A Holland and a Fighter Read online

  “Nobody’s willing to take a chance on him. Chefs talk, apparently, and have heard about the experiences he’s had in the past–which sucks, because no one has ever really tried to adapt, you know? It’s, like, if a person with a wheelchair needed a special desk in an office, by law, they’d have to accommodate them. But, apparently, the rules don’t apply in kitchens.”

  “The rules don’t apply yet,” I say, putting my hand on his knee. My brother has a lot of great plans for society; for this world.

  “I’m definitely looking into it while I have some time this summer. I’ve got a task list of various things I want to research on my own time,” he says with a laugh. “When we’re in session, I barely have time to read the assignments. It’s mayhem. I love it.”

  “You’re crazy,” I tell him.

  “It’s a rush. I can’t wait to graduate and start doing some real work for people. Not that I’m not helping now,” he adds. “I’m grateful the Legal Assistance Assembly is letting me volunteer. I can’t do much without a degree, or you know, like, passing the bar.”

  “Minor detail.”

  “Minor detail,” he agrees.

  “But I bet they love having you around.”

  “Uhhh… yeah,” he says, turning his trademark red skin tone when he blushes. “I get my fair amount of attention.”

  “I’m sure you do.” I chuckle. “Anyone would hire you. The LAA would probably pay you, if you’d ask.”

  “That’s not ethical, though,” he says, looking earnest. That’s my brother.

  “You’re gonna do great things, Trey,” I say to him softly, admiring how truly good my brother is.

  “Thanks.”

  “What are we talking about in here?” Jon says, going to the closet and putting on some sneakers.

  “Bagels… and how good they sound,” I tell him.

  “I’ve got fresh waffles downstairs for you in the warmer,” he tells me. “With whipped cream and bananas and pineapples.”

  “Even better. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He rubs my shoulder and kisses the top of my head.

  I sigh, looking back at my brother. “So, I guess this means you talked to Max last night?” I ask Trey.

  “Just to invite him to shoot some hoops with us. I talked to Will more… he talked to Callen. He’s on board with not participating in any of it anymore. We just need to talk some sense into Max now.” He nods his head and rubs his hands together. “I think we’ve got it under control.”

  “We’re going to go visit Mom’s gravesite first,” Jon says. “Will’s idea, but neither Max nor I have been since the funeral. Trey got some flowers for her, too.”

  “Ohhh, that makes more sense as to why I got mine,” I tell him.

  “Killing two birds,” my brother tells me. “They’re a thank you token for dealing with stuff yesterday. Shouldn’t have been you, Liv, but I appreciate you caring enough to take the first steps.”

  “You guys don’t think I overreacted?”

  “I think nipping it in the bud is a good idea.”

  “You laid that pun out there on purpose, didn’t you?” Jon asks him.

  “I’m a wordsmith, genius, what do you think?” Trey sasses back with a smirk.

  “Well played, buddy. Well played.”

  “I need to say hello to the little ones before we head out. Where are they, because they sure are being quiet?”

  “Last I checked, Edie was giving Willow a makeover.”

  I push myself up from the chair immediately, remembering the last time Edie did this to her little sister. There were scissors involved, and six inches of hair on the floor.

  “That was two years ago, Livvy, and you scarred her with your breakdown. Chill out,” Jon says. “They were using your makeup and those spongey things.”

  I squint at him. “Spongey things?” I head down the hall and knock on Edie’s door to let them know I’m coming in. “Whoa.”

  “Hey, there, Edie. Where’s Willow?” Trey asks as both girls rush to give him a hug. He kneels on the floor to see them at their level.

  “I’m right here!” she says, the sponge curlers now removed from her head and her fine hair falling in dozens of airy tendrils.

  “Not you.” He shakes his head, inspecting her at arm’s length. “You must be thirteen. Fourteen, at least.”

  She looks shocked. “Do I look pretty?”

  “Always,” her uncle tells her. “I think you look prettier without all that gunk on your face. Now you look more mature. Ready to hit the clubs. Got a hot date tonight?”

  “No!”

  “It’s that Tanner boy you told me about, isn’t it?”

  “Shut up!” She covers his mouth. “That was a secret!”

  “Oh, I didn’t know,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

  “Tanner?” I ask. “Tanner Dyer?”

  “No, Mama! I never said that.” Edie stands behind her little sister and nods her head.

  I grin but respond to Willow. “Oh, okay.”

  I’m incredibly impressed with the makeup job Edie’s done on Willow, especially since the girls have never been allowed to wear anything other than lip gloss outside the walls of this house. Maybe I’ve let them play with my makeup too often. “Edie, how’d you learn to do this?” I look up close at my youngest, seeing exquisite contouring that I don’t even spend time doing. And Shea and Coley rarely wear makeup.

  “Watching you?” Her response isn’t the truth. I know this by the way she asks, as well as by the fact that I haven’t applied my makeup with such precision since the girls were born.

  “Nope,” I argue with her. “Where?”

  “YouTube,” she says meekly. “They have makeup tutorials.”

  “Is this what you’ve been watching on your iPad?” I ask her. She nods. “When you’re supposed to be doing your summer reading?”

  “I think it’s time for us to go,” Jon says.

  “No, Daddy!” Edie says.

  “Stay, Uncle Trey!” Willow whines.

  “How about… Coley and I bring dinner for everyone tonight?” he asks.

  “Please, Mama?” the girls sing in chorus.

  “I’d love to catch up with you and hear how your spring semester went,” I tell him. “Jon?”

  “Sounds great. We’ll take care of drinks, desserts and entertainment. Right, girls?”

  “Can we pick the movie?” Willow asks.

  “Anything you want,” Trey says.

  “Great.” I give him a hug before he heads downstairs. Jon tells the girls to be good, then wraps his arms around me and gives me a kiss. “Are you up for having company tonight?” he asks softly.

  “Of course. Why not?”

  “You were really restless last night in bed.”

  “Huh. I think I slept okay. If I feel run down, I’ll just take a nap this afternoon. I’m sure I can get someone to come watch the girls if you guys are having fun and want to hang out for a while.”

  “I’ll check in with you a little later. Wish us luck with Max.”

  “I know you guys will handle your brother perfectly. I’m not worried anymore.” He kisses me sweetly. “But good luck playing against Trey and Callen. You guys don’t have a chance in hell.”

  “We don’t,” Jon agrees, laughing. “But it’s always fun playing against our resident NCAA champion.”

  “Go kick some McNare ass. Gah!” I exclaim, wishing I hadn’t said it in front of both of my daughters. Jon gallops quickly down the stairs and out the door with Trey, leaving me with the girls. “Mama’s going to get your money,” I grumble, making my way back into my bedroom to find my stash of ones that I keep solely for this purpose. Just as I make it to the dresser, I feel a sharp pain in my back when I inhale. It stops my breath entirely.

  “Ow. Ow ow ow ow ow.” I grasp my side in pain, holding on to the dresser and my chair until I find my bed. It hurts to climb up on it, but I do, and find it most comfortable to lie in a fetal position, curled into my
self.

  Panic forces tears from my eyes. I concentrate hard on my breathing. At first, only shallow gasps make their way in, but after a few minutes, I’m able to fill my lungs better.

  With my eyes squeezed closed in pain, I–cautiously, carefully–reach toward my nightstand where my phone usually sits on the charging pad, but it’s not there. I open my eyes to make sure. I must have left it in the kitchen last night or something.

  “Mama, where’s my money?” Willow says, storming in with her hands on her hips.

  “Mama?” Edie asks, following her younger sister in. “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sure, sweetie. I need you to find my phone, okay? It’s probably downstairs.” She takes off in haste.

  “Mama, are you having the baby early?” I reach for Willow’s hand, wanting to offer her comfort as much as I want to glean it from her.

  “No,” I exhale, and hope I’m right. I hope this has nothing to do with the baby. “I just moved funny or something.”

  “Should I call Daddy?” my oldest daughter asks, having returned quickly with the phone.

  “Press the number for Memi, sweetie. Then put it on speaker.”

  With the phone on the bed in front of me, she crawls up behind me and rubs my back. Willow continues to hold my hand.

  “Good morning, Liv,” my mother answers.

  “Memi!” Willow yells. “Mama’s in trouble!”

  “No, Mom. Gosh, Willow, it’s okay.”

  “What is it?” Mom asks, serious.

  “I just got this horrible pain in my side. I was having trouble breathing and I could barely move.”

  “Did you call 9-1-1?”

  “I don’t–” I pause. “No. What if it’s just a cramp? It kind of just felt like a really bad cramp, like you get after a hard workout or something.”

  “How do you feel now?”

  “I’m breathing. And moving a little better,” I say, attempting to stretch. The sharp pain returns when my leg straightens out. “Or not. It still hurts.”

  “How’s the baby? How do you feel there?”

  “It feels separate from that, I think. I don’t know.”

  “I’m calling your doctor and we’re coming over,” she says.

  “Okay.”

  When she hangs up, I call Shea. “Hey, sweetie, are you still at home?”

  “I am. I wasn’t planning on going to the Kitchen until noon.”

  “Can you come over here? Like, now? I know it’s early. I’m having some pain… and I’m scared.” I didn’t want to say it in front of the girls, but it’s the truth. Both of them start crying loud enough for my best friend to hear. Willow’s makeup is now making a mess all down her face and onto the sleeves she’s wiping her tears on.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes,” she says, the exact time it takes to walk from her apartment to ours, assuming she doesn’t have to wait too long on the traffic lights.

  “Girls,” I tell them, holding them both next to me now. “Mama needs you both to be strong for her, okay? No tears. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

  “What about Froggie?” Willow asks.

  “The doctor will be here soon. We’ll know soon.”

  “Can I put my hands there and tell him I love him?” Edie asks.

  I smile at her. “Let’s all do that.”

  Of course, I can’t do that without worried tears streaming down my face, either. Seeing how sweet my girls are and knowing how badly they want their baby brother–I don’t want anything to happen that would disappoint them, or Jon. God, if I lost the baby, Jon would be devastated. He’s fallen hard for his son. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose Auggie.

  After Dr. Northam leaves, Mom and Shea help the girls bathe and get dressed while my dad sits next to me on my bed, still holding my hand. “Feeling any better?” he asks me.

  “Pain-wise? No. Relief-wise? Yes. I’m so glad it wasn’t anything to do with Auggie.” I try to prop myself on the pillows, but he stops me.

  “You need to find a comfortable position and stay there,” he says. “Relaxation is the best treatment for back spasms.”

  “And muscle relaxers,” I add, only a little bitter that I can’t take them.

  “Your doctor said the anti-inflammatories would kick in soon. You need to get your mind off of it.”

  “Great advice from the man whose back isn’t literally stabbing itself.”

  He chuckles. “Do I need to readjust the placement of the heating pad?”

  “No, it’s okay right now.”

  “Is it too hot?”

  “No, Daddy,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to call Jon?”

  “Only if you guys can’t stick around. He had some family stuff to take care of, and I’d like to give him some time to do that.”

  “We’re happy to help out all weekend, if you need us.”

  “Trey and Coley are coming tonight. I’m sure Jon can handle things but thank you. There is one thing you can do right now, though.”

  “Name it,” he says.

  “My hair is driving me crazy. Can you go into my bathroom and grab my brush and a rubber band? And do you think you can either put it in a low pony or braid it? I know you know how. I’ve seen you double team Edie when she wants two braids,” I challenge him before he can get out of it. “Plus, you did used to help with my hair,” I call after him as he goes to find the hair accessories.

  “That was thirty-odd years ago, with you,” he starts, “and with Edie, Emi’s braids are always better; she always has perfectly divided strands.”

  “Yours have a certain spirit, Dad. A je ne sais quoi about them.”

  He huffs. “Edie’s always critical of them.” He looks a little hurt.

  “She cares too much about her looks sometimes,” I respond as he gently takes a brush to my tangled hair. “Your braid proves she’s not perfect. Your braid builds character. In my mind, your braid is just what my daughter needs.”

  “You are too kind, Contessa,” he says, smiling. “Look toward the wall and I’ll give you an imperfect braid, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  Once the girls found out the baby was okay, they were bored hanging out with me and became restless in the house. Mom and Shea took them to the movies while Dad and I watched one of our favorite old movies–the Godfather–on the TV in the bedroom.

  “We haven’t had a day like this in a long time,” he says to me before he starts Part II.

  “I know. I was just thinking about that. It sucks that I had to become an invalid that you have to wait on hand and foot to make it happen, but it’s one good thing about the spasms.”

  “We should make more time for one another, Tessa,” he says. “I miss days like this. You’re the only person who will recite movie lines with me while we’re watching. Your mom shushes me. And Trey’s always in his analytic mind, dissecting the film.”

  “Yeah, and you’re the only one who doesn’t make me share my candy,” I respond. “My family is greedy.” I decide to offer him the last Junior Mint, but he declines, like I knew he would. My dad has never had much of a sweet tooth. “Let’s do quarterly father/daughter days,” I suggest. “I have outings with Mom all the time.”

  “You do,” he says wistfully. My heart hurts for a second.

  “Daddy, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

  “You’re so busy. And I’m so proud of who you’ve become. I don’t ever want to be in your way,” he says. “And I certainly don’t want to make you feel bad about anything right now. This is a two-way street. I could have made plans for us, too.”

  I nod my head and wipe the tears that had begun to form.

  “We’ll remedy it now. We can do another movie day just before your due date. Or maybe go out to dinner–just us, whatever you’re craving.”

  “Or both?”

  “Definitely both, Contessa. It’s a date, for late-August.”

  “I’ll put it on my calendar when
I can successfully turn 30 degrees again.”

  “Sounds good,” he says. “More chamomile? Or chocolate?”

  “Tea, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. Don’t start Part II without me.”

  “You’re DeNiro, Dad. I can’t start without you!”

  After Jon gets home and my parents and Shea leave, we decide to talk to Edie about her YouTube habit. He makes sure I’m comfortable in bed first, then sits in the chair across the room and summons her to us with her iPad using the speaker system he’d had installed throughout the house.

  Willow follows her in.

  “Wils, honey,” I say. “This is something we need to talk to Eeds about, okay? Why don’t you go to your room and read for a bit?”

  “Are you gonna play a game on her iPad with her?” she asks, looking a bit worried that we’re about to leave her out of something fun.

  “No, sweetie, that’s not what we’re doing,” Jon assures her. “I’ll come in to check on you in a few minutes. Maybe we can work on building that model from your science book when we’re done.”

  “Okay,” she says as she skips down the hall, obviously pleased to be getting her father’s attention.

  “Edie, shut the door,” Jon tells her. She does so slowly, then walks to the center of the room with the device hugged into her chest and her head hanging low.

  “Please don’t take my iPad away,” she pleads.

  “How much time are you spending on YouTube?” I ask her.

  “Not much time, Mama, I swear.”

  “And what are you watching?” Jon asks. “I thought we locked that down,” he says to me.

  “There were so many restrictions, she couldn’t get to some sites she needed to do her homework.” I shrug my shoulders, admitting that I did take off the restrictions a few months ago. I monitor her browsing history, and she doesn’t have any social media apps. YouTube is one that slipped through the cracks for me.