Mistletoe in Mayhem (Whiskey Sisters)

by L. E. Rico

  “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re going to take a brief pause here for an announcement…”

  There’s a collective groan from the packed house. We’re getting close to the semi-finals, and the teams don’t like anything that interrupts their quiz juju.

  My sister, Walker, hops up on the dais and accepts the microphone from Father Romance.

  “So…my sister, Henny, is expecting…” she begins.

  “Yeah, yeah, we already know…” calls out one of the guys from the super-competitive Iron Range Mining team at table six.

  “Dude, if you don’t pipe down, I’m going to cancel my inventory on your gluten-free beer.” That shuts him up—and fast. Satisfied, Walker continues. “Well, we just found out that she’s expecting twins!”

  The whole place erupts into clapping, cheers, and whistles for Henny and Bryan, who wave their appreciation from the bar. But Walker’s not done yet.

  “Our Pops and Mama would have been over-the-moon thrilled with this news. But since they can’t be here to celebrate this with all of us, I’m going to do what they would’ve done. Please join us in toasting Henny and Bryan Truitt with a free double round on the house—one drink for each baby!”

  Now that gets an enthusiastic reaction—even from the grumpy table six.

  “I’m sorry—did…did your sister just give away liquor?” Bryan asks us incredulously.

  I shrug, not the least bit surprised by Walker’s actions. “She’s right—it’s what our parents would have done. Pops was in love with Jax from the second he knew I was expecting. Twins—well, that would’ve blown his mind.”

  “Oh, yeah…he was nuts about the little guy,” Hennessy recalls. “Of course, he didn’t see him hit the terrible ones. And twos. And threes…”

  “Hey!” I say indignantly. “May I remind you that you’re his godmother…”

  She rolls her eyes and smiles. “I know, I know…you gotta admit the little booger’s a handful, though.”

  I hop off the stool and put my hands on my hips.

  “You’re right, Henny. Jackson is a handful. And the only thing worse than one handful…would be two!”

  She stops, processing this for a moment, then turns to Bryan with a panic-stricken expression.

  “Holy. Crap. Bryan, Jameson’s right! What if they both turn out to be as…you know…as active as Jax is? How on earth will we manage? You’ve got to work, I’ve got the pub…”

  “Okay, slow down,” he replies soothingly as he holds up his palms. “We don’t have to do this alone.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Henny asks, not convinced. “I mean, we can invite your mom to come stay, but she won’t be here indefinitely…”

  My brother-in-law takes my sister’s hand in his and gives her his most reassuring smile.

  “Hen, I don’t want you to worry about a thing. I’m going to take care of every detail.”

  And with that single sentence, red flags go up, alarms sound, and warning lights flash. Those “famous last words” came from Bryan last year around this time when he took over the planning of their wedding. And, while it turned out to be more beautiful than anyone could have imagined, there was a whole lot of drama along the way—most of it caused by the high-end wedding planner he just had to have.

  “Bryan,” Henny begins suspiciously, clearly thinking along the same lines as I am, “what exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Hey! Don’t look so nervous.” He chuckles. “A nanny, Hen. We’re going to hire a nanny to help out.”

  I’m staring at him. As are my three sisters. Nanny is a foreign word in our vocabulary. In fact, I can’t think of a single family here in Mayhem that employs one.

  “Dude, you cannot be serious,” Walker says from behind the bar, where she’s filling all the orders for the drinks she’s just offered. “That’s so…so…”

  “Hollywood,” Bailey supplies.

  “Exactly!” Walker agrees enthusiastically. “People here don’t do…nannies.” The last word comes out sounding distasteful.

  Bryan is smirking as he turns his attention my way.

  “Tell me, Jameson, how nice would it have been to have a little help when Jackson was an infant? Someone to help with the late-night feedings? Someone to keep an eye on the little guy so you could catch a nap? Someone you trusted to be there at home so you could escape for an hour or two?”

  I’m about to tell him I’d never allow some strange person around my baby…but then I stop and consider what this scenario might have looked like. As it was, Win took every opportunity to get out of the house and leave me alone with a sleepless, screeching, colicky baby. I was lucky if I could get a couple of hours of shut-eye. I was frazzled, exhausted, and I looked like hell. Not to mention that I was always—always—covered in spit-up in those early weeks.

  “Honestly,” I begin a little sheepishly, “in the absence of a helpful, involved father—I’d have given just about anything just to have had someone mind the baby for even a half-hour every day. Just so I could take a shower and brush my teeth. Just so I could do a few of those little things that make you feel like a human being instead of a twenty-four-hour milk dispensary.”

  “Jameson!” Bailey objects. “You know very well that we were all here for you when the munchkin was born—and we’ve never stopped helping.”

  “Oh, Bailey, I know, I know,” I reply, quick to dispel the sense that I’m an ingrate. “I just mean that in those early weeks especially, you guys couldn’t be there all the time. You were still in high school. Henny was working down in the Twin Cities, and Walker…well, Pops really needed her at the pub a lot at that time. I mean, a lot of parents can count on their mother or mother-in-law…but, you know, I didn’t have either of those…”

  My voice trails off a little wistfully. It would have been so wonderful to have had my mother nearby in those early days when I had no clue which end was up. And now poor Henny is going to have a similar experience—but with two screaming, sleepless, hungry infants. Even with Bryan’s help, it’s going to be a lot on her as a first-time mom.

  I make a decision right here, right now, in this very moment. I will be there for my sister no matter what she needs—giving her the benefit of my experience, my company, and my love whenever humanly possible.

  Because Lord knows she’s going to need it.

  Chapter Two

  Scott

  June

  I count six teddy bears, three Diaper Genies, two towering piles of diapers, and enough onesies to clothe a small island nation of infants. Since word has gotten out about Henny and Bryan having twins, the gifts have been pouring in from all over Mayhem…and beyond. Some of Bryan’s more posh L.A. friends and colleagues have been sending along the latest and greatest in celebrity baby gear. Like the item he was so keen to show me the minute I walked into his house.

  I turn the strange thing over. And over again. I’ve never seen anything like it—it’s like the love child of a giant shot glass and a beach ball. Made of a soft, clear silicone, it stands about twenty-four inches tall—higher if you put it on the accompanying pedestal.

  “Um…so…it’s for the baby? To what—play in? I mean, do you fill it with sand or something?” I ask, unable to guess what it is.

  Bryan rolls his eyes at me and shakes his head.

  “Sand? Dude, we won’t be talking sandboxes until—I don’t know—until like eight weeks or something.”

  Somehow that doesn’t sound quite right to me…but what do I know about kid stuff? Jameson and I aren’t even married yet. And, while I love hanging with my little nephew, Jackson, kids aren’t on my radar for the immediate future.

  “Okay, okay, Mr. Mom, what’s the thing for, then?”

  He’s grinning, and it’s starting to annoy the crap out of me.

  “It’s a Tummy-Tubaroo!”

  I stare at him blankly.

  “A what…?”

  “A Tummy-Tubaroo. Tum-my Tub-a-rooooo,” he repeats more slowly, as if I’m too d
im to understand.

  “I can understand what you’re saying,” I inform him with some irritation. “I just don’t know what the hell it means!”

  Clearly, I’m taking the fun out of this demonstration for him.

  “Oh, fine, fine, party pooper…”

  “Oh! Is that what it’s for? It’s a…pooper?” I ask, excited that I might have actually figured out this enigma.

  “What? No!” he says indignantly. “It is not a…pooper! Though I’ve got a few of those on order, too… No, no, this thing is meant to simulate the feeling of being in the womb. So you fill it with warm water, pop the little guy—or girl—right in there, and voila! You’ve got yourself one clean, happy, secure baby.”

  “Uh-huh…” I flip the thing upside down again, as if this new angle will unlock its secrets. It doesn’t. So I start to beat on it like a bongo.

  Bryan is not amused.

  “Hey! No mocking the Tummy-Tubaroo! I’ll have you know it’s a highly sophisticated form of baby hygiene!”

  “Really? Okay, so the baby sits up in this thing, right?” I confirm.

  “Exactly,” Bryan agrees.

  “So then tell me how, exactly, you get to the…you know…the business end of the baby?”

  He looks at me as if I’m the village idiot. Which I sometimes am. But not this time.

  “Scott, if you’re just going to mock the baby gear…”

  “No, really, man. Here—try this…” I grab a child-sized teddy bear from a nearby heap of baby loot and stuff it into the tuby-tummy-thing. “Now, I want you to pretend like you’re washing the baby’s butt.”

  “Oh, come on!” he whines. “I am not going to play house with you, Scott!”

  “Don’t be such a wuss! If it’s really all that great, then prove it.”

  No guy can resist a challenge. Especially not this guy.

  “Fine,” he grumbles, rolling up his sleeves as if there were really water in the thing. Then he hovers over it and manages to get one arm in. But when he attempts to faux-wipe the baby bear butt, the little guy slips down.

  I make a loud “error” buzzer noise.

  “Sorry, your kid’s head just went under the bathwater. I hope you know CPR…”

  He glares at me and tries again, this time trying to shoehorn both of his arms in on either side of the stuffed animal. I’m almost about to give him a begrudging congratulations and apology when I realize there’s a problem with this configuration, too. When Bryan tries to pull his arms out, the entire thing rises with him. Because he’s stuck in it.

  Good. And. Stuck.

  Every which way he moves, the tuba-tummy comes along for the ride, putting the “baby” into an array of unnatural positions ranging from upside-down to horizontal. At one point, he’s shaking violently in an attempt to rid himself of the squishy restraint.

  He looks so awkward and frustrated that it’s almost funny. Almost. But even I, the least paternal person I’ve ever known, can recognize the fact that shaking babies isn’t anything to laugh about.

  “Yeah…I’m pretty sure that little maneuver gets you in a world of trouble you don’t even want to contemplate,” I say, helping him to dislodge his forearms, which are now reddening from the irritation.

  Once he’s extricated, Bryan pulls the bear out—one handed—and drops the ill-conceived tub back into the box from whence it came.

  “Point taken,” he mutters.

  “Have you managed to win Hennessy over on the nanny thing?” I ask, looking for a change of topic that doesn’t involve dirty baby butts.

  He sits back on the couch with a loud sigh.

  “Yeah, well, kind of…she’s agreed to interview some candidates. But only if she can have Jameson there.”

  “Well, that makes sense,” I agree. “She’s a mom. She’s probably got some super-secret-mom-spidey-sense that’ll help weed out all the…er…unique personalities who might show up for an interview.”

  Bryan quirks an eyebrow. “Bro, you grew up in this town. It’s nothing but unique personalities.”

  Well, he’s got me there.

  …

  “Unca Sock?” Jackson is tugging on the hem of my t-shirt. He’s nearly three now and morphing from toddler to little boy at an alarming rate of speed but has, somehow, managed to hang onto the name he’s been calling me since we first met.

  “Yeah, buddy?” I look down at him from where I’m making the salad for our dinner.

  “How come Mama’s taking anutter nap?”

  “Another one? What do you mean?”

  “She nap-ped this morning,” he says, splitting the word into two separate syllables. “She snord-ed when Bubble Guppies was on.”

  I do a quick calculation based on my intimate knowledge of children’s television. The show was on at ten this morning. It’s four-thirty now. James went to have a quick lie down when I got here an hour ago. She’s been working hard these last couple of months, picking up extra shifts to help cover a nursing shortage in this part of the state. And these days, Jackson’s a little big to just pop in the playpen for a nap—so she spends a good bit of time playing with him, chasing him, and cleaning up after him.

  “She’s just sleepy, Jax. But I tell you what, why don’t you take one of these oatmeal raisin cookies your mama made and go color in the living room? Your crayons and paper are there. And I’ll go check on her. Okay?”

  He knows sweets before dinner are normally a “hard no” around here, so he grabs the cookie and scampers off to the other room before I can change my mind. Jameson shares this house—the one she grew up in—with her two younger sisters, Walker and Bailey. The lack of privacy can be a little frustrating at times, but Jameson has nixed the idea of us getting a place together until we’re officially married.

  “What kind of an example would that set for Bailey?” she’d asked when I inquired about it for the third time. “Sorry, sweetie. Engaged isn’t married.”

  I pointed out that, while we weren’t living under the same roof, we weren’t exactly abstaining from premarital…activities. That piece of brilliance earned me one hairy eyeball and a night in the doghouse. My doghouse, not hers. After all, what kind of an example would that set for the puppies of Mayhem?

  Now, as I slip into her darkened bedroom, I can just make out the shape of her as she sleeps on her side, deep breaths coming at regular intervals. She’s out cold. I turn around and start to tiptoe back out again, but I’m caught by the stupid creaky floorboard that always earns me an after-the-fact ribbing from Walker.

  “Funny…I seem to recall the floorboard creaking in the middle of the night…” she likes to taunt.

  This time around, it’s just loud enough to wake Jameson.

  “Oh…hey…” she murmurs sleepily as she stretches her arms out and over her head like a cat sitting in the sun.

  “Hey,” I reply, perching myself on the side of the bed and brushing the hair back off her forehead. “You’re really wiped, huh?”

  “Ohhhh, yeah… Just so tired.”

  “Well, no wonder, you must’ve baked five dozen batches of cookies. What’s with that?”

  She shrugs under the sheet as she yawns.

  “I don’t know…Henny mentioned them the other day, and now I’ve got a hankering for them. I’ll keep a few here for Jax and will bring the rest to work tomorrow.”

  “Well, your son wants to know why you’re napping so much,” I inform her.

  She chuckles. “Yeah…I kinda dropped off during the Bubble Guppies this morning. I can’t help it! All that water…it just makes me so sleepy! And it makes me have to pee,” she says, struggling to sit up.

  My god, she’s sexy like this—all warm and curled up in bed. I’m tempted to join her…but I know she’d frown upon that with the kiddo lurking around, ready to come rushing through the door at any given moment. The desire—and the thought that quashes it—prompt me to voice the ever-hanging question.

  “So…James…” I venture.

  “Hmm?�
�� Even though she’s sitting up, her feet on the ground now, she’s got her eyes closed again, as if she might slip right back into her dreams.

  “Honey, have you given any more thought to a wedding date?”

  Her eyes fly open. She’s wide awake now and struggling to get up into a sitting position.

  “Oh…well…I…”

  “Only because it would be nice to be with you. Every day. Like wake up next to you and not have to climb out the window so Jackson doesn’t realize Unca Sock had a sleepover with Mama…”

  She nods. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry…I haven’t been avoiding it—I swear. It’s just that every time I turn around, someone needs something. Henny needs help getting ready for the twins, Bailey’s struggling with the whole business major thing at college, and Walker…well, I don’t know what’s up with her. Anyway, then the holidays are coming… And the twins are due in January…”

  “It’s still June,” I remind her.

  “Almost July,” she reminds me, then sighs and nods. “But you’re right, I’ve been putting everyone else before myself. Before us. Okay, I tell you what, I’ll find some time to stop by the church and speak with Father Romance. I really want to do the whole wedding mass thing, so the timing will depend on what he’s got available.”

  “Okay, sounds like a plan. Meanwhile, I was thinking…”

  She’s on guard immediately.

  “Uh-huhhhhhh?”

  I give her my best naughty smile.

  “Nothing bad,” I assure her. “I figured maybe you and I could just get away for a couple of nights? We could sort out some of the wedding plans…maybe get a jump on the honeymoon…”

  Jameson rolls her eyes and smiles at my suggestive suggestion. “Why don’t we just stay here? You, me, the calendar…the three of us can hole up here under the covers,” she counter-offers, wagging her eyebrows up and down in her own…suggestion.

  But, adorable as she is, I shake my head.

  “Nope.”

  “Nope to which part of it? Me? Bed? The calendar?” she asks, sounding slightly amused.

  “The ‘here’ part of it,” I explain. “Because you know it won’t just be you and me. It’ll also be Walker. And Bailey. And Bailey’s friend Dana. And Dana’s boyfriend Joseph—”