Kind of Cursed

by Stephanie Fournet

  This is true. Millie and I found out about this baby before Halloween. When we brought Emmett, Marco, and Mateo over to my folks’ for Dia de los Muertos and Abuela said nothing, we thought we were in the clear. We’d wait. Make sure everything looked good and then tell everyone.

  And then Abuela had cataract surgery.

  The day after the operation, she took one look at Millie and spilled.

  My young sister-in-law looks at me with wide eyes. “How upset are they going to be?”

  She looks so worried. I hate to see her worried. It’s been my job for four years to make sure she was safe and secure. I shoot my brother another glare, but I gentle my voice for Mattie.

  “I don’t know. You two are a lot younger than we were.” Then I focus on Alex. “What’s your plan? I’m assuming you have one since you had plenty of warning.”

  His fist clenches on the table. I get the feeling he’d like to pound me with it. Well, the feeling is mutual.

  “We have a plan. We’re getting married.” He squeezes Mattie’s hand, looking at her with that all-in love he’s had for her from the beginning. A shy—but utterly happy—smile shapes her lips. But then Alex faces me, and I watch him swallow. Did he just pale a little? “I’m going to quit school.”

  “You’re what?!” I fire the question like a pistol. Alex and Mattie are three months into their freshman year at LSU. A long, long way from graduating.

  “At the end of this year,” he adds, as if that makes it any better.

  Mattie sits up straighter. “And I’ll transfer to UL. They have a piano pedagogy program too. I’ll earn my degree here.”

  “And I’ll come work with you,” Alex says. And, yeah, his color is washed out. He’s nervous about this. “Full-time. At least until Mattie finishes.”

  I frown. “You need to stay in school. If you quit now, you might never go back.”

  Alex shakes his head. “No. I need to take care of my family.”

  His family. I can’t argue with that. And the hard look in his eye tells me it wouldn’t do much good anyway.

  “Besides,” Alex says, likely sensing his advantage. “Do we both need a degree to—”

  “Yes,” I snap. This is non-negotiable. Mami and Papi worked and saved and sacrificed to give us more than they had. Neither one of them went to college. “We both need a degree.”

  Maybe I’m the one wearing a hard look now because he changes tacks. “Fine. Then I’ll go back after Mattie graduates,” he says, then adds in a lower voice. “Part-time.”

  “Part-time?” I growl the question.

  Alex leans forward, still clasping Mattie’s hand. “Think about it, Luca. Mattie’s going to be a teacher. Earning a teacher’s salary. We’re going to have a kid—” He flicks his gaze to Millie, the direction of it taking in her still-flat middle, a half-smile on his lips. “Probably more than one by that time. I’ll get a degree if you insist, but, hermano, we’re going to need my income.”

  For the second time in as many minutes, my little brother has shut me up. Eighteen, and he already has his life planned out.

  Eighteen. It’s so young.

  “Are you sure, Alejandro?”

  I watch his arm tighten around Mattie, his eyes moving to slits. “You really have to ask that?”

  No. I don’t. My brother has loved Mattie forever. I should know. I’ve been kicking him out of the house at eleven o’clock for four years. Until they went to LSU.

  This was bound to happen.

  My gaze moves to my little sister-in-law. As usual, she looks nervous—and embarrassed—but if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen her so happy. Her fair skin glows. Just like Millie’s.

  Abuela is so going to call it in two seconds.

  “Have you told Harry?” Millie asks her sister.

  Alex blows out a breath, and Mattie winces. “Not yet.”

  One look at my brother and I know telling me was the lesser of two evils. He and Harry have always been tight, but Harry has vowed repeatedly he’d beat Alex bloody if he knocked up his sister.

  I don’t think he was joking.

  But Harry’s not in from Centenary yet. His season just ended a couple of weeks ago. The Gents finished up 11-4-5 with four shutouts. Four shutouts that happened while Harry was tending goal. Yeah, he’s had a good first semester. A great one, considering he is bringing a girl home for the holiday.

  Maybe that will help Alex’s cause. If Harry’s in love, he might be able to forgive Alex. Or at least let him live. We’ll find out in a couple of hours.

  “So, can I come work with you?” Alex asks, his uncertain look returning. “In May?”

  Like I’d say no. Like I even could. The name on the sign says Valencia and Sons. I glance at Millie, and just one glimpse lets me know what she’s thinking.

  He wants your support. Her eyes tell me. He wants your blessing.

  I lock eyes with her, giving her the smile that she owns a controlling share of. She’s right. Alex doesn’t need me to bust his balls. Papi and Harry are going to take care of that.

  “I can’t wait,” I tell my brother. A wave of relief passes over both him and Mattie, and I feel a prick of guilt for taking so long. I get to my feet and hold my hand out to Alex. His eyes widen in surprise, and he stands too. The handshake becomes a hug, and then I turn to Mattie, clasp her hand, and tug her out of the nook. She springs to her feet and into my arms, tears glinting in her eyes.

  “I get to have you as my sister twice over.”

  The back door bangs open and the sound of males—human and canine—echo through the house. Clarence and his one-year-old sidekick Danté lead the charge, tearing into the kitchen and lapping simultaneously at the giant water bowl next to the fridge.

  Danté is what Millie calls a foster failure. His first owner surrendered him at Millie’s clinic when he couldn’t pay to treat the pup’s Parvo. Knowing the illness would be deadly if left untreated, Millie took him in and covered his bills. The plan was to get him well and then help him find his forever home.

  Yeah, that plan lasted about a week. And then our boys all fell in love with the Labrador-Springer-mystery mix.

  Okay, I did too.

  And while Clarence merely tolerated him at first, within a few weeks, they were inseparable, wrestling or chasing after each other when awake and lying right beside each other while they slept.

  Nothing has changed—except Danté has nearly quadrupled in size.

  Emmett comes in on their heels, sees the four of us, and stops with a suspicious frown. “What’s going on?”

  Mattie turns away to dab her eyes, and Millie steps forward. “Not much. Where are the boys?”

  At her question, the back-door slams shut. “Here, Mama!” Mateo shouts. He runs in, ahead of his brother. Mateo is the loudest. And he always has to be first. It’s been that way since they were born. Marco is our observer. Our introvert. So much like his Aunt Mattie. But it’s their twelve-year-old Uncle Emmett both our boys worship. If he is home, they’re on him like a two-headed shadow.

  Most of the time, Emmett’s really good about it. Not always, but then again, he’s just twelve. The kid hates it when Marco and Mateo wake him up on the rare Saturday or Sunday morning when he doesn’t have a soccer game and he can sleep in. He also hates it when they go into his room when he’s not home.

  Emmett was nine by the time they were born, and out of the three of Millie’s sibs, I think he was the happiest about their arrival. They wiped away his baby-of-the-family status. Doubly so. And I think he’s always been grateful.

  And maybe he also doesn’t mind the hero worship.

  “Can we have a snack?” Marco asks. He’s our bottomless pit. Always wanting a snack. Just like his Uncle Harry. He swipes his hair out of his eyes. Both boys are dark like me, but they have their mother’s blue eyes. Dios mío, they are the most beautiful babies I’ve ever seen.

  If the next one is a baby girl with those eyes, I’ll be doomed. She’ll have me wrapped around her li
ttle finger.

  “C’mon,” Emmett says, waving the twins over to the island. “I’ll make us peanut-butter-bananas.”

  See what I mean? He’s really good with them.

  “Thanks, Em,” I say, meaning it.

  Some of my buddies have asked what it’s been like to start our marriage and raise our family in this full house. If we ever wished it was just us. Honestly? I can’t imagine it any other way. Having newborn twins isn’t for wimps. I never got to ask my in-laws about it, but I have a feeling Eloise and Hudson were probably super grateful Millie was ten years old when Harry and Mattie were born. I swear, there were times in the beginning when two felt like ten.

  For weeks after we came home from the hospital, it was all hands on deck. In the beginning, when they were nursing Millie dry, they’d wake up crying at the same time like they’d planned it. No matter how many times Millie tried the football hold, she could never get them to latch on at the same time.

  And it killed her to hear one of them crying while the other ate. She’d get so tense, her milk wouldn’t let down. So my job was to rub her shoulders to help her relax while one of the kids tried to soothe the fussy newborn.

  By accident, we discovered that Mateo would stop crying if Mattie played Chopin’s Fantasie-impromptu in C-Sharp Minor. So Harry would hold him, Mateo’s eyes wide open and blinking in wonder, as Harry paced around the living room while she played, stalling until Marco finished nursing. But Marco hated Chopin. Too busy. If it was Mateo’s turn to eat first, Marco would only settle into a whimper instead of a wail if she played Satie’s Gymnopedie No. I.

  Emmett, at his age, was the only one I could enlist for diaper duty. He wouldn’t actually change any diapers, but he’d assist. Did you know infant boys will pee in their own faces if you don’t take measures when you change their diapers? We learned that the hard way our first night home from the hospital. And it took more than one lesson to realize it wasn’t a fluke.

  I blame myself. Señor ten piedad.

  Anyway, Emmett did a quick online search and learned that a dry washcloth draped over the quick draw was the answer. And so he became the Pee Goalie, a title that put him in danger of pissing his own pants every time he said it.

  At two in the morning, when you’ve only slept a few hours to begin with, you have to laugh at shit like that.

  So when friends have asked, I tell them truthfully I don’t know how we’d have managed that first year without Harry, Mattie, and Emmett.

  Emmett is taking down the peanut butter, addressing the twins like we can’t hear him. “Maybe after our snack, we can figure out what the grown-ups are trying to hide.”

  Both twins, who are in the middle of making their climbs onto the barstools, whip their heads around to look at us.

  “What’d you hide, Mama?” Mateo asks.

  “Is it a puppy?” Marco adds.

  Beside me, Millie stifles a snort of laughter. I cut my eyes to my brother, unable to resist. “¿Es un cachorro, hermano?”

  Marco and Mateo’s focus shoots to their uncle, who gives me a sour look. As planned, Mami, Papi, and Abuela keep our boys while Millie and I are at work. All Mami, Papi, and Abuela speak at home with them is Spanish. Neither one of the twins started talking before their second birthday, but when the words came, they came in both languages.

  As it should be.

  Millie’s Spanish improved rapidly after that, learning whatever they learned. Teaching her words in bed might have been a good start, but toddlers chatter about a lot more than honey, delicious, heaven, and love.

  Smiling at the thought of our Spanish lessons, I reach over and grab my wife.

  “¿Es un cachorro, tío?” Mateo asks Alex.

  Alex shoots me another dirty look, but Mattie, now composed, steps between us. “No, niños, it’s not a puppy. It’s a surprise. We’ll tell you after Uncle Harry gets home.”

  Mateo frowns, clearly disappointed. “When’s that?”

  “He’ll be here by suppertime, baby.”

  My son looks offended. “I’m not a baby. Marco’s the baby.”

  My second born might be the introvert, but he has a clear sense of injustice. “I’m not a baby!”

  Millie steps out of my touch to move between them. Twin boys fight. A lot. Another reason why it’s a good thing grown-ups in the house—and I’m including Emmett here—outnumber them.

  “Babies?! I don’t see any babies.” Millie looks back at me over their heads, wearing a mock confused expression. “Do you see any babies, mi amor?”

  Grinning, I shake my head. The boys have turned their attention to her, all smiles. They know what’s coming. “I don’t see any babies,” I say, emphasizing the word.

  Millie takes a sniff. “I certainly don’t smell any babies.” She sniffs Mateo’s head before turning and doing the same to Marco. They both giggle as her nose tickles through their hair. “Pew! No, these smell nothing like babies. Babies smell like clean laundry and cotton candy.”

  She sniffs again, as animated as a Sesame Street puppet. Giggles bubble over. Millie shakes her head, looking confounded.

  “You smell them, honey. I can’t figure it out.”

  I grab Marco by his tiny shoulders, he squeals and then shrieks when I stick my nose into the hollow of his armpit, tickling him. Sweat. Dog. Dirt. This kid needs a bath.

  “Ooph.” I pull a face. “That’s no baby, Mama.” Wide-eyed with anticipation and a little wild terror, Mateo waits his turn. I grab one wrist and whip it into the air. He laughs so hard, he sags against the island. Alex, Mattie, and Emmett are laughing now too. I’m fighting to keep my own tremors in check, staying deadpan, but I’ve got nothing on Millie. That woman almost never breaks character.

  “Put your nose way in there, Daddy. Tell me what that is,” she says with clinical seriousness. It’s the way in there that sets me off. I have to hide my face against Mateo’s shirt so they can’t see I’m laughing. But my babies are laughing so hard I’m afraid they’ll fall off the stools.

  Again, I smell sweat, dog, and dirt. “Ugh,” I manage through my stifled laughter. “I’m… speechless.”

  Millie moves behind Marco, guarding him in case he lists any more to the right. “Honey,” she says sounding solemn, and tucking her red hair behind her ears as if she’s about to deliver bad news. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  Dios mío, I love her so much. She makes every day so much fun. Just like this. I swallow, nodding. “Tell me. I can take it.”

  She faces me with a mad scientist gleam in her eye. “It’s two… Stinky.... Sweaty… Dirty…” She jerks her gaze from me and gives her crazed look to each of our sons, and they dissolve in hysterics all over again. “Little boys!”

  “No!” I gasp, pretending horror.

  “YES!” Both boys shout.

  Millie closes her eyes, nodding. “Yes,” she whispers somberly. She opens her eyes, pressing her lips together with mock regret. “And there’s just one thing you can do with their kind.”

  “What?” Mateo asks, breathless.

  Millie reaches out and cups each boy’s chin. “Give them a bath.”

  Matching blue eyes widen in dread. “No!” They bellow in twin cries. Emmett slides two plates across the island, a fruity, nutty stay of execution.

  “Not yet, but after you’ve had your banana and peanut butter,” Millie says, the ring of finality in her words.

  The boys don’t like it, and they’ll fuss again in a few minutes, but now, their world is all banana and peanut butter goodness.

  Ten minutes later, my little family is upstairs in the bathroom Emmett and Harry used to share, and Millie is drawing a bath for our boys. Emmett has claimed the guest suite, the one Millie slept in when I first met her. It gives him a little more space and privacy—when the twins aren’t barging in on him.

  When we got home from our honeymoon, a week-long trip to Costa Rica right after Christmas, the kids—no doubt with help from Mami, Aunt Lucinda, and my cousins—had move
d Millie and me into the downstairs master suite. Her parent’s old bedroom.

  It was the best wedding present they could have given us. The thought had crossed my mind to move in there eventually, but I would have never asked, never wanting to suggest a move Millie and her siblings weren’t ready for.

  But after a week of living as husband and wife, nearly naked in a bungalow with an empty beach in front of us and the rain forest behind us, I had no idea how we’d go back upstairs with our room just a few doors down from Harry, Mattie, and Emmett.

  It was Mattie’s idea, Mami had told me, and her brothers needed no convincing. The memory of my sister-in-law’s thoughtfulness brings me back to the present. I look at my wife, who is leaning over the tub, testing the water temperature against her palm. The boys are choosing bath toys from the bucket under the sink.

  “Should we offer them a place to stay here?”

  Millie’s eyes widen. “Mattie and Alex?”

  “It’s her home too.”

  She straightens and dries her hand on one of the boys’ bath towels, eyeing me doubtfully. “Where?”

  I shrug. “Maybe we could talk Emmett into giving up the suite.” Then inspiration strikes. “Or maybe we can knock out the wall between Harry and Mattie’s old rooms and make that space into a second master suite and nursery. There’s time.”

  Wearing an indulgent smile, Millie steps up to me and drapes her arms over my shoulders, raking her fingers gently down my scalp at the back of my head. Pleasure runs down my spine. Pleasure and a promise. In this full house of ours—getting fuller by the minute—we will find time and space for each other.

  We always do.

  “It’s so sweet of you to offer that. To even consider it,” Millie says, smiling up at me. Then she shakes her head. “But I don’t think they’d want that.”

  I frown. “Why not?”

  She quirks the sexiest of all brows. “Being right down the hall from our boys and Emmett? Really?”

  I think about Marco and Mateo’s tendency to burst into Emmett’s room. And Emmett’s recent discovery of eighties metal bands.