place so much, but now I don’t want to leave.” He grins. “Maybe I’ll just make this my castle. Mine! All mine!”

  “Mm, but it’d be kind of weird for a thirty-year-old guy to hog a whole summer camp to himself.”

  “I don’t know! There’s—there’s....”

  “Yeah?”

  He throws up his hands in defeat. “You got me. Can’t think of a non-creepy example of an adult living in a playground.

  “We should come back at the end of the summer, though. Like, right before Labor Day, when everyone’s gone home. We can bring the kids. Have one last marshmallow roast, one last swim, one last pony ride—get all the summer crazies out of their systems, before school lets back in.”

  “And after that, we can get married.”

  It comes out so casually I’m not sure I heard him right.

  But...no. That’s not true. I know I did.

  In a way, we’ve been planning our future together for months. Ever since I moved in; ever since he set up his foundation and I came to work for him full-time, our lives have been twining themselves together. We back each other up, at work and with the kids. We’ve talked about more kids, and a house with a yard for them to play in. We’ve talked about college for Katie and Joey, trips we want to take, projects we want to fund. Even a dog—we’re surprising the kids with a trip to the shelter next weekend, so they can pick the best one. Getting an animal together, that’s real commitment.

  So I just lean into him fondly, and say, “What kind of wedding do you want?”

  “Mm...Elvis.”

  “Oh, very funny.”

  We playfight a while, a little pushy-pushy on the table, nudging each other back and forth till we’re both giggling like teens.

  At last, Nick gets himself under control. “Nah, I was thinking—remember that old mansion where we had the hospital fundraiser? Y’know, with the....” He makes an up-and-down gesture with his hands. “With the columns, and the double staircase, and the reflecting pool? I thought we could rent that out again, do it up with flowers and paper lanterns...like...over-the-top romantic.”

  I find myself liking that idea. It’s not the wedding I’d originally pictured for myself, but I kind of ruined that by planning it with Joe. This... This would be all me and Nick.

  “That was a great night,” I say. “Our first big fundraiser together. I was so nervous, with the dress, and the speech, and all those people....”

  “But then we snuck into that room with the four-poster bed....”

  “Those curtains were amazing—like making love under a veil of stars.”

  “I still think we should’ve stolen them.”

  I snort. Yeah, that wouldn’t have looked suspicious—the organizers of the event sneaking out the back, rumpled and flushed, trailing armfuls of silk and glittering crystals. I almost wouldn’t put it past Nick: our first overnight at a hotel, I caught him stuffing our suitcase with robes and towels. Said it wasn’t really theft, because the hotel bills you for what you take.

  I think in a way, he’s never quite got used to being rich. I like that about him: life’s stayed surprisingly down-to-earth since we got together. It’s good for the kids to keep their feet on the ground. And Nick seems happier now, putting his fortune to good use.

  He elbows me one more time. “So, is that a yes? To getting married?”

  I laugh. “You didn’t actually ask me.”

  “Yeah, I did!”

  “Nope: your exact words were, and after that, we can get married. A statement, not a question.”

  He doesn’t look in the least abashed. “We can, though, right?”

  I take my time kissing that smug look off his face. Let him sweat it, just for a second. I’m a little flushed when I tear myself away. “Of course we can.”

  Nick brightens. “Perfect! Then I can give you this, before I lose it.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a tiny silver box, ornate, clearly an antique. It’s exquisite, with tiny rosebuds and vines worked into the metal, and an elaborate clasp holding it shut. “You open it. That stupid hinge thing hates my giant gorilla hands.”

  I flip the box open. I already know what I’m going to see: diamonds and sapphires in a white-gold band, a classic design given a modern spin. We talked about this, too, sitting right about where we are now.

  Even knowing what’s coming, the reality takes my breath away. The ring is delicate, gorgeous, the main stone nestled in a sparkling nebula of sapphires and diamonds that trails off to each side, twinkling around the band. I hand it to Nick; h
e slips it onto my finger.

  “It’s lovely,” I tell him. “Just so you know, though, you could’ve given me an onion ring, and I’d still have said yes.”

  “Oh, now you tell me!" He cocks his head. “Let’s get onion rings on the way home. I’ve got a craving.”

  “Mm, at that place with the spicy mustard.”

  We wend our way back to the main campsite as night starts to fall. The fireflies are everywhere now, dancing on the archery range, over the pool, the firepit, the playgrounds. I can’t help but steal glances at the ring. The kids’ve been asking for a while now, when we’re going to get married. Guess we’ll have some big news for them tonight.

  It’s a nice night for the drive back to the city. I open the sunroof to let in the breeze. Nick chucks our lunchtime food wrappers into the back seat: that and his study are his two last bastions of slobbery. Anywhere else he puts something down, the housekeeper whisks it away before anything unsavory can coalesce. I was worried his junkrat tendencies might start to annoy me, with time, but nope: still totally cute. Plus, I still have some pretty hot memories of his disreputable back seat.

  Gives me a thrill to realize I’ll have a whole lifetime of memories to look forward to: hot ones, sweet ones, weird ones...the whole shebang. I never felt this kind of certainty with Joe. I didn’t know what it was, back then, but there was always something in the back of my head, a feeling of shakiness, something not right in the foundations. But this time, there’s not a ghost of a doubt.

  This is it: this is my life, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the way it turned out.