A Holland and a Fighter Read online

  I smile at her before taking another item from the box. It’s an unremarkable set of blue overalls with a snail on them. “Why’d you keep these?”

  “Trey took his first step in those.”

  “I love that you kept them for that reason…”

  “Here are the socks that he was wearing, too,” she says.

  “I wonder if Simone had a box of my stuff like this,” I ponder aloud, referring to my biological mother.

  “I used to think about that all the time. I’m sure she did. All moms keep certain things that are special to them. I know you and Jon aren’t big on keeping a ton of their physical things, but I love the fact that you have so much audio and video and pictures of the girls as they were growing. You’ll never forget how Edie babbled to herself as she played, or how Willow whimpered when you left her room at night. Those sounds are so beautiful.”

  I nod my head. “Jon and I go back and listen to them every few months. They’re simply precious to us. And now, we have recordings of them reading books, or trying to explain their logic about the things around them. What a wonderful world we’ll have to look back on when we’re your age.”

  “I’m not that old.”

  “I never said you were.” I kiss her on the cheek. “I love you, Mom.”

  She brushes my long hair out of my face. “I love you, too, sweetie.”

  “What if the tests come back positive?” I ask her, leaning my head against the back of the sofa. She mimics my position.

  “Then you have more days like this one, sweetie. They’ll probably change your diet. Maybe put you on medication. It’s not something you need to worry about this afternoon, though. No worries right now. Calm space.” She nods her head, trying to get me to play along. “Clear your mind.”

  “It’s hard.”

  “I know.”

  “You worried a lot with Trey… how’d you get your mind off of things?”

  “I talked to you. I thought about things from my past. I imagined how our future would be, after he was born. I enjoyed the positivity your father brought with him every time he walked in a room. His smile would lift my spirits. He has the power to take away all my worries. He always did. He still does,” she tells me. “And tonight, when I tell him about this, he’ll reassure me that everything will be fine. If you need that, he’ll do the same for you.”

  “Then forgive me when I call,” I tell her, laughing.

  “I know Jon eases your fears.” I nod in agreement. “You’re going to be just fine. Auggie’s going to be great. I just sense he’s going to be your little troublemaker. Maybe he’s just giving you warning signs now,” she teases. “You’ve had it easy with the girls.”

  “I already have a little troublemaker. Her name is Edie Sienna. I believe you’ve met her?”

  “Edie’s a little angel. You have no idea what a troublemaker is–just wait until she’s a teenager.”

  “Isn’t she?” I joke with her. “Sometimes it feels that way.”

  “I don’t think Edie’s any more difficult than other children.”

  “She can be a challenge,” I say, “but she was more of a handful when she used to tease Willow so much; they’re so close in age it was almost too much to handle at once.”

  “They could have been twins,” she reminds me. “Think of what Grandma Holland went through with Jacks and Kelly. Or Steven and Kaydra, with Stevie and Daniel.”

  “Oh, god. I couldn’t handle Stevie and Daniel for an hour. I remember that time when you and Dad were watching them for the weekend.”

  “They were in their terrible twos for about six years.” We both chuckle at the truth in that. “They turned out okay.”

  “A lot of discipline happened in that house, though. More than Jon and I have had to dole out.”

  “If Auggie requires it, you’ll adapt.”

  I wonder to myself who will play bad cop to our little boy. I can’t help but picture our son as Daddy’s shadow. I’ve always envisioned them being very close–likely having a deeper bond than Jon has with the girls. It’s not that he’s always wanted a boy, or that he doesn’t love his daughters with all his heart. It’s just that I feel like he’s already raised two boys with his brothers and did such an amazing job with them both that he was made to have a son of his own.

  But I know his brothers didn’t turn out the way they did by Jon going easy on them. So, I’ll be the good cop. I like that role.

  After Mom heats up some lunch for me, I take a nap–a long and restful nap. When I awaken, I remember no dreams, and am shocked to see the time on the small clock and to hear my husband outside the guest bedroom door, talking softly with my mother. They both sound serious, and I can only imagine the conversation they’re having. I wish I could hear them better.

  A lump grows in my throat. The last thing I want is for Jon to worry about me or the baby. I need for him to be strong for me because I already feel unsteady and unnerved again.

  When I get up to the door, I press my ear against it.

  My mom is talking. “…and when he got the chicken pox, we had no idea about Livvy. The doctors asked if she’d had them before, and we didn’t know. She hadn’t gotten them while we’d known her, but it was possible she’d had them earlier. She couldn’t remember.

  “She treated her brother like he had the plague.”

  “Oh, I remember,” Jon said. “I definitely remember her coming to art class one day with a face mask on. She had colored–”

  “Colored on it with pencils, yes! I remember! Those beautiful flowers,” my mother laughs.

  “She kept it on for the first five minutes of class. She was waiting for me to ask her why she was wearing it, as if I didn’t notice it on her or something. But hell, in my mind, I didn’t want to catch what she had!”

  I sigh, relieved, and finally open the door. I can hear my heart racing in my ear, though, and worry what that says about my blood pressure. I can’t let things like this get to me.

  “There she is,” Jon says, looking back at me. “Did you enjoy your day of leisure?”

  “Did Mom tell you what’s going on?” I ask him.

  “She did.” He picks up the test kit from the floor. “We’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow.”

  “There’s no we in that, buddy.”

  “Not yet,” he says, laughing at his joke. “Wee? Get it?”

  “Oh, you’re so stupid sometimes,” I say, giggling with him as he pulls me into his lap. “Where’s the monitor, Mom? I want to test.”

  She goes upstairs quickly and brings back the blood pressure tester that we’d bought at the drug store. I put it on my wrist and start it up, holding it over my heart and telling Jon to sit very still. When it’s finished, he reads off the results.

  “One-forty-seven over 93.” He sighs. “That’s high. You just woke up, baby.”

  “I was anxious,” I tell him. “Worried that you guys were out here worrying.”

  “Okay,” he says, shifting me so he can look into my eyes. “There are things I can’t stop you from worrying about, but worrying about me worrying? I draw the line there. That’s ridiculous.”

  “He’s right, Livvy,” Mom says. “You need to minimize the things that stress you out, and we’re going to be strong for you. We’ll bring the faith that things will be okay. Don’t worry about us. Okay?”

  I hesitate before answering but realize they’re right. “I know.”

  “Good,” Jon says. “Now let’s go relieve your dad of babysitting duties. You feel up to rejoining your family?”

  “Of course,” I say. “I want to see my girls.” I get up and hug my mother tightly. “Thank you for everything today. I needed it. All of it.”

  “I enjoyed spending time with you. And I’ll probably join you both for the next ultrasound, if you don’t mind. I loved seeing Auggie on that screen!”

  “His name isn’t Auggie, Em.” Jon’s gathering up my things but stops long enough to glare at my mother with a playful smile. “You�
��ve got to think of something else. Just… Jonny is… bearable. No one calls me that anymore.”

  That statement hits both me and my mother hard, but I know he didn’t intend for it to sound as harsh as it did. He’s dealt with his mother’s passing, but it was such a shock to all of us that it’s still hard to accept that she’s gone sometimes.

  “Come give me a hug,” Mom tells him.

  He drops everything and willingly accepts it. “I love you, Em.” He used to call her ‘Mom’ often but hasn’t called her that since Margie died. I think it’s just too hard for him and he doesn’t want his mother to think he’s replaced her.

  “I love you, too, Jon. Take care of our girls.”

  “My girls,” he says, always his comeback when either of my parents give him these instructions.

  “We are our own women,” I’ve begun saying back, to make our ultimate independence clear, “but I’m happily married to you.” We always kiss, just to know where we stand; to reassure the other that the love and passion haven’t died.

  “Call me tomorrow, Livvy,” Mom says, watching us get into Jon’s car. A few photographers are across the street taking pictures. My mother is quick to hurry inside once we pull away from the curb.

  Chapter 5

  Knock knock knock.

  The door swings wide open, and a shirtless Max stands facing me. “I did not expect you.”

  I look beyond him at the mess in the loft that used to be mine. My brother-in-law takes a step closer to me and pulls the door nearly closed to block my view.

  “No, sir,” I say. “I am the landlord here. Let me in.”

  “You said you wouldn’t pull shit like this, Liv.”

  “And you said you’d keep it clean.”

  “No, I said I’d clean up for your visits,” he corrects me. “You’re not supposed to show up unannounced. Callen! Livvy’s here!”

  “Bullshit!” I hear him yell from another part of the apartment.

  “I’m not fucking with you!” Max shouts back.

  “Will you please keep it down? My girls are right across the hall.”

  “Shoulda called and warned us.”

  “What, you’d install a censor into your brain?” I ask him sarcastically, finally pushing my way in. “Callen! I hope you’re dressed because I’m in the loft!” Catching a whiff of something, I walk quickly to the back living area. “What. In. The. Hell?”

  “Shoulda called us, Liv,” Max reiterates from behind me as Callen almost manages to hide a turquoise bong from me. The windows are open on the north side, so he must have been trying to air out the place.

  “You guys are getting high in here?”

  Glancing back and forth between the two of them, I only get a shrug from Callen.

  “Are you not sure?” I ask him sarcastically.

  “Are you mad?” Max asks.

  “I’m shocked!” I shake my head, trying to understand. “When did this start?”

  “Longer ago than… wait…” Max says. “Longer ago… longer ago… is that a phrase?”

  “No!” I yell. “No no no!”

  “The shooting.” He nods, his motion exaggerated.

  “Does your brother know?”

  “Which one?”

  “Either!”

  “Not exactly,” Max says, kicking a pair of boxers to the other side of the room. “Jon doesn’t know anything.”

  “Callen, you don’t even drink! That was a huge point of contention between you two.”

  “I don’t really, um…” Callen stutters. “This is not–this is different, Liv,” Callen says. “Have you ever tried it?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I tell them, not wanting to freak out like this, but also realizing the addiction issues that run deep in Max’s family. “It’s never appealed to me. Smoking, nothing,” I explain. “I almost brought the girls with me, guys, but I was afraid you might be messing around or something. But this? Oh my god. Do you have this shit here when they stay with you?”

  “No,” they both say it together, and by the looks on their faces, I believe them.

  “Where do you put it? Your place?” I ask Callen, who has his own guest house on his Mom’s estate in lower Manhattan, which he uses as a storage facility now that he’s moved out.

  “Used to store it there, but… no, not so much anymore.”

  “Then where?”

  They look between one another. “Matty’s.”

  “Matty knows?” I slant my eyes at them both, not sure who to be angrier at. The stupid 25-year-olds who have everything going for them and everyone watching them, smoking pot in the apartment I rented to them, or the 65-year-old uncle who should know better.

  I storm out of their apartment and go back to my uncle’s place across the hall. “Outside!” I yell at him.

  “Mama?” Willow asks.

  “Just stay here with Nolan, sweetie. Mama will be right back.”

  “Okay, I know women get hormonal and all,” Matty says after he shuts the door, leaving us alone in the hallway, “but what could I have possibly done in the three minutes we weren’t even together?”

  “Max and Callen are smoking pot in there,” I say, pointing to my old loft, “and you are fully supportive of this?!”

  “I am no such thing.”

  “You’re supposed to be on my side all the time,” I tell him.

  “I am, Little Liv. Calm down.”

  “I am calm,” I say, gritting my teeth. “Max’s dad was a drug addict. His mother was an alcoholic, and I know she dabbled in that stuff, too. Will has struggled with addictions of his own. Max is not allowed to smoke pot!”

  “I am not his parent!” Matty shouts back at me. “He’s a grown man!”

  “He’s a dumb kid!” I counter. “Have you seen what they’ve done to the place? It’s a pigsty!”

  “It’s a bachelor pad… they have no woman to make it clean.”

  “That is so sexist of you! I can’t believe you just said that!”

  “I’m trying to make a point! You put two 20-something guys in a crazytown Manhattan loft with a shit-ton of money, and there are two things that are likely to happen: it’s probably going to get trashed, and there’s a good chance there are going to be some drugs. Welcome to reality.”

  “How can you be so nonchalant?!”

  “Because I did pot when I was their age and I lived to tell about it. You grow out of it. They will, too,” he says, only this time quieter.

  “You don’t have addiction in your blood, Matty Holland!”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” he admits, pacing in front of me. “Your parents will be very upset if you don’t calm down, Liv.”

  “And my husband will murder you. So, please. Help me deal with this.”

  “I don’t know what I can do.”

  “Stop being complicit in their drug use. Stop hiding things when my girls come over. The deal is, if they don’t stop, they don’t get to see my girls,” I say, feeling so angry I could cry.

  “Livvy, come on,” he says. “I was a pothead when you came into my life… but I never used when I knew I’d see you. If your dad ever made those ultimatums, you and I’d never be close like we are now.”

  “I doubt my dad knew.”

  “Your dad knew. I lived in California. Everyone smoked pot. He wasn’t crazy about it, but he knew.” He puts his arm around me. “Let’s go talk to them and get you a glass of water. You need to sit down and cool off.”

  “Don’t tell me to cool off.”

  “I mean literally, sweetheart. Your face is beet red and I’m sure this isn’t good for your blood pressure.” Suddenly guilty, I follow him into my old loft after Max and Callen open the door for us again. Matty throws clothes on the floor so I have a clean place to sit on the couch. Callen brings me a huge glass of ice water, which even has a few pieces of cucumber floating in it.

  “Guys, you cannot allow her to get this upset,” my uncle starts. “And I don’t know what bomb went off in here, but hire a m
aid, and get it cleaned. This is ridiculous. Callen, you’re the CFO of one of the biggest companies in the country. How can you live like this?”

  “I’ve just…” he starts, “I’ve never had to clean up after myself.”

  Matty and I both look at Max.

  “I’ve never had things to clean up,” he says with a shrug and a laugh. “And I guess, when I did, I lived at home with Mom or my brothers, and they did everything for me.”

  “So, in other words, we now have two spoiled brats living together,” I say.

  Callen’s not ashamed to admit it. “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never been called that in my life, but sure,” Max says. “This is a whole new thing for me.”

  I take a deep breath, and then drink about half of the water they gave me.

  “Are you okay?” Callen asks. “Can I get you anything else?”

  I shake my head, looking at the wall across from us at three paintings that I left here for them.

  “Max, buddy, why?” I ask him. “Why’d you start? Or was it you?” I shift my attention to Callen.

  “It wasn’t him,” Max says. “I, uh… started after the shooting. I do it for anxiety, sometimes for pain…”

  “So, this is medicinal? Like… what your mom did?”

  “Wellll,” he says, his voice incredibly high-pitched, so I know that’s a no.

  “What’s your excuse?” I ask Callen.

  “He barely ever does it,” my brother-in-law answers for him. “This is maybe the fourth time? And before you start blowing this out of por… por…”

  “Proportion,” Callen and Matty say together. Callen bursts into a fit of laughter at the end, which I’m sure is an after-effect of the pot.

  “Yeah, that,” Max continues, “I never did it when I lived with Trey. I never had shit at his place–it was a rule of ours–”

  “Trey knows?”

  “He doesn’t know I still do it. Shhh… He thinks I stopped because I still take meds sometimes, and he got really squeamish about me mixing the two, even though I’ve got it all managed, so I told him what he wanted to hear. But it’s good for me, Liv. It takes the edge off and kills the pain, all at the same time. A lot of people get hooked on opioids, but I found something non-addictive that works.”