A Holland and a Fighter Page 4

  “So, I guess we’ll wash up these blankets,” I say to Jon as we both stare up at the ceiling of the nursery. His hand is clasping mine tightly.

  “We should have turned on the ceiling fan first.”

  “So sweaty,” I say.

  “I’m too tired to get up,” he responds. “We’ll cool off eventually, yeah?”

  “Where’s your phone? You have that app that controls the thermostat. You can crank it down to, like, fifty.”

  “My pants don’t have pockets.”

  “So sad.”

  “That fan has a remote, though,” Jon suggests.

  “Where is it?”

  “In that drawer by your foot.”

  “You mean by your foot.”

  “I mean, technically,” he says lazily, “but it’s also by your foot.”

  I kick him with that foot, then cross both my legs over his body. He starts laughing. “Now you’re just making us both hotter.”

  “Fine,” I say, finally getting on my hands and knees to find the remote. Jon’s right behind me, though, and on top of me. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t look at you naked like that and not attack,” he responds, kissing my neck.

  “Now I’m super-hot,” I tell him, nudging him off of me and handing him the remote.

  “Hot and sexy.”

  “Not what I meant.”

  “But it’s the truth.” He clicks the fan on high and we both lie back down on the floor. “Was that, like, amazing sex, or has it just been four months?”

  “It was amazing. And it’s been four months.”

  “Just checking.” He props himself up on his elbow and lightly draws circles around my navel. “You know, this was not even in the general vicinity of responses I thought I’d get for this bassinet tonight, but thank you.”

  “I didn’t think I’d want this for another five… six… who knows how many months? So, thank you. It’s funny what turns a girl on, huh?” I tease him. “Husbands doing the sweetest, most unexpected, non-sexual things. I guess that’s my aphrodisiac.”

  He smiles and questions me softly. “Who knew?” He kisses my hand, and then my cheek. “Aren’t you getting hungry yet?”

  “I’m starving. The baby’s starving. We’re both kind of wondering why you aren’t feeding us.”

  “Hey now… what are you hungry for?”

  “I… kind of want a burger.”

  “A burger? You want me to fix you one?” I shake my head. “You want to order in?”

  “I don’t want to wait. Can’t we just go pick up something?” I ask him.

  “You really want to go out like this?”

  “I was thinking maybe we’d put our PJs back on… maybe our hoodies. I can borrow your shades again.”

  “It’s dark.”

  “Don’t care.”

  “Sounds good,” he says, not arguing. “Meet you downstairs in five?”

  “I’ll be there.” We kiss once more before he helps me up and hands me my clothes. I go to the master bathroom to clean up and make myself a little more presentable, but I don’t intend to give anyone a good photograph tonight. I’ll just keep my head down the entire time.

  Jon’s wearing his ten-year-old Columbia baseball cap when I get downstairs. He looks so cute and boyish when he wears that; it reminds me of when we were much younger. He looks like high school Jon, like the one that asked me out for the first time when I was fifteen and he was seventeen. On my tiptoes, I deliver to him another kiss. I feel like I’ve fallen in love with him all over again tonight.

  “Did I already tell you how lucky I am to be with you?” he asks.

  “Will you still be saying that at two in the morning when I’m nudging you to get me some Tums?” I ask him.

  “It will be tinged with sarcasm, but yeah.” He tosses his keys in the air once and catches them, setting the alarm and opening the door to the apartment for me.

  I notice he slipped on his jeans. “Should I put on actual pants or something?” I ask him, suddenly having second–rational–thoughts about my lounge pants.

  “Nope. Normal people do this every day. We’re just ordering burgers, running in, picking them up and leaving. Why can’t we be normal for a night?” he poses the question to me.

  “The Scotts go normal… I like that,” I tell him.

  “The car should be ready when we get downstairs,” he tells me, holding his hand out for me. Butterflies blossom in my belly. “Did you just blush, Liv?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “This is… fun. I just feel so… happy.”

  In the elevator, he envelops me in a hug. “This is fun.”

  Once we’re in Jon’s SUV and hidden by his tinted windows, I pull out his phone and find the menu for the place with the best burgers in the city–he’s the keeper of all the bookmarks to our favorite places. “Wow, they have a bunch of new things since we last did this.”

  “It’s been years, Liv,” he laughs. “I hope they’ll still serve us.”

  “We tip very well,” I remind him. Their food caters toward an adult crowd, so it’s not someplace we take the girls. When we normally get nights alone, we go out to nicer, sit-down restaurants–places where we can carry on a conversation with one another.

  “Think they’ll make them to go?”

  “We’ll tip even better. I’ll call them.”

  “I’m thinking you should have worn jeans…”

  “The high’s wearing off from earlier, huh?” I ask him, pinching his forearm and laughing.

  “See if they’ll bring it to the hostess stand,” he whispers as I wait for someone to answer.

  “Thank you for calling Raoul’s. How may I serve you?”

  “Hi. This is Livvy Holland,” I say, earning a poke in my side from my husband for using my maiden name. It’s the one that gets the impossible done in this town, though. Scott can open many doors. Holland gets us the red-carpet treatment.

  “Yes, Ms. Holland, what can I do for you this evening?”

  “My husband and I have had a crazy night, and we were just wondering if there was any way we could get a couple of your burgers. It’s, like, the only thing I’m craving…” I say.

  “Oh. Ummm. Let me ask the chef,” she says.

  “We’ll pay whatever,” I tell her before she slips away.

  I link my fingers with Jon’s while I wait for an answer. He holds on to me tightly.

  “Ms. Holland? The chef says we can prepare burgers and fries for you and your husband. How would you like them cooked?”

  “Oh, thank you so much!” I gush. “Both medium rare with everything on them. And could you have them ready at the hostess stand? We’ve been working in the nursery tonight, and we’re not really dressed to make an entrance, if you know what I mean.”

  “Of course, Ms. Holland. We’ll have them ready in fifteen minutes.”

  “We’ll be there. Thank you!”

  “Working in the nursery, huh?” he asks.

  “Sounded better than screwing, right?” I make a production out of sliding his phone into the pocket of his tight-fitting jeans.

  “A little more to the left,” he suggests.

  “Yeah, yeah…” On my phone, I shoot a quick text to Shea.

  Me: Guess who got some…

  I wait for a response, but by the time we get to the restaurant, I still haven’t heard anything back from her. If I know her and Will, she’s probably getting some, too. Still… she should be celebrating this with me! It’s been months! Auggie the Cockblocker took a night off!

  “Ready?” Jon asks.

  “Do I have to?” He nods his head, but I already knew the answer. It’s not safe for me to idly sit in a car late at night in SoHo, just like it’s not safe for Coley to take taxis by herself. They’re easy opportunities for bad things to happen. The words originally came from my father but have since been echoed by all the men in our family.

  There are times when I miss the freedom, but I would never give up my life with my family,
and especially my life with Jon. Not for anything in the world.

  People are excited to see us out in public. Many of them are yelling my name, but I keep my head bowed down, not wanting to be in any pictures tonight, and I know that’s the only reason they’re calling me. Fortunately for us, they’re just average New Yorkers. No paparazzi tonight. That’s one good thing about going somewhere we don’t normally visit–none of the vultures are waiting on the off-chance they may catch a glimpse of us.

  Jon makes quick work of the transaction. I don’t even watch him pay because I know he’ll tip them very well. When we met, he was very frugal with his money. After growing up without any, I couldn’t blame him. But since realizing what we make and what we stand to inherit someday, and knowing that both of his brothers are taken care of, too, he is good about taking care of people who take care of us.

  And trust me, getting us these burgers is truly taking care of me tonight.

  “I cannot wait to eat this,” I tell him when we settle back into the car.

  “Mrs. Scott?” he says abruptly.

  “I will, though! Don’t worry. I wasn’t going to start now!”

  He shoves his phone in my face before we pull away. “Can you tell me why Will is sending me sexually suggestive emojis right now? With confetti and champagne?”

  “I mean,” I say, grinning, “what’s sexually suggestive about an eggplant? And a peach?” I ask innocently.

  “There’s a rocket and a tunnel, too, ma’am,” he says, mockingly annoyed. I scroll though no less than twenty texts from his brother–half dirty, half congratulatory–all very Will.

  “I just have no idea.”

  “You told Shea.”

  “I haven’t seen Shea!” I argue.

  “Does your phone have an eggplant and peach on it?”

  “Absolutely not! When Shea and I talk food, we spell it out. She’s a chef. She’s wordy like that.”

  “Stop playing coy. What’d you tell her?”

  “I just told her to guess… who… gotsome,” I say quickly.

  “Got some?” he asks. “That’s how you talk about it? What are you, 13?”

  “It’s been awhile, okay?” I laugh.

  “I got some,” he says, mimicking my voice.

  “Oh my god. But wait! Don’t get onto me about telling Shea. It’s obvious you’ve told your brother you haven’t been getting any by his response to you.”

  “Brothers talk! Whatever! It’s a guy thing!” he counters.

  “Well, so do sisters.”

  Chapter 3

  Will hands me a book as I sit at a small table in the book store. I take one look at the cover.

  “Nope,” I say, handing it back to him.

  “By what criteria?” my brother-in-law asks me.

  “It’s written by a Ph.D. You could have written this. I hear how you talk about the universe, and I can’t understand you. My daughter’s not going to understand this book, and I refuse to let another of your birthday presents to her sit and gather dust until she’s in high school.”

  “This is fucking censorship,” he mutters under his breath, but not softly enough to be out of earshot of Willow. She clears her throat loudly from the seat next to me, not looking up from another book she’d already picked out for herself. Her hand is raised and pointed at her uncle.

  “That’s six dollars already, buddy,” I tell him. “We’ve only been together for forty-five minutes.”

  “I believe you’ve contributed two to the bucket today, so don’t act like your shit don’t stink,” he says. “God damn it!” He laughs, handing her three dollars.

  “Now I think you’re just doing this to give her cash.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Then just give her the cash and stop being a bad influence on my baby girl.”

  “Uncle Will’s never a bad influence on me, Mama,” she says, straightening the gaudy plastic ‘Birthday Girl’ tiara he’d bought for her to wear. Edie’s had been much more classic when he took her on the town a few weeks ago. “I know what words I’m allowed to say. Don’t worry. He told me I can’t say them until I’m 13.”

  I look up at him seriously. “He said that, huh?”

  “Mm-hmm!” she responds brightly.

  “He lies,” I tell her. “You know what happens if you do–all that swear money comes back to me and Daddy.”

  “When can I say them?”

  “When you’re 18,” I answer, “and never in Granddaddy and Memi’s presence. You got that?”

  “Were you 18?” she asks me.

  “I sure was,” I fib, squinting at Will to make sure he doesn’t give me away. He doesn’t really know one way or the other anyway. I doubt I cursed around him at that age.

  “Here.” He hands me another book. The cover’s cute and colorful. The illustrations are actually paintings, which are a plus, of course. The text is easy to read but introduces some complex topics. It’s the perfect thing to bring about conversations between Willow and Will about his area of expertise.

  “You did it. You finally found something.”

  “It’s too young for her. She’ll read it in a day and then want more.”

  “No, you’ll read it to her in a day, get excited and want to tell her more. There’s a difference. This is something I want you to let her read to you. I want you to let her ask you questions. And I want you to stop, slow down, and speak to her on her level. She’s interested, Will. I get that. But I’m afraid if you keep going over her head, you’re going to scare her off. You think I wouldn’t be proud to have an astronaut for a daughter?” I ask him. We both look at her.

  Her face beams, and she nods her head. Since she was four, it’s been her dream to go to space, and it’s all Will’s fault. Now, when the day finally comes when I have to say goodbye to my daughter on a launch pad, I just may kill my brother-in-law for his influence on her, but I’ll be beaming with pride for her with every strike of my fist to her uncle and godfather.

  But the thought of her that far away from me scares me to death. Fortunately, I know I have years to get used to that idea.

  “I’m getting her this and a more advanced one,” he says. “This one.” It looks like a text book, and I shake my head. “Liv, it’s my present to her, and you’re not stopping me.”

  “That’s why I’m with you. To stop you from a, overspending, and b, from getting her things she can’t use!”

  “I didn’t overspend last year! I stayed within the budget you gave me.”

  “And then Shea turned around and bought her that necklace with the Saturn pendant.”

  “I had nothing to do with that. She did it on her own.”

  I nod my head, acknowledging what he’s saying. I gave them each a budget this year, something I’d never had to do before. Standing up, I pull him away from Willow but keep my eye on her. “When Charlie’s born, and we all start spoiling him, you’ll understand why we do this. They can’t expect to have everything handed to them. We have to be able to give them things to work for.”

  “I get that. I do. But she is hungry for this knowledge, and I’m going to feed it to her. Sorry, Liv. If you want me to buy used books for her, I will.”

  I crinkle my nose and go back to my daughter, standing behind her. “I don’t like the smell.”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “Thought so. Hey, Dubskie.” He takes the tome over to my daughter. “Check this out.” She’s startled by the weight of it dropping on the table in front of her, but she recovers coolly and opens the large book with authority, determined to prove me wrong. I can see it in her face. “What’s that word?” he asks, leaning over her.

  “Co…” She pauses. “Co-ro-na-graph.”

  “Very good. You sounded that out nicely. Now what is it?”

  “Will, come on, she’s seven!”

  “I’ll be eight in a few days!” she argues.

  “Eight, fine! God… seriously, Will.” I start to take the book away, but Willow puts her palms down and holds on,
looking up at me.

  “It’s something that blocks the sun’s rays from the surface.”

  “What?” I ask her.

  “Why?” Will asks.

  “So you can see its corona.”

  “Which is…”

  “The outermost part of the sun!” she says, as if we all know these things. I’m sure I learned it at some point, but many, many other facts have taken residence in my brain since then.

  “And have you seen a coronagraph before?” Will asks.

  “You have one at your work. In the observatory!”

  He grins, looking at me with a smirk. “Yes, I do. Now, do you want this book?”

  “Please?” she begs.

  “Fine,” I concede. “It’s in the budget?”

  “You’re not my wife. I’ll get her what I want,” he mouths off. “And you’re wrong about me; you’re the one who made her interested in the universe.”

  “How so?” I ask, holding her hand as he takes all the books and carries them to the register.

  “You gave her the middle name Skye. She’s been fascinated with the sky since she learned her full name and you know it. It has nothing to do with me. I just facilitate her lessons and make sure she has the right answers to her questions.”

  “And you love every second of it,” I remind him.

  “Of course, I do. I can only hope Charlie shares her passion in astronomy.”

  “Uncle Will?” she asks.

  “Yes?”

  “Are you going to stop spending time with me when your baby comes?” Willow is suddenly sullen, genuinely sad.

  “What?” We step aside and let other people pass us in the line. I take the books so he can give her a big hug. “Dubskie, no!” he says, adamant. “He’s going to need me sometimes, but I will still make time for my nieces. Once your little brother is here, and Charlie is here, I have a feeling you’re going to be seeing a whole lot more of me and your aunt. You can mark my words.”

  “I have a feeling he’s right,” I assure her.

  “Excuse me. Will?” a woman says to get his attention. She’s standing in between another woman and a man. They’re probably all in their twenties. People had been staring at us all afternoon, but no one had had the nerve to approach us until now. As I look around, other people are watching the interaction.