by Jenn Faulk
Yay. Another early morning with the craziest family in the world.
After getting the girls to brush their teeth, change into pajamas, and finally fall asleep, after much giggling and carrying on, Rachel turned from their bed, already tired and worn out, to find Micah watching her from the second twin bed, shirtless and staring at her meaningfully.
Not like that. Because he was in a princess bed. And because he was acting like a child.
Rachel would have given anything to have seen Brian haul off and punch Micah right in the face during dinner. She loved her husband, but she would have rejoiced to see him get what he deserved. That much was probably obvious from the way she'd regarded him incredulously as he'd scowled at his mother's happiness, given the question that came from his lips the moment she laid down next to him.
"I'm being unreasonable, right?," he'd whispered.
"I'm not going to answer that, Micah," she'd yawned. "Because there's no right answer."
"It's just," he'd gone on, not looking for an answer anyway, "she kept this from us, right? I mean, I think I'd be okay with it if she'd given us a little more warning. Hey, Micah, I've met a nice guy. Great, Mom! But she skipped that! And now, here he is! And they've been dating for two months!"
The last two words had been a little loud. Mia mumbled something as Zoe cuddled her closer.
"She doesn't have to tell you anything," Rachel had whispered back. "She's a grown adult. She doesn't need to ask her adult son for permission to live her life."
"What if it was your mom?," he had hissed.
"Then, I would tell her she needs to stop and go back to her husband," she had mumbled. "Not the same situation, Micah. Don't ask me to speak to a situation that doesn't exist."
"But if your dad was --"
"Oh, good grief," she'd sighed, propping herself up on her elbow to look at him. "I'd tell her good for you. I'd tell her go on and find your happiness. I'd tell her it's time for you to live your life."
He'd watched her for a long moment. "This is like you," he'd said. "Like you going back to work."
"What?," she'd asked, her heart doing that funny little apprehensive thing it had done lately, thinking about leaving home, having someone else pick the girls up from school, not getting to be there for all the parties, all the events...
She didn't want to go to work. It was like she told Grant. It would be enough to stay at home. She didn't want what everyone thought she should want.
But Micah hadn't know any of this, of course. So, he'd kept on.
"You're doing something for you," he'd said. "You're saying it's about me now. You're going on with your life."
"It's not about me now," she'd corrected.
But he had gone on talking. "I'm not being negative about it. Good for you, Rachel. I can respect that. And I can respect it for my mom. Moving on and all. But maybe she should've just gotten a hobby or something, right? Like most widows? Don't most widows knit? Or join a book club or something? Not meet up with shady gigolos --"
"He's a pastor," she'd sighed, lying back down.
"I'm just saying," Micah had muttered. "I mean, he's older than she is, too. And she's got money, you know. The life insurance my dad had set up, her retirement, their house. I'm sure Brian knows all about it."
Rachel had frowned at him. "Well, that's a great conspiracy theory and all, but no. You're wrong, Micah."
"Okay, so I'm wrong," he'd said in that way that said he didn't think he was wrong at all. "But it's just weird. My mother, dating someone. And I don't know if I can handle it."
"Well," she'd told him, taking a deep breath, "it's not like acting like a five year old will make things better."
"I'm not acting like a five year old," he'd said, his pout on, making him look just exactly like his five year old daughters.
Oh, good grief.
"There it is," she had said, frowning at him. "That look. Just like your attitude. Micah, who acts like that? Who hears that his mother is happy and acts like that?"
"I do," he'd muttered sullenly. "It would be different if she hadn't kept it from me --"
"But she did," Rachel had said. "And do you know why she probably did it?"
"Why?," he'd asked.
"Because of the way she knew you would act," she'd said. "At least this way she got a couple of months of bliss before you tried to rain on her parade."
He'd looked wounded at this. Maybe she had been speaking too harshly.
Just like he'd been doing all night with his mother's boyfriend.
"Sweetheart," she'd said, putting her hands to his face. "May I speak some truth into your life?"
"As long as you speak it gently, please," he'd answered.
She could do that.
"It could be that this man is going to be around for a long while," she'd said.
"Could be," he'd agreed with a sigh.
"And it might be to the benefit of all concerned if you would find a way to be the man I know you are, deep down inside, even with this man in the picture."
"So, be nice, in other words," he had said.
"To honor Christ, yes," she'd said. "And you trust your mother's judgment, don't you? She picked your dad, after all."
And for about the thousandth time, Rachel had wished she had gotten to meet Chris. To better understand Micah, to better understand the family she'd married into, and to better understand the responsibility she carried with her husband now, for everyone around him, likely because his father had done such a wonderful job of taking care of them all while he was alive.
Micah had watched her for a long minute. "I don't know," he'd said slowly, "how I can love you and hate the things you say all at the same time, Rachel."
"It's your redeemed, holy side that loves me, Micah. The Jesus in you," she'd sighed. "And it's your fleshly, evil side that can't stand to hear the great and profound truths that I speak. Your struggle is just what's common to man, you know."
"Way to spiritualize family drama," he'd grinned.
"Yeah, I know, right?," she'd smiled back at him. "I'm good at that."
"But you don't practice what you preach," he'd said, "given the way you were yelling at your brother in the kitchen over tiramisu."
She'd frowned at this. "That's not -"
"Screeching and yelling --"
"We've all got drama," she had said pitifully, thinking about Grant and Maddie, about the looks they'd exchanged after Grant had said that, no, he couldn't get away for the cruise, no matter what season they chose.
He deserved someone screeching at him, honestly.
"Everyone has drama," she'd said again.
"We don't have any drama," Micah had assured her. "We're great. You and me."
"Yeah," she'd said, agreeing with this, "but I've got the drama of watching my brother's marriage fall apart."
Micah had studied her for a long moment. "Nah," he'd said, shaking his head. "It's not that bad. They're just really busy with the restaurant."
"Grant's really busy," she'd corrected him. "So busy that I don't think he realizes that everything he's doing to keep being who he thinks he needs to be is completely changing him."
"What?," Micah had asked.
"I don't even know what I'm saying," she'd moaned. "I'm so tired, after just one day of all these people in our house, and... are we crazy for letting Jacob and Gracie move in here, too?!"
"I don't think so," Micah had said, shaking his head. "It'll be different, but... well, it'll all work out okay. I think."
"Maybe," she'd murmured, "if I can figure out a way to coordinate everything a little better, maybe change up the way I have everything laid out --"
"Rachel," he'd said. "May I speak some truth into your life?"
What was good for the goose was good for the gander, but...
"Well, you're going to, no matter what I say," she'd concluded.
"You don't have to have it all together," he'd whispered, very simply. "Not when it comes to running this house, having your care
er, micromanaging your brother's marriage --"
"Not micromanaging his marriage," she'd argued. "I've got enough to manage with our marriage. Don't need to involve myself in someone else's."
He'd grinned. "You say that," he'd said. "But we're happy. We're good."
So much better than that. Maybe this was why it made it so hard to watch Grant and Maddie, knowing how it could be.
Maybe it was part of the reason why Micah had trouble watching his mother, knowing that someone you loved could be taken from you and the world wouldn't stop turning, that a lifetime, a good lifetime built with someone else, could be a thing of the past and life could go on.
Poor Micah. He was a childish jerk, of course, but she could see, even in that, the reality of how he still mourned his father in his own way.
"Hey," she'd said, putting her lips on his. "I love you. You're my best friend, Micah. In all the world. Just you."
He'd made a face at this. "You're trying to distract me from what I just said, about how you keep trying to run the whole world --"
"Guilty," she'd said against his lips, because it was the honest truth. "And you were mean to Brian."
"Yeah," he'd conceded.
"See?," she'd sighed. "That's why you're my best friend. Because we can say these things to each other and still be just fine."
"Better than fine," he'd murmured, pulling her closer.
"Yep," she'd murmured. "So, let's just vow to do better tomorrow. To let this awful day die and do better tomorrow."
"Okay."
"And let's sleep," she'd yawned. "Because we've got to get up in a few hours to get all the toys out, and have a merry Christmas and all."
"Okay," he'd agreed. Then, after a lot of moving and readjusting, "Good grief, this is a tiny bed."
"We slept in a bed this small in Italy, remember?," she'd said, a faint smile on her face. "I don't recall you complaining then."
"I've gained a few pounds since our honeymoon," he'd answered, "as have you."
"I gave birth to twins, Micah," she'd sighed. "There's no coming back from that gracefully."
"Here, I'll put my arms around you to give us both some room."
"Oh, that's nice," she'd murmured, her cheek on his chest, her body curled into his.
It had been nice... for about five minutes.
"Sweet mother of all that is good," Micah had murmured. "You're like a giant space heater, Rachel. I'm actually sweating. And while I'm not normally opposed to working up a sweat with you --"
"You know, it's not heaven for me either right now," she'd whispered. "Just try your best to sleep. Sweat and all."
And no matter how much they'd adjusted and readjusted, they'd given up. Micah had moved to the floor and was lying there in an uncomfortable looking heap when she'd woken up early, before their kids.
Like she'd done a few times before in their marriage (a few thousand times, actually), she began poking him awake, her finger right into his chest, over and over again.
"Micah, Micah, Micah," she whispered.
Just like he'd done all those times as well, he reached out and pulled her close, except this time, with her in the bed and him on the floor, gravity made his efforts more pronounced, and the result was that they bumped heads before she fell down on top of him.
"Owwww," she moaned as quietly as possible, glancing over to check that the girls were still asleep, even with the small groan Micah gave as she knocked the air out of him. "Good grief..."
"Head," Micah muttered, even as she shushed him. "My head hurts."
"I know," she murmured. "Are you concussed? Are you even awake? Open your eyes, Micah. Let me see if you're okay."
He opened one eye tentatively. She watched the dilation carefully, holding one finger out in front of his face, moving it back and forth as his eyes trailed it.
"What are you doing?," he whispered.
"Checking to make sure you're okay," she said. "You should do the same for me."
"You're fine," he said.
"Well, you're not really checking --"
"So, so, so fine," he grinned, pulling her close.
"Fine? That word went out of style when we were about eleven," she whispered, unable to fight the grin that came with the words.
"When you were eleven," he said. "I'm way younger than you are."
"Shut up."
"Wow, that never gets old," he said, grinning. "Waking up with you like this."
"Merry Christmas," she answered, smiling back.
And just as she came in to kiss him, Zoe rolled over, and Mia gave a sigh.
"Better get out of here and get Christmas set up before they wake up," Rachel said, sneaking a kiss to his lips then standing.
He followed her up, then out to the hallway where they could smell food.
"Grant's been up making breakfast," he said, even as they made their way into the kitchen. "Guess the roads are really that bad if he didn't leave right away for the restaurant."
That was good news. Not about the weather, of course. But about Grant, about him taking some extra time here.
"You want some coffee?," Micah asked.
"I would, if I could drink it," she said.
"Why can't you drink it?," he asked.
"My lip hurts," she murmured. "Stupid dog."
"Where?," Micah breathed, coming over to her.
"Right here," she pointed. "She bit me right here."
"Let me kiss it and make it better," he whispered, placing his lips on hers tenderly. "Better?"
"No," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. "Kiss it again."
Another kiss. "Better?" Another shake of her head. Another kiss. "Better yet?" Her two fingers held up to indicate a little. Another kiss. And --
"Well, good morning, roomies," Jacob cooed, coming into the kitchen from the back door, Sugar in his arms.
"Good morning," Micah sighed, pulling himself away from Rachel's lips, still holding her close. "You took the beast out for us. Thank you."
"It's like potty training a toddler, standing there and cheering like the Cowboys won the Super Bowl just because the dog peed in the snow."
"Snow?!," Rachel asked, pulling away from Micah and looking out the window. "Well, no wonder Grant stayed behind."
"That, and Maddie's sick." Gracie said, entering the kitchen herself from the stairs, holding a napping Ben in her arms. "Came down to get Ben some water and ran into Grant. Apparently, she had way too much tiramisu last night."
Rachel nearly gasped, thinking of the euphemism she'd sworn to Grant that she'd forget... then groaning. "Oh, well, I wondered what she was eating last night. Bless her heart. Do I need to go check on her?"
"Maybe," Gracie said. "But first, I need to tell you something."
"What is it?"
"Rachel, I'm so sorry," Gracie murmured in a much subdued voice. "I've gotten it as cleaned up as I could, but still. I'm so sorry. There's probably some residue left over."
Rachel blinked back alarm. "Residue?"
"Yes," Gracie sighed dramatically. "We're living out of suitcases and all, obviously, and normally, I'd close the diaper bag up after I use it, but my head is all over the place. I left it open because I couldn't find a pair of baby socks --"
"Because we have no idea where they're packed," Jacob added. "Seriously, the baby is going to have to wear my socks."
"Exactly," Gracie said, smiling at him. "But the bag was open, and Ben got in there and found the baby lotion. Praise God, he didn't eat any of it."
"Praise God," Micah added, looking over at Rachel, waiting for the bad news with her.
"But he did put it on, you know, like just lathered it on everywhere. Double, triple coated himself. Emptied the bottle!"
"Used it as a drum on my head later," Jacob added. "That's how I woke up. How Gracie woke up, too, because she fell asleep on top of me --"
"Hush," she said. "So, anyway, Ben was covered in lotion. Even had his diaper off. And a shirt? Well, forget about it. That boy is goi
ng to grow up to be a nudist. Well, nude except he does enjoy wearing my high heels. Naked as God made him, strutting around in my high heels like he's on a runway --"