by Lily Foster
I fetch my coat as he starts to clear the table, then walk back over to hug Olivia so I can make my escape.
“See you tomorrow, Sky-Sky,” she says, hugging me back with an extra tight squeeze.
“No, Libs, remember? Tomorrow is Thursday. I have school all day and then dance practice.”
“Aw,” she whines. And I have to admit that I kind of love the fact that she misses me.
“I’m picking you up after school on Friday, so I’ll see you soon.”
I give her a peck on the cheek and then peep out a quick, Bye, Leo, as I turn to go. But something catches my eye. He’s about to rinse the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher so he’s pushed the sleeves of his thermal shirt up past his elbows.
One arm is a blank canvas while the other is covered from the wrist up. It’s an eye-catching design, like a mash up between DaVinci’s anatomy sketches and a futuristic cyborg. Cogs, pulleys and steel rods intertwined with sinewy muscle, like the skin has been pulled back to reveal the mechanics of his limbs. The artwork is intricate and beautiful. Makes me think of something broken that was fixed.
I suck in a breath when it hits me.
I know those arms, and I know those hands.
Chapter Seventeen
Leo
Skylar’s been gone for three days. In the quiet of my own mind I admit to myself that I miss her.
Yes, I miss her because my daughter has been a restless and sometimes cranky disaster since she’s been yanked out of her routine—that’s part of it. Olivia is chomping at the bit to meet this baby, and I think she might even be a little jealous of James being that he’s taken Skylar away from us—I mean her. But I also miss the warmth and fun she brings to our house. There are no dance-offs happening in the kitchen when I walk in the door from work, I burned the cheese on top of the chicken parm I attempted to cook on Sunday, and there’s just a dullness that wasn’t there before Skylar came onto the scene. She’s spoiled us or ruined us. I’m not sure which.
I have to remind myself to turn on the music, to try to dance with Olivia and sing while we cook, but she isn’t having it. My daughter loves me, I know that, but I also know I’m a piss poor substitute for the woman who has turned out to be our saving grace.
Her sister went a week past her due date before they induced the delivery, and the two women in this house were so keyed up in the days leading up to the birth that I felt like I was living through it with Garth and Sienna—two people I’ve never even met.
Skylar has been video chatting with Olivia every day, and I’m not sure if it’s a good thing. My daughter practically rips the phone out of my hand when it rings at seven o’clock each night, desperate to see this girl who I hate to admit has become the primary female in her life.
A babysitter.
A college kid.
Olivia gets this wide-eyed, over the moon look on her face whenever she gets to see baby James. Skylar holds the phone close enough so that Olivia can hear him breathe in an out. He’s so tiny, and seeing him brings me back to the days when I cradled my own little baby in my arms. I look on for a moment and then leave them to it. The sight of someone so small and helpless can flood me with love one moment and then a rush of painful memories the next.
I never asked, but always wondered why Carrie went ahead with the pregnancy. At first I just assumed that despite her faults, she believed that keeping the baby was just the morally right thing to do. So I figured Carrie would take to it—that once the baby was born she’d love it and hopefully change some of her own wild child ways. But Carrie didn’t even want to hold Olivia in the hospital.
She looked beyond depressed, which scared the living hell out of me, and she didn’t smile unless her friends came by the house with cute little baby gifts and bottles of prosecco to toast the new mom. She’d dress Olivia up on those days and put on a show, but behind closed doors when it was just us, she wouldn’t get up off the couch even if Olivia was screaming bloody murder from her crib. Carrie would sit there like a stone, her face an impassive mask.
One night I broke down and shouted, “Just this once, could you get off your ass and check on your daughter?” because I’d basically been changing every diaper and doing every midnight feeding since I brought the two of them home from the hospital.
She looked to me, put her wineglass down and then leisurely made her way to the stairs. But I had to follow. I was already so attached to Olivia that I didn’t trust Carrie around her. Didn’t trust that she’d clean her thoroughly, didn’t trust that she’d strap her onto the changing table, didn’t trust her to do anything where my child was concerned.
She was never a warm and affectionate person, but I think having the baby broke something inside of Carrie. Maybe I should have moved us back to Cincinnati to be closer to her family like she asked. Maybe I should have made sure she had a good nanny to help her from day one. Maybe I should have pushed her to go to therapy sooner.
But I was twenty-five years old, not much more than a kid myself. I didn’t know jack shit about postpartum depression, about marriage, about anything.
And it’s hard to have sympathy for someone who started to run out on her kid any chance she could get. She was like a zombie when she was home with us, but when one of her old friends called with an invite for a girls’ night out she morphed into her old party girl self.
She was back to her pre-pregnancy size within a month because she barely ate, so wine soaked nights left her coming home in a taxi too drunk to exit the car without me and the driver having to carry her in. Not a good look. And, no surprise, Carrie would be useless the next day.
By the time Olivia was six months old I wanted out for me and my daughter. I’d stopped caring about my wife, figured that if she wanted to drink like a sorority girl and then lay around hungover all day, I could manage on my own because that’s essentially what I was doing anyway.
My parents were too old to help in any real way, and Carrie’s mom came to visit only once in the early days and was no help whatsoever.
Like mother like daughter, the only thing my mother-in-law did during her visit was to cheer her little girl up by taking her shopping all day, or to lunch and the spa on my dime. The two of them practically wore out the strip out on my credit card that week.
Carrie went home to Cinci when Olivia was around ten months old, and when she got back she sat me down with a look of cold determination. By then we were barely on speaking terms. It was like working an office job stuck in a cubicle next to that one coworker you just can’t stand. She threw out the term trial separation but I knew she wanted a divorce. I wanted one too. But then she told me she was moving back home and taking Olivia with her.
I’d just secured my first really big patent the year before, and foolishly bragged to Carrie that the licensing deals alone would set me up with royalties for the rest of my days. Explaining the concept of mailbox money to her, I felt like a big shot, when in reality I was a colossal dumbass. Two months later I was married with a baby on the way, too shellshocked to even think of a pre-nup.
And that’s how low my opinion of Carrie was at that point. Custody of Olivia meant fat child support payments for my ex-wife. Clever girl would be getting her own mailbox money after all. I think I laughed in her face and said something original like: Over my dead body.
But it was her dead body I was standing over in the morgue only a few short weeks later. She died in a drunk driving accident. A passenger in some guy’s car.
They left a club and were heading in the opposite direction of our house. After the accident one of her friends fessed up and confirmed what I already suspected. The man who survived the crash but would ultimately wind up serving two years for vehicular manslaughter was someone from Carries’s past. Yeah, a real stand-up guy.
Hate is a strong word, but that’s what I felt in the days and weeks leading up to her death. Hated her just as much or even more in the weeks and months that followed, as every new lie and deception came to light.
It’s been over three years now, so I’m ashamed to admit there are times when I still hate her.
I hate that I have to speak about her in glowing terms to our daughter. Hate that I have to see her picture on Olivia’s nightstand every time I tuck her in. Hate what she put me through, torturing me from beyond the grave when that piece of shit boyfriend of hers demanded a paternity test in a bid to garner some sympathy from the judge before he was sentenced.
Yeah, I still hate everything about Carrie except the miracle she gave to me.
Chapter Eighteen
Skylar
Sienna is folding some laundry, I think, and she’s speaking to me but I’m finding it hard to listen.
Beautiful.
The word seems inadequate, but it’s all I can think of when I look down into my nephew’s face. His little body is so warm and soft, and it’s as if he’s nestled into my arms in a way that feels perfect—like God made babies to fit just so.
“He’s perfect,” I say to no one in particular.
Sienna stops what she’s doing and sits at the foot of the bed where I’m lying. “I know. I feel like I spend most of the day just staring at him like you are now.”
“I can’t believe he’s four weeks old already.”
“Right? I feel like this month has flown by and I’ve barely left the house. You’d think I’d be stir crazy by now but I’m not.”
“It’ll be so nice when you can take him out for a walk.” Looking to the window, I shake my head. “It’s April second and there’s still snow on the ground.”
“I’m not itching to be out and about just yet. It’s been nice with just me and Garth and the baby holed up together. Grandy’s visits make me want to tear my hair out sometimes, but she means well.”
“I can’t believe that nut chose to be called Grandy because it rhymes with her favorite cocktail.”
We both laugh, but I seriously do think Garth’s mom is a little touched in the head, and I’m not too keen on the idea of her caring for my little James.
“Aw, she’s all right.” I roll my eyes because my sister is just too damn nice sometimes. “I mean, she’s not Mom, but she loves James more than anything. And I know I already thanked you for staying those first couple of days after I got home, but really, you were a lifesaver. I was a hormonal mess for a while there.”
“Yeah, I miss Mom.” I have to wipe at a stray tear when I look down at James sleeping peacefully. “She would have adored him.”
“Dad, too.”
I nod in agreement, still unable to talk about him in a positive way even though I can totally see my father sitting in his recliner with James in his arms, loving him as much as I do.
Sienna laughs. “Mom would absolutely freak if she saw the way Grandy burps James. I basically won’t let her hold him after his feedings now because I’m afraid she’ll give him shaken baby syndrome.”
I can’t help but laugh when Sienna puffs out her cheeks imitating her mother-in-law, pounding on her own chest like it’s James’s back.
“No making fun of my momma,” Garth teases when he comes into the room.
“I love your mom, you know that. I just wish she wouldn’t handle him the way she does. She’s a tough old broad.”
Garth lets out a loud, long belch himself and then says, “I turned out just fine.”
I whisper, “Gross, Garth,” because that disgusting noise has roused the baby.
Sienna muffles a laugh and whispers as she points to her husband, “I’m blaming Grandy and her violent burping methods for that.”
“He’s a man…Gotta learn to burp like a man.”
I shake my head and smile. “I am sooo happy that I’m single right now.”
Sienna settles in next to me and I hand James over when he opens his eyes. He usually wants some one-on-one time with my sister’s boob as soon as he wakes up.
“Did he just smile at you?”
“Yes you did, didn’t you?” Sienna coos as she gently rubs her finger across his chin.
“I mean, I’ve seen him do it before but that looked like a real genuine smile.”
Garth says, “I think before it was just gas or something, but yeah, he smiles whenever he hears one of our voices now. Sienna more than me because, you know, she’s got the milk.” Moving in closer he whispers as he touches his hand to James’s head. “I get it, little man. Mommy’s got the best ta-tas in town.”
I tease, “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“As you should.” He’s still looking at his wife and child as he says it, and I find myself staring too as Sienna lifts her shirt and shifts the stretchy material of her nursing bra down. James latches onto her, taking long pulls and looking so very content.
I swallow to stem the tide of sadness that’s taking hold. Why on earth am I sad? As much as I love James, I don’t want a baby now. It’s just human instinct, I tell myself. Ridiculous emotions stirred by evolution and Mother Nature herself. Shaking it off, I focus on mother and child again. It is amazing. It’s like us women were made perfectly, with everything we need to nurture life just built right in.
“Amazing,” I murmur.
“Amazing and hot as eff.”
“As eff? Seriously? Do not be saying that kind of stuff around my nephew. He’ll know what it means by the time he’s two and you’ll be getting him kicked out of preschool.”
Garth raises his eyebrows in fear. “Point taken.”
And at the mention of preschool, my mind goes back to Olivia. She’s been itching to meet James, the poor little thing, but with the whole germ situation I know it’s best to wait a few weeks.
“Are you sure it’s all right to bring Olivia next week? I mean, I’ll wash her hands like she’s prepping for surgery and I’ll cancel if she’s so much as sniffling, but I’d totally understand if you don’t want anyone unfamiliar around him yet.”
Sienna has James on her shoulder, rubbing his back oh so gently when a burp comes out. “See?” She looks to Garth. “You get a gig nice burp from just touching this little guy’s back.”
“I’ll tell Grandy but,” he smiles, “you know she thinks she knows best.”
“Knows best my ass…I mean butt,” she whispers as James settles back into her arms and his eyes drift closed again.
“He sleeps, eats, pees and poops. I keep telling myself to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasts but I love it when he stays awake for an hour or so.” Garth takes him from Sienna and feels his diaper to make sure he’s ok. “I’m gonna slip him into a dry one.”
“Ok.”
I shake my head even though I’m truly happy taking in my sister’s dreamy expression. “Jeez, you still look at your husband that way?”
“She loves me, Sky. And who could blame her?”
“There is something undeniably sexy about a guy who changes diapers.” Sienna turns back to me. “And yeah, you can definitely bring Olivia here. You talk about her so much that I’m kind of dying to meet her. And it’s not like we’ve been in a total bubble. People have been popping in to see the baby.”
“Yeah. My aunt and uncle were here last week, Sienna’s boss and her husband came over for dinner one night, and Tyler’s been by a few times.”
“He’s been here three separate times to be exact.” Sienna adds, “I think he comes by hoping he’ll run into you.”
“How is he?”
Sienna looks to Garth before answering, “Good, I guess.”
Garth says, “He’s still with Lila, but that’s a bit of a shit show.”
“How so? I saw a few pictures on her profile,” I feel my cheeks heat at the admission, “and they looked happy enough.”
“You’ve looked her up?” Sienna seems genuinely surprised.
“I get bored sometimes. And I did date the boy for over two years. I mean, I still care about him.”
“I don’t like Lila for him,” Garth says as he snaps James back into his onesie. “She can drink him under the table so she’s not exactly encouraging him
to stay on the straight and narrow.”
“Yeah, I saw the picture she posted from Atlantic City on his birthday.”
“And that was all her doing.” Sienna shakes her head. “She surprised him with a road trip.”
My heart is heavy when I snap, “No one forces him to gamble. That’s on him. Just glad I don’t have to play the role of nagging girlfriend anymore.”
It’s quiet for a minute before Garth says, “It’s a shame, though. Lila’s a good time girl, nothing more. She doesn’t love him. No doubt she’ll drop his ass when someone better comes along.”
“Can you talk to him?” I ask Garth.
“He knows. And it’s like you said, Tyler has to change. No one can do it for him.”
Chapter Nineteen
Leo
Christ.
Olivia’s been up since six this morning. She’s so damn excited for today but the rain is coming down in sheets. No way am I letting the two of them drive an hour in this weather. And one look at the weather app on my phone shows there’s no sign of this letting up.
Just as I’m about to text Skylar and tell her not to come, I hear a knock on the door followed by the excited squeal of a preschooler not a moment later.
Skylar is wearing a jacket that’s doing a poor job of keeping her dry, with the wind whipping the hood back and off her head before she can get in the doorway.
“It’s wicked out there!”
“I’m ready!” Olivia calls out, making her way down the stairs wearing the party dress my parents bought her for Christmas a few months ago. Totally impractical, she has nowhere to wear it, but Libs loves putting it on and dancing around in front of the mirror in her room.
Skylar says, “She’s a trip,” before turning her attention to Olivia. “Libby, dah-ling, you look fab!”
“Can I change James’s diaper?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll show you how. But maybe I’m going to pack you some comfy clothes to take along. You know, in case you want to play later on.”