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Episode 2—More Grey Matters
ANASTASIA
This is the first Easter that we’ve celebrated as a family. We decided to make our church home Trinity West Seattle. It’s a nice sized church—not too small and not too large, not the mega church that we didn’t want to disappear in. We won’t go every Sunday, hopefully to keep the Paps off our scent, but today we’re going to have our children christened.
Our lives have been a constant tangled roller coaster of lawsuits, business restructuring, shootings, trials, kidnapping, murder charges and house arrest, deaths, long-lost relatives, psycho non-custodial parents, near-death accidents, amnesia, taming errant ex-submissives, brain tumors, miscarriages, abortions, and baby-daddy claims, just to name a few. It’s no wonder that it took two years to christen our own children.
We arrive at the church at varying times as a caravan of Greys and Grey cohorts would’ve certainly set off the radar. It took about 30 minutes for all of our guests to arrive, and the service—not including the christening—usually runs just over an hour.
Minnie is decked out in a white lace, two-tier christening gown with her hair in loose curls. She’s the picture of decorum on her best behavior, certain that all of these people are here to see her.
Mikey is a whole different matter altogether.
He’s out of his suit coat not 15 minutes into the service and demanding “gape” to keep him quiet. He doesn’t understand that there’s no eating in the sanctuary and that we didn’t bring any frozen grapes with us. There’s no getting him to settle and Christian has to take him out of the sanctuary during the sermon. They have disappeared for most of the service and return just when it’s time to begin the dedication and baptismal ceremonies.
“Where did you go?” I ask Christian while we’re preparing to line up with the other parents and children in the ceremony.
“Children’s Church,” he says. “They have a lot of activities to keep the kiddies occupied.” I jerk my head back.
“You were in Children’s Church all this time?” I ask. He raises a brow at me.
“I’m not too keen on leaving my son with strangers just yet,” he defends, “not that I ever will be.” I soften my expression.
“I think he would be safe in Children’s Church, my darling,” I say comfortingly.
“We thought the same about Helping Hands, my love,” he retorts. I thin my lips.
“Duly noted,” I reply.
I don’t know if Mikey will ever escape his father’s watchful eye after his ordeal. I completely understand why he feels the way that he feels—what with Mikey falling into the hands of that monster and then Christian having to literally kill the guy to rescue our son and the subsequent witch hunt that followed. I’m happy to say that Mikey hasn’t had any night terrors in nearly two months, knock on wood. I almost hate to start counting because that almost always means that he’s going to have one soon.
I feel a bit guilty—somewhat hypocritical—about not allowing the twins to go to daycare at the Center. Helping Hands is a perfectly safe place for our children what with all the security and surveillance, but I don’t think either of us will be comfortable with our children being in daycare away from home, at least not until they’re old enough to understand how to yell for help.
Al lifts Minnie into his arms and the six of us—Val included—make our way to the aisle to await our turns to receive the blessings for our children and their godchildren. I stand with my hands clasped in front of my baby bump, Val with her hands near the small of her back. We wait patiently for the reverend to get to us as we’re only about fourth back in the line.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Christian asks. “I just don’t feel comfortable with him being out of our sight if he’s not at home.”
I look up at him and furrow my brow. What gave him the idea that I was angry?
“You just… look a little intense,” he says, “maybe… a bit withdrawn.”
I have no idea what gave him that idea, but I totally understand why he feels the way that he does about Mikey.
“I know,” I say, kindly. “I get it. At some point, we’re going to have to let him go and trust that the world won’t swallow him whole or that there’s not some psychopath waiting to snatch him away from us… but that point isn’t here yet.”
I place my free hand on his arm and smile softly. He sighs infinitesimally and I can see him relax a bit. I don’t know if it’s because I’m not mad at him or if it’s because I agree that we can keep our two little angels in their cocoon for a little while longer.
A tiny commotion to my right reveals that Elliot has joined his wife and is shamelessly kneeling on one knee, providing her a seat on his thigh while he applies pressure to the small of her back.
“Is she okay?” Christian asks quietly. “Are you okay, Valerie? You can go sit down if this is too much.”
“Not on your life,” she counters in a hushed tone. “These are my godchildren and I want to be there for them… for this.” She moves to stand.
“Nope,” Elliot whispers, holding her onto his leg, “if you’re going to remain here, you’ll stay right here until you have to stand.”
I look ahead and luckily, we’re second in line now.
“El!” she hisses quietly. “I weigh a ton!”
“Angel, I’m a construction worker,” he says, not so quietly. “You weigh nothing. Now, sit!”
He has garnered the attention of some of the people around him and the couples behind us. You can hear the women cooing at his sentiment and smell the “Isn’t he just dreamy” floating in the air.
The sentiment is not lost on the powers that be as once we get to the baptismal fountain, Val stands as graciously as she can from her husband’s thigh and an usher quickly arrives with a chair for her. She looks at him with admiration and gratitude, thanking him profusely.
“Do you need one, too, ma’am?” he asks, realizing that I’m a bit heavy laden as well.
“No, thank you. I’m fine,” I say. “I’m not as far along as my lovely sister there.” I smile and he nods once, then leaves.
There are, of course, other children and adults being christened or baptized today. Some of the adults and children were undergoing the full submersion baptism while the smaller children like my twins and a few others were anointed with oil and had a little water sprinkled on their heads while the parents and godparents vow to rear them with a solid knowledge of their religious responsibilities and to eschew evil.
Yeah, Rev, we’ll do our best.
Minnie is completely angelic as the reverend gives his blessing and wets her little head three times in the name of the Holy Trinity as we hold her over the fountain. Mikey, on the other hand, behaves like we’re performing an exorcism. This is the little guy who hates baths and remembers very well being held over the baby tub and having his hair washed. He wiggles and fights and cries until Daddy promises him grapes. Then he just raises a little verbal hell while the reverend quickly wets his head.
“It happens all the time,” the reverend jests as he finishes giving Mikey his blessing. We smile and thank him before we return to our seats.
We leave the church without too much incident. A few of the parishioners recognize us and walk with us to the parking lot which is about three blocks away from the church. We’re assured that it’s not odd to see a crowd walking down the street on Sunday morning and Sunday afternoon since parking is over by the school. However, the next time, Christian and I will stay at the church like Val opted to do with Grace and the twins and allow our security to get the car and bring it to us.
“We’re so happy to have you as part of our congregation,” one simpering older woman says, nearly hanging on to Christian without really touching him.
“Yes,” Christian says, his voice a bit chilly, “my family was looking for a place where we could worship with privacy and discretion.”
“Well, you’ve found it,” she says, her hearty laugh anything but discreet. “Allow me to invite you to dinner… a delicious home cooked meal prepared by Christian hands!”
My brow furrows. What the hell is she trying to say—that my husband hasn’t had a home cooked meal?
“I’m going to have to decline that invitation as I’m not in the practice of having intimate dinners with people that I don’t know,” Christian replies.
“Oh! Well, that’s easily rectified,” she says. “You’re Christian Grey! I’m Ethel Hough.”
“And I’m Anastasia Grey, his wife,” I say, possessively latching onto Christian’s arm. “And where is your husband?” I add shamelessly.
“Oh, he doesn’t attend,” she says, almost totally ignoring me and turning her attention back to Christian. “Now that we know each other, you simply must come to dinner. I won’t take no for an answer,” she laughs.
“Unfortunately, you’re going to have to,” I reply, throwing decorum out the window. “You see, what my husband hasn’t told you is that Sunday is our family day, where we spend time with our children and our extended family. It’s one of many days that we have home cooked meals and today is particularly special as our twins were just baptized and we would like to get home to our family and friends and our Sunday brunch feast. So, if you’ll excuse us…”
Ethel is about to reload and double-down on not taking “no” for an answer when we hear another woman’s feverish voice a little in the distance.
“Mom!”
Ethel jumps like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar and puts her fingers to her lips.
“Are you bothering these people, Mom?” A lady in her thirties approaches us.
“I was just inviting them to dinner,” she says, her pushy demeanor now completely replaced with contrition.
“Um-hmm,” the lady says in a disbelieving tone. “I’m sure Dad would’ve loved that.” She turns to us.
“Please forgive my mother,” she says. “She recognized you the moment your twins were baptized. She was supposed to wait for me to bring the car around, but now I know not to listen when she tells me that she’s too tired to walk to the parking lot.” She throws a scolding look at her mother.
“She comes from a time and a place where you weren’t allowed to decline if you were invited to dinner,” the lady continues. “She doesn’t understand that people have their own lives and things just aren’t that way anymore. I hope she wasn’t too much of a bother.”
“It’s fine,” Christian says. “Like my wife said, we’re just anxious to get home to brunch and our family. It’s been a big day.”
“Well, maybe another day,” Ethel says, “when you don’t have anything planned…”
“Mom!” the lady scolds again and Ethel is chastised. “My mother comes from a small town. She hasn’t lived there for years. I don’t know how to get her to understand that we live in a big city and that you can’t just walk up to strangers and invite them to dinner.”
“That’s how strangers become friends!” Ethel retorts.
“In Hawkins Creek, Mom, not in Seattle,” her daughter points out. “Not all strangers are good strangers.”
“This is Christian Grey!” Ethel protests. “He’s a good stranger!”
“Maybe he is,” her daughter says, “but he and his wife—his very pregnant wife—are trying to get home to dinner and their family, and you’re holding them up. That’s rude.” Ethel gasps as if making a discovery.
“Oh,” she says, “well, I certainly don’t want to be rude.”
“Good,” her daughter says, “now how about we get going and let these people be on their way. Dad’s waiting and while Mrs. Grey looks lovely in those shoes, I’m sure she’d like to rest now.”
“O… okay,” Ethel says and allows her daughter to lead her away. Her daughter looks over her shoulder at us and mouths, “I’m sorry” as she and Ethel walk to the parking lot in front of us.
“What do you think that was about?” I ask.
“An irritating old woman who wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” I look up at him, chastising. “Hey, those were her words—her exact words, not mine,” he defends.
“I don’t think that’s what that is,” I say. “I think that’s dementia or Alzheimer’s… early onset. She seems a little displaced. She’s in a big city—how can she not know that she’s not in Hawkins Creek anymore? Or maybe she’s just lonely. Maybe there’s really no Dad or husband to go home to.”
“Why would they both make up Dad or husband?” Christian asks as we proceed to the parking lot.
“To keep her comfortable, maybe, I don’t know,” I say. He raises his brow.
“Are you looking for another kitten, dearest Butterfly?” he asks. I twist my lips.
“No,” I say in a scolding tone, “I’m just fascinated with the human mind. That’s my job. And if I see her daughter during worship service again, I’m going to ask her about that.” I stick my tongue out at my husband, and we proceed to the parking lot.
*-*
“Michael Allen Grey, where are your pants!”
My son has decided to grace our brunch sans his trousers. He figured out that he can’t remove his pants without taking his shoes off. So now, he’s running around in his stocking feet, still sporting his vest, shirt sleeves, and a Pull-up.
“The terrible twos have begun,” I lament as my son streaks by me, completely ignoring my question.
“Mikeh! Get bahk heyah!” Keri demands, scurrying after my half-naked son just as I’m about to get up and give chase.
“Mikeh! Stop!”
The booming Anguillan voice catches the attention of my son as well as several of the adults in earshot. Mikey stops in his tracks, his eyes wide, and awaits instruction.
“Yu nuh shot eh roun widout yu pants!”
I don’t know if he understood what she said, but it was enough for him to stand there and wait for her to retrieve him. She takes his hand, and he dutifully follows her while she gently scolds him in Patois. Now I have to keep her around or I may never know how to talk to my kids!
“Sneaky little fella, isn’t he?” Jerry brings me out of my musing. I’ve taken to calling him Jerry over the last several months as he insists that his friends dispense with the formalities.
“He is,” I say. “He’s going to be bilingual before he gets to preschool! I’m going to have to learn some of that Patois to keep him in line.” I look over at his father talking to Christian’s parents, his aunt and uncle, and Sarah.
“How’s Mr. Crab doing?” I ask. He smiles.
“He’s doing fine,” Jerry says, “but don’t keep calling him Mr. Crab. Nobody really calls him that, not even at the senior home. Call him Lev or Levi. He may not even answer if you call him Mr. Crab.” I nod.
“I’m really glad you guys could make it to brunch,” I say.
“Thanks for inviting us,” he says. “The christening was a little early for Dad.”
“How’s he doing?” I ask. “I know he’s been there for a few months now, but I never got details on how he has settled in. He looks well… and happy.”
“He is,” Jerry says as he looks over at his father engrossed in conversation with the older adults. “He’s been doing wonderfully. He’s exercising and playing golf—he never played golf before. I had to get him some clubs. Christian invited us fishing when the weather gets warmer; he’s really excited about that. He’s even sweet on one of the residents at the senior center. She’s a widow of 6 years. I didn’t think he would ever love anybody after Mom, but life goes on, right?”
“Have your sisters and brothers been up to see him?” I ask. He shakes his head.
“Not once,” he says, “they haven’t even called to check on him. The last time he saw any of them was Dana before I put her out of the house. He asked about Candy a couple of times, but he probably doesn’t even remember what Randy and Levi look like anymore. He kind of expects for them to behave this way because they always have, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”
“I know,” I say. “Is he talking to anyone about it?”
“That place is one giant support group,” Jerry says. “The percentage of unwanted elderly there is about half, Dad included—not unwanted by me, but unwanted by his other children. It’s like they’re just waiting for him to die. That’s why I’m going to make damn sure that these next years are some of his best years. He won’t want for anything. He’s going to be comfortable, content, and very happy.” I examine him for a bit.
“Are you talking to anybody?” I ask. He scoffs.
“I don’t have time,” he says. “There’s always something to do. Either Dad or the job…”
“Make time,” I scold. “You’ve taken on quite the responsibility with little to no help.”
“Oh, I had a lot of help,” he corrects me. “You, Christian, Al, Mare, Ms. Grace—I just didn’t have any help from my family.” I put my hand on his shoulder.
“That’s what I meant,” I say. “Remember, you can always talk to me.” He smiles.
“Yeah, I know,” he cedes. “Thank you for that. I might take you up on it. My sisters and brother are really making it…”
He trails off and his gaze is fixed on something just behind me. I look around and Gary and Marilyn have just arrived. Windsor is taking their coats and Jerry is quite spellbound looking at her. When they turn to enter the dining room, Marilyn’s expression changes slightly. It’s recognition combined with… something else, I don’t know what.
“Hey, Ana,” Gary says as he approaches and subsequently kisses me on the cheek.
“Gary, Mare,” I greet, “I missed you at the christening.”
“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” Gary says, “we overslept…”
“You overslept,” Marilyn corrects him, her voice low but crisp. Hmm… I wonder what’s going on there.
“Fine, I overslept,” he says with a slight eyeroll at Marilyn. “I apologize.”
“It happens,” I say with a shrug. “This is Detective Gerald Crab. We call him Jerry. He’s a friend of the family. He was instrumental in my recovery when I was kidnapped. This is Garrett Pope, Gary, and you already know Marilyn.” Gary proffers his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Jerry,” Gary says, and Jerry shakes his hand.
“Likewise,” he says with a smile and a polite nod.
“Hi,” Marilyn says politely with a small smile.
“Hi,” Jerry replies. Hi? What was that?
“Ana’s kidnapping,” Gary says. “That was years ago. Why are we just now meeting you?” Jerry shrugs and looks at me.
“He just kept stumbling into our lives for one reason or another since then, and we finally decided to welcome him into the pack,” I say. It’s not my place to tell any of his personal business.
“I brought my dad so that everyone could meet him,” Jerry says. “The Greys and Company have been quite instrumental in getting him settled here in Seattle with me.” He looks at Marilyn. Her face lights up a bit.
“Mr. Crab is here?” she says, anticipation lacing her voice.
“Yes, he is,” Jerry says, “but you better call him Levi when you see him.” Jerry’s voice drops a bit when he speaks to her.
“Apparently, everybody calls him Levi,” I add. “He’s over there.”
I point to Levi. Marilyn smiles when she spots him.
“Excuse me,” she says, and leaves us to go and greet Levi. When I say that she leaves us, I mean that she leaves us all—including Gary, and he doesn’t seem pleased.
“‘Scuse me,” he says with a nod before following his girlfriend. Jerry’s gaze follows them over to Levi.
“So, that’s the boyfriend, huh?” he asks.
“Yep, that’s Gary,” I say, looking at them interacting with Levi and the rest of the elders. “I’m surprised she hasn’t mentioned him.”
“She has,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee. Oh, good grief, that’s a relief. He looks back up at Gary.
“He’s short,” he says.
“He’s not that short,” I defend. Jerry looks at me and laughs.
“No offense, Ana, but to you, nobody’s that short,” he says with mirth. I hit him on the arm and he chuckles.
“He’s still not that short,” I say. Jerry scoffs.
“What is he, like 5’9”?” Jerry observes. He’s close. Gary’s 5’8”. “How do you not consider him short when all the men around you are 6 feet or taller?” I raise my brow.
“How do you know that?” I confront. Jerry scoffs again.
“I’m 6’3”,” he says. “Most of your security is nearly as tall as I am if not just as tall as I am. Your husband, your brother-in-law, your father-in-law, his brother—all better than 6 feet. The shortest among you is Al, and even he’s taller than that guy.” I roll my eyes. He’s right.
“You haven’t met Phil,” I say. His brow furrows.
“Who’s Phil?” he asks.
“He’s around somewhere,” I say dismissively. “He’s the other guy in my inner sanctum. He’s 5’9”.”
“Then I’ll look for another short guy,” he teases.
“You’re very observant,” I point out.
“As are you,” he replies.
“I have to be,” I retort, “I’m short.”
“I have to be,” he counters, “I’m a cop.” He looks at Gary again. “He works out.”
“Very observant,” I repeat. “Yes, he does. Sizing him up?” He turns his gaze back to me, then to his coffee.
“You could say that,” he says, “he is the competition.” My eyes widen.
“The competition!” I declare quietly. Jerry raises his gaze to me.
“Oh, come on,” he says. “You knew from the moment I saw that girl that I liked her. I didn’t even make it a secret.”
“But I told you then that she had a boyfriend and now you’ve met him. So, what’s the code here?” He frowns.
“What do you mean, the code?” Jerry retorts. “I don’t know this guy. I have no obligation to him whatsoever. There is no code. But to answer your question, if she’s happy in her relationship, then he doesn’t have to worry about me because I’m not about the business of charming a woman away from something that she’s building with somebody else. But if she ever finds herself unhappy with him, I will shamelessly swoop into that opening and shoot my shot—and I have made it known to her that my hat is in the ring. Does that answer your question?”
His eyes are piercing and he’s awaiting an answer.
“I’m sorry,” I say immediately. “I didn’t mean to be rude or intrusive.” He twists his lips.
“I know you didn’t mean to be rude, but you did mean to be intrusive,” he accuses, and my eyes widen, “but that’s okay. You’re fiercely loyal to your friends and I understand that. I’m glad to be considered one of them. Just remember what I said about the unhappy relationship.”
“Fair enough,” I say. “Is that why your greeting to each other was a bit… clipped?”
“I might’ve made her a bit uncomfortable with my declaration,” he says. “I wasn’t all caveman or nothin’ like that, but when you tell a woman that you’re interested, you do turn on the charm a bit…”
And there’s that charming smile.
“If everything’s copacetic with her and Gary, she may choose to keep her distance from me. It would be the right thing to do,” he finishes.
“Do you have a reason to think everything’s not copacetic with her and Gary?” I ask. He scoffs again.
“Not per se,” he says, “it could just be little relationship things that couples go through—no gigantic red flags. I spent a lot of time with her getting my dad settled and we talked some, but you see her every day. You would know better than I do.”
I twist my lips. Nothing stands out to me, or at least neither of them have said anything… except the fact that Gary is working all the time.
“You’re looking awfully comfy with my wife, man,” Christian says as he makes his way over to me and Jerry. Settle down, dear. I’m not the one that has to worry about him.
“What can I say? She has a way with people,” Jerry excuses.
“I call it the Butterfly Effect,” Christian says. “Come over here and partake in a bit of testosterone before my wife starts giggling and I have to challenge you to a duel.”
“Oh, please,” I interject, shooing him and Jerry off so that they can go and grunt and scratch themselves with the other men.
Christian finally talked to Greg on Friday. They both admitted that they didn’t know what came next after the positive paternity test. It wasn’t like Greg was finding out that he had a new young toddler to raise. My husband is knocking on the door of 33 years old in a moment and about to be a father himself for the third time—well, second, but third.
Anyway, he and Greg made tentative plans for him to come to Seattle sometime soon after the baby is born and to bring Christian’s half-brother with him so that they can meet. This development made Christian yearn to see his father again—Carrick, that is. So, Christian convinced Elliot to have the gathering of the men yesterday while we had the baby shower. This way, he could shoot the breeze with his father about whatever may come to mind while visiting with his brother at the same time.
The brunch spread is just as impressive as any meal with all the usual suspects. The usual suspects again means that Marlow will be in attendance with Marcia, Zac, and Maggie. So, we’ll just see how he and Sophie get on… if they get on at all.
More delectable foodstuffs grace our table, courtesy of the staff and anyone who wanted to bring anything. We are sans Val’s delightful beignets since we all agree that she should take it easy, but Elliot brought Mexican steak fajitas to contribute to the brunch.
Our meal continues to cover the globe with Sophie’s Italian delights of Pizza Rustica—which is basically a hearty Italian quiche, Italian cheese Easter pie, and ricotta donuts. She also turned a long serving table into the most obscene and insane charcuterie board I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s like ten gourmet charcuterie boards in one. There’s no way that not even everyone in this house is going to eat all that food.
Gail introduces France with an unusual but tasty eggs Benedict recipe made with bacon instead of ham and avocado-hollandaise-harissa sauce served on whole grain wheat toast instead of an English muffin. She also contributes a delicious coulibiac of salmon and spinach with Comte cheese. Sarah brings us southern Americana with biscuits and sausage gravy as well as home fries with onions and some delicious homemade apple fritters.
Keri takes us to the Caribbean with ackee and saltfish with friend dumplings and—by popular demand—her oxtail stew. There’s also an assortment of sweet and savory crepes and several chicken dishes to round out the brunch.
I shamelessly eat myself into a stupor since everything is utterly delicious. Everyone truly enjoys the food and the camaraderie, and we all catch up on current events in everyone’s life that we may have missed…
Those who haven’t met him have been introduced to Jerry, and he introduces his father, Levi. Although Jerry is firmly a Mariners man, Levi is a Lakers and Raiders fan, but the men opt to let him go fishing with them anyway.
Herman and Carrick will be virtually attending the reading of Freeman’s will in the near future. Carrick is unsure as to why they must attend since everything is most likely going to go to his wife and maybe his kids, but they’ll keep us posted on that.
Grace has been pretty much running Helping Hands on her own with a little virtual help from me. She understands that I really must take it easy until the baby is born, and she reaches out to me as needed. My physical presence is only really needed for counseling, and we now have Harmony to help along with an intake worker and social worker to do the paperwork heavy lifting that I, Grace, and Courtney were doing previously. I still plan to get down there at least a few times before Trevor is born and much more often after.
Mariah and Celida are growing into two beautiful girls. Mariah is still very protective of her little sister, which is one of the reasons that Celida didn’t speak up for herself. It became even more pronounced after their parents died.
Once Celida started school, Luma was gently coaxed to get her some help so that they didn’t label her as learning disabled. It’s a slow process, but you can see that she’s coming a bit out of her shell now. She’s talking now—still not much, but more than before. I have a sneaking suspicion that her lack of talking may have stemmed from something traumatic that she saw involving her mother and her father, but with her being so young, there’s no way to tell.
She’s six now and still can’t really verbalize her memories. Mariah is so dead set on protecting her; I have no doubt that she probably remembers something traumatic with her parents as well and being older, it sticks with her. She’s talking to someone, too, but it hasn’t made her any less protective of Celida.
Elliot is as doting as ever on his very pregnant wife, and nothing much has changed with Mia and Ethan. They’re pretty much just floating along with young, married life. Ethan hears absolutely nothing from the Kavanaughs these days and has settled in to being an honorary Grey.
My little brother will be three years old in a couple of months. Harry is clearly calling me Andy since Daddy calls me Annie, and he clearly wants to be like his dad. I love him so much. He’s a perfect little replica of my father and he takes away the sting of being an only child. I know I have my own children, but there will be nothing that my little brother can’t ask of me.
Daddy and Mandy express no desire to have any more children but no aversion to it either. She’s 39 now and realizes that if she doesn’t have another one soon, she won’t have another one. Daddy says he’ll leave it up to her as while he has no problem with having another little symbol of their love running around, she’s the one that has to carry them. Not only that, but he’ll have his grandchildren around, too, to bounce on his knee.
Chuck is still very moony-eyed over his wife as he watches her chase Mikey around the house. While I haven’t gotten Keri’s take on the matter, he very much wants a little version of himself running around soon. I wonder where that’ll put me when she has children of her own. Oh, well, I won’t worry about it now since it’s not an issue yet.
Maxie, Phil, and Mindy are in attendance as well. With Mindy being two and a half, Maxie and Phil have been actively trying to get pregnant again. They were never unsure about children and since they’re both pretty stable in their jobs, they see no reason to wait. With me and Val being pregnant at the same time, that seems to be the topic of conversation on the minds of those of us married within the last three years with a few exceptions.
Mindy and Harry seem to understand each other’s “Babyglish” and are having a riveting conversation about Lilo and Stitch while Minnie looks on, intrigued, and pets a dormant Ruby. Mikey ran himself into exhaustion and has now plopped himself onto the sofa in the family room next to his best friend, fast asleep.
Al and James are just happy to be present. SEEKnID has finally made it off the shelf and into production, and James is now reaping the benefits of being the creator of what could be the premier hacker and virus detection and prevention software product on the market. Al jokes about retiring but assures a panic-stricken Christian Grey that he loves what he’s doing and has no intention of retiring any time soon.
Sarah and Carlos are existing happily in their fledgling companionship. I think Sarah is just content to have the company without the domestic abuse while Carlos just enjoys being in her presence and enjoying her cooking.
Although they have no intention whatsoever of getting married, Marcia and Zac have officially combined their households and are now living together. Marlow approves since, although he hasn’t left the state to go to college, he has moved out and is living in his own apartment closer to the school. He feels better with his mom and sister having a man around the house, especially with Maggie starting to fill out a bit.
As usual, Sophie stays far away from Marlow, not taking any credit for the dishes that she contributed and at one point, disappearing completely from the gathering. She’s very serious about not having any more run-ins or disagreements with him. In her eyes, total avoidance is the only way to keep the peace and she has no problem doing that.
It’s a shame, really, since once he left, his take-home haul consisted mostly of several canisters of the items from the massive spread from her charcuterie table as well as servings of the other delicious offerings from brunch. It’s also a shame because Marlow appears to be on better behavior as of late. He’s not taking any shots at Sophie in the nanoseconds that they may be caught in the same room like he used to.
He also doesn’t bring a date to every gathering anymore. I admit that for some occasions, a date is appropriate. Other times, you just want to spend time with your family unless you’re introducing someone special to them.
I’m beginning to wonder if Sophie was right, that he was just bringing those girls around to further his intentions of getting laid. I’m also beginning to wonder if she has the right idea about her situation—that out of sight is out of mind and the only reason that he’s behaving with more decorum when it comes to her is because she’s not around for him to focus on her.
Maybe I’m reading too much into this whole thing. It could be because I’m feeling particularly protective of Sophie right now because of this whole Shalane business.
Jason tells me that their first real visit will be next Saturday if Shalane remembers to call on Friday and confirm the time and place. She has certainly allowed enough time to pass since the custody hearing—two and a half weeks, in fact. Since she’s in a halfway house, I guess she has other things that she’s responsible for… check-ins and such. Oh well, it is what it is.
Gail, on the other hand, is losing her patience with all things Shalane. She has confided in me that she wants to stay out of things as much as possible since this is Jason’s ex-wife and Sophie’s mother. However, Sophie is her stepdaughter, and she has had enough of Shalane treating her like an object—a prize to be displayed or a yardstick of how often she can irritate Jason—instead of like a daughter, the sweet girl that she brought into this world. Gail has verbalized that she will have to stay away from Shalane completely as she has to remember that this isn’t her battle to fight… and to prevent her from scratching the cow’s eyes out.
As for me, I’m discovering that being pregnant with a single baby is much different than being pregnant with twins. Although he’s still doing the Merengue down there at odd hours of the day and night, my body feels much less like a soccer stadium. However… his crazy craving! This kid loves lemons—not lemon juice or lemon flavor… raw lemons where you cut them in quarters, stick them in your mouth, eat the pulp and suck out the juice!
I discovered this when I had a craving one day, and I fixed myself a lemon spritzer. Well, Master Trevor was having none of that, so I fixed another one. My little demanding son was like, “Yeah, Mom, that’s still a no go.” As I’m standing there staring at the sliced lemon, my mouth starts watering, and my stomach starts rumbling. I could see Trevor in my mind’s eye pulling on his umbilical cord like a call rope.
“Ding dong! Ding dong! What’s the holdup up there?”
So, I take the lemon, squeeze it, and literally bite into the pulp, much to the horror of everyone in the kitchen at the moment…
… and Trevor calms right down. I paused on the delivery of another bite for a moment and he’s pulling on the cord again.
“Oh, Jeeves!?”
I’ve been eating lemons like oranges ever since.
By mid-afternoon, I’ve had my fill of delectables. I go into the family room where Val has commandeered my recliner to find that Gary is sitting on the ottoman next to her.
“I still have another month and a half, but I’m so ready to drop this kid,” she says. “What I’d like to know is why you’ve been avoiding me.”
“What do you mean?” he asks. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”
“You weren’t at the men’s gathering for the baby shower,” she says. “They all retired to Elliot’s man cave. They didn’t sit there cooing at onesies.”
“I know,” Gary replies, a bit ashamed.
“The last time I saw you was New Year’s Eve,” Val continues. “I didn’t see you at the twins’ birthday party or my gender reveal…”
“Or mine,” I interject. I was sure that he was at the twins’ party, though, but he doesn’t protest the accusation.
“Are you guys gonna gang up on me?” he laments.
“No,” I say, “we just want to know if something’s going on. Yes, we may feel a bit rejected, but we’re your friends first.”
He sighs heavily and I’m certain now that something is going on.
“It’s the whole kid thing,” he says, his head down. “My baby would’ve been at your twins’ birthday party, Ana. And I would’ve known what you needed for your baby shower even if I had ended up with the guys in the man cave, Val. I never got to know the gender of my baby, so I just didn’t want to pretend to be okay while you guys were revealing yours.”
I’m gob smacked. I had no idea that he was still suffering from the loss of his baby, or in this case, the termination of his baby. It’s been more than a year now and I have no idea on how to counsel him about this. I can’t even ask Elliot to talk to him because less than a year later, they were expecting their rainbow baby.
“So… you didn’t oversleep this morning,” Val deduces. Gary sighs.
“No,” he says, his shame evident. “I just couldn’t do it. It’s hard for me, Ana… it’s really hard…”
“Gary,” I say, dismayed, “you’re one of my closest friends. Are you saying that anytime there’s a milestone in my twins’ life… in Trevor’s or even little Carrick’s… that you’re not going to be there?”
Val looks at him in horror and the tone of my own voice hurts my heart. Gary is suddenly convicted.
“I won’t always feel this way,” he says, basically confirming my suspicion, “I just need time to heal from this.”
How long does it take? It’s been more than a year already!
“Wow,” Val says. “Well… okay. We… can’t tell you how to feel.” I just look at her, my eyes asking the question that my mouth can’t.
We just have to accept this?
“Steele, we lost our baby at New Years,” she says. “At Christmas, you still didn’t want to tell us that you were pregnant until you heard that we were.”
She’s right. Even I don’t know how long it takes to heal from something like this. I guess I have to accept it, but I don’t have to like it. I drop my gaze, twist my lips, and nod.
“Ana…”
I put my hand up to halt him. I’m not going to pretend that this is okay. I’ll accept it because I have to, but I’m not going to pretend that it’s okay. I stand and leave the family room, headed for the elevator.
*-*
I left all my guests at brunch, went to bed, and slept the afternoon away. Maybe I was being selfish in more ways than one, but I was so upset upon learning that Gary and Marilyn had been lying to me and that they wouldn’t be at any of the important events in our children’s lives that I just had to lay down and relax to keep my blood pressure from rising.
It was a feat fit for Hercules. I know that my husband would’ve been hot on my trail had that damn phone gone off alerting him that my blood pressure was up. All I could do was deep breathing and intense meditation until sleep finally rescued me.
My husband confronted me once I awoke for dinner, and I told him what happened. He—like Val—took the politically correct road and tried to empathize with Marilyn and Gary’s situation. I can’t help it. I want to pout, but that’s incredibly selfish of me and I’ll just have to find a more productive way of dealing with my feelings.
There’s quite a commotion at Grey Crossing on Monday morning. One thing that’s making me happy is that spring is bursting in and the weather is being very kind to us. As such, we’re able to start breaking ground on our new addition and our indoor pool. How far we’ll be able to get will be determined by how much the weather cooperates with us. Nonetheless, this is good news in the midst of disappointment.
“Baby, Elliot found a vendor that has those butterfly tiles that you wanted,” Christian says, coming into my office.
“He did?” I say, perking up immediately. He hands me a perfect monarch butterfly accent mosaic tile.
“Oh, my God, it’s flawless!” I declare. “It’s even better than it looked in the brochure!”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says. “How did you want them? Did you want them in a line around the pool? All in one section…?”
“No, they should be randomly placed with the other accents we discussed,” I say. “Too much of a good thing is going to draw away from its beauty.” He nods.
“That’s smart,” he says. “There’s not going to be a lot of quiet time over the next few weeks, you know. We may have to escape to GEH or Helping Hands more often while the construction is going on.”
“We’ll play it by ear,” I say. “You and Dr. Culley said that I need to relax as much as possible. I can kick up my heels and play with the children as long as there are no fires, floods, or hurricanes that require my immediate attention.” He raises a brow at me.
“And even if there are, we’re going to play that by ear, too,” he cautions, and I nod in agreement. I’m doing pretty well handling stressful situations with the threat of ending up on bedrest for the next three months. Even the thought of Shalane Deleroy doesn’t upset me as much. She’s a bitch. And a cunt. And a wretched human being. If you expect that from her, you can never be upset by her behavior.
The one thing that did particularly upset me this weekend does need to be addressed since I forced myself to sleep right after I spoke to Gary. Marilyn was late this morning, but I approach her as soon as she arrives at the Crossing.
“I talked to Gary yesterday,” I say once she’s settled in for the workday. She raises her gaze to mine.
“Okay,” she says, expecting.
“You guys could’ve told me the truth about the whole baby thing,” I accuse. “You didn’t have to lie about not coming to the christening.” Marilyn frowns.
“What?” she says, bemused.
“Gary told me the truth,” I say, bruised. “If you’re having a problem dealing with things because of the termination, I understand. I wish you had come to me before now, but you don’t have to lie to me.” Her eyes narrow in complete confusion.
“What… are you talking about?” she says, pronouncing each word. I roll my eyes. Why is she pretending to be obtuse?
“Gary admitted that he really didn’t oversleep for the christening yesterday,” I shoot, “that he just didn’t want to go, and that it was the same thing for the gender reveals and the baby shower.” Her back straightens.
“First of all, I was at your gender reveal and Val’s baby shower,” she defends, “and I would’ve been at the christening if…”
She stops mid-sentence, right in the middle of her somewhat angry defense. The wheels are turning so quickly in her head that I can see the smoke. Her eyes are darting back and forth with lightning speed like she’s putting together the pieces of a puzzle…
Putting together the pieces of a puzzle…
Oh, shit.
“You… don’t know what I’m talking about,” I say slowly. Her eyes are still darting about like I didn’t say anything. “Mare?”
Her eyes land on mine and I see fire behind them.
“I heard you,” she says, calmly, then purses her lips and takes several visible breaths—not deep breaths, more like… somewhat normal breaths combined with the breaths a bull would take when he’s about to charge.
I remain silent.
“We didn’t spend the night together on Saturday,” she says, her voice calm but obviously laced with anger. “Gary said he didn’t feel well. He was supposed to pick me up on Sunday morning for the christening. When it was getting close to time for the service to begin and he still wasn’t there and hadn’t called, I called him. He didn’t answer, so I called him again. I called him three more times, and then I got worried. He said that he wasn’t feeling well the night before, so I was afraid that something was terribly wrong. He had no other reason not to answer my call… or so I thought.”
She looks away from me for a moment and I still don’t interrupt her because I know that the tale isn’t over.
“I broke the sound barrier getting to his apartment,” she says. “I could’ve gotten a speeding ticket, had an accident, it didn’t matter… I just needed to get to him. When I saw his car in the lot in his spot, I almost had an anxiety attack. I didn’t know what to think. Is he up there sick? Incapacitated? Dead? Is he…?” She trails off. I’m almost certain that I know what that last question was, but I don’t offer my suspicions.
“I didn’t even wait for the elevator,” she says, a bit more agitated than before, “I ran up three flights of stairs. I needed to know what was going on and I needed to know right then and there. We both have keys to each other’s apartments, but we always knock first. I knocked once—only once—then I burst into that place like the police. I get to his room, and he’s snuggled in his bed. I shake him feverishly, calling his name, and he opened his eyes, looking at me all surprised.”
She wipes a tear from her eye. I can tell that she thought she had caught it before it fell. I’m sure she thought I didn’t see it, but I saw it.
“His apartment is only as big as a tuna can, so there’s nowhere to hide,” she says. “I looked in the bathroom. When I saw that it was clear, I looked in the closet. When he asked me what I was looking for, I replied, ‘Something for you to wear—we’re late.’ He didn’t say anything else. I knew that we wouldn’t make it to the christening by then, but at least we would make the brunch.” She falls back into her seat.
“He lied,” she says. “He lied to me. I wonder what else he’s been lying about?”
Oh, hell, what kind of can of worms have I opened here? Marilyn scoffs after a pause.
“What?” I inquire.
“I’ve always told him that he’s a terrible liar,” she says. “I can always tell when he’s lying… or when he’s keeping something from me… usually. Then here he lies to me but tells the truth to my boss.”
“Well, actually, he told the truth to his friend,” I point out.
“Who happens to be my boss… and my friend!” She scrubs her face. I pause for a moment.
“I’m not trying to defend him,” I begin, “but I know you’re going to confront him about this… as well you should. Just make sure that you confront him about the right thing. He’s going to tell you that he didn’t lie to you—he lied to me. He told me that he overslept. He let you think he overslept by pretending to be asleep when you got there and ignoring your calls.
“I’m not taking anybody’s side here, but I just confronted you for lying to me and you had no idea what I was talking about. Granted, he never told me that you were in on the lie, but he never told me that you didn’t know either. Because he’s my friend, too, I would’ve let him handle that on his terms, but he conveniently left that open for me to believe that you knew. If the nickels hadn’t been dropping just now, this could’ve been a very different conversation…”
“And that pisses me off, too,” she interrupts. “In the interest of full disclosure, I did lie to you guys one time… Val’s reveal. He didn’t have to work—I was sitting there with him. He convinced me not to go without him and we just stayed home. Me telling you guys that I wasn’t going to miss another event was me telling him that I wasn’t going to miss another event. We were doing what I said we were—vegging out and binge-watching, but there was an untruth sprinkled in there and I want that to be known.”
“I appreciate you telling me that,” I reply. “He did tell me that there were times that he said he had to work where he didn’t have to work, but he didn’t tell me that he was with you.” She frowns again.
“Times?” she says. “As in plural?” What the fuck have I said now?
“Oh, God, Marilyn, talk to that man!” I declare. Hell, at this point, I don’t even know what’s truth and what’s not.
“Why bother!” she shoots angrily as she bolts from her seat. “All he’s going to do is lie to me again! I knew something was off—something’s been off for a while now, but I haven’t been able to put my finger on it!”
“You really need to talk to him if something really is off, Mare,” I say. “Gary is one of the most honest people I know. I’ve never known him to behave this way and I know that he’s crazy about you.”
“Coulda fooled me,” she shoots, and I’m not sure that she meant to say that out loud. I’m quiet for a moment.
“Mare… is something going on?” I ask. She looks over at me, still angry and on the brink of tears.
“I don’t even know,” she retorts, the tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. “He’s working all the time—or not working—he’s not answering my calls, and he’s lying to me. What am I supposed to think? We barely talk. Oh, we fuck a lot when we do see each other, but I think he’s doing that to keep from talking!”
She must’ve thought about what she just said because after a pause, she breaks down in sobs and bolts from my office. I scrub my face and gently massage my scar. It’s not hurting; I think it’s just reflex.
“Do I even want to know what that was about?” Christian asks, sticking his head around the open door of my office.
Should I tell him? Would I be breaking a confidence by telling him? Yes, I should tell him, because if they break up, Marilyn might be moving back in here again!
“Remember our conversation last night,” I say, “about Gary skipping out on all things ‘baby?’”
“Yeah,” he replies, coming further into my office.
“Apparently, he hasn’t been completely truthful about it with Marilyn,” I say. “She thought he really did oversleep yesterday, and there’s a whole lot more to that story, but the big and the little of it is that he’s been lying to her, and it appears that he’s done it more than once.”
“Do you think it’s your place to tell her that he lied to her?” Christian cautions.
“I didn’t intend to do it!” I defend. “I thought she was in on it. I confronted her about her role, telling her that there was no need to be dishonest, and I was way off base. Gary told me about his feelings and failed to tell me that Mare was in the dark, so when I confronted her…” I imitate the sound and motion of a bomb exploding.
“That’s not good,” he says.
“At all!” I reply. “This has so many implications. What’s really going on and why isn’t he talking to Marilyn about it?”
“How involved do you want to get in this?” he asks. I glare at him.
“Did you forget that we counseled them when this relationship fell apart?” I say. “Even if I stay out of this as a friend, was that all for nothing? She lived here for months! We thought she was going to die from starving herself! Now, she just ran out of here crying!” He comes over to my side of the desk and leans on it, facing me.
“Didn’t we just have the conversation about no unnecessary stress for you?” he says. “Trevor’s going to be born with gray hair!”
“No, he won’t,” Marilyn says coming back into the office. “At least not because of me.”
I look at her and she doesn’t even look like she ran out of here moments ago in tears.
“Mare?” I say cautiously. “You okay?”
“I don’t know yet,” she says matter-of-factly, taking a seat in the chair that she previously vacated, “but I will be. The shock of initial realization is hard to conceal, but I’m not turning into that girl that I was earlier this year. No matter what is or isn’t going on, that’s not happening.”
I’m both happy and alarmed by this revelation.
“You know that I’m here for you… both of you. Okay?” I say. She nods.
“Yeah, I know, but I think we’re going to have to bang this one out on our own,” she says. “I’m highly irritated that he told you what was going on and he didn’t tell me. I knew something wasn’t right—something’s been off for a while now. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Is that why he’s fucking me so much? He’s trying to get me pregnant again?”
Christian’s eyes widen and Marilyn shakes her head. I don’t really think she meant to say that last part out loud.
“Fret not, Bosslady,” she says. “I’m wiser than I was before. I won’t fall apart. I’ll take care of this on my own and I promise—no matter what the outcome, I won’t hurt myself.”
Does she expect it to be that kind of outcome? Is she expecting a breakup when the dust clears?
“He’s lying to me, Ana,” she says, answering my unasked question. “I don’t know what to expect. But I will take care of it, so please don’t stress about it, because I’m not.”
She seems a bit too calm for me, but I’m going to take her word for it that she has this under control.
A/N: “Mikeh! Get bahk heyah!”
“Mikey! Get back here!”
“Mikeh! Stop!”
“Mikey! Stop!”
“Yu nuh shot eh roun widout yu pants!”
“You don’t run around without your pants!”
So, there we are… two episodes of season seven to wet your whistles. Tell me what you think 🙂
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I’m still holding the sweater when I go into my en suite and close the door. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I approach the vanity and no matter what I should be seeing, a huge woman stares back at me, grossly out of shape and nearly bursting out of her clothes.
Fucking flawless.
Butterfly Saga 