ON MONDAY MORNING, the nurse came in early to roust Chelsea from her sleep. “Time to get up and move around,” said the cheerful R.N., whose name tag read Ms. Owens.
Chelsea couldn’t believe this woman expected her to leave her bed. “I just had surgery!”
“It’s best for you to get moving right away,” said the nurse. “They’ll bring your babies in shortly.”
“Is my…is Dr. Cantrell here?” Chelsea asked. She’d nearly slipped and called him her husband.
Last night, she’d made the decision to help Lew with full awareness that it might drive Barry away. All the same, she wondered why he hadn’t appeared yet. It was past 7:00 a.m. If Barry didn’t arrive soon, he’d have to start work for the day and she wouldn’t see him for hours.
“He hasn’t come by,” said the nurse. “I’ll crank up your bed to help you sit. Ready?”
Chelsea wasn’t, but she tried to be a good sport. Somehow, she managed to stand with Ms. Owens’s assistance and shuffled for a few steps. She felt about a million years old.
Her energy began returning when the twins were wheeled in, each in a little plastic bassinet. “They’re doing very well,” said one of the nursery attendants. “What are you going to call them?”
Chelsea liked Barry’s mother’s name, Meredith. She also adored Lew, but she wasn’t naming her son after that cantankerous old soul. “The girl’s Merry.” She spelled it out so it wasn’t confused with Mary. “As for the boy…” Inspiration struck. “He’s Hank, if Dr. Cantrell doesn’t mind.”
“Good names.” The woman wrote them on stickers, which she attached to the bassinets.
After she left, Ms. Owens returned to give instructions on baby care. Chelsea’s milk should come in soon, she said. The hospital encouraged breast-feeding because of the many health benefits.
Then she was gone. The babies, so cute and tiny Chelsea could hardly believe they were real, slept peacefully. The other bed in the semiprivate room remained empty.
An hour later, the babies were taken back to the nursery, to Chelsea’s disappointment. Because they were twins and had been born a few weeks early, the neonatalogist had left instructions for extra monitoring during their first few days.
Nine o’clock passed with no sign of Barry. He must have gone to work by now. He hadn’t even bothered to stop in.
Chelsea blinked back tears. She’d expected him to be angry. She hadn’t expected him to avoid her altogether.
A wave of postpartum blues swept over her. In a dark future, the babies would insist on drinking chocolate milk from bottles and become thoroughly unhealthy, space aliens would invade earth and take over all the receptionist jobs, Barry would return to Prego Prego and Chelsea would have to beg Starshine to let her move back in.
She sank against the pillows in a pool of self-pity. Darn it, she loved that fuddy-duddy doctor. Why did he have to be so stubborn?
In the hall, she heard the rumble of wheels. No doubt some orderly was bringing a cart full of medicines for the nurse to inject into Chelsea’s rear end.
The door flew open. Before she could wipe away her tears, Barry shot inside, flailing wildly.
He wore a sweatshirt and jeans instead of his white coat, with a canvas bag looped over one shoulder. And he was—good heavens!—on roller skates.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Making a fool of myself.” He zoomed past and caromed off a wall, performed an unintended but spectacular twist in the air and landed on the empty bed.
“I give you a 5.5 out of a perfect 6.0,” said Chelsea, who often watched ice skating on television. “Your artistic presentation could use work, though.”
Dark hair flopped rakishly over Barry’s forehead, emphasizing the crazed gleam in his eye. His father’s hijinks must have pushed him over the edge, Chelsea thought.
“Sorry I overslept,” he said. “Busy night.”
He sounded normal, she thought, relieved. “It was a long night for me, too.”
“I know. You’re the one who worked hard.” Sudden joy illuminated his face. “Aren’t the kids beautiful? Dad and I were just down at the nursery. We love the names, by the way. He’s still there, admiring his grandchildren.”
Chelsea basked in the fact that Barry had come to see her. She was glad that Lew was here, as well. “I’m pleased that they let him out of jail.”
“Me, too.” Barry began unlacing the skates.
“Where’d you get those?” Chelsea asked.
“Rented them at the beach,” he said.
“Mind if I ask why?”
“To surprise you,” he said. “Hold on.” Setting the skates aside, he took some shoes from his bag and put them on. Then he pulled out a bakery box.
Inside was a lemon meringue pie.
“Uh-oh.” Chelsea hoped he didn’t plan to loft it her way. If he did, she was a sitting duck.
“Relax. I’m not going to throw it,” Barry said. “That pie last night looked so good, I dreamed about it. This morning, we happened to be passing a pie shop and I couldn’t resist.” He produced a couple of plastic spoons. “Dig in.”
The pie tasted sugary, tart and memorable. Barry sat on the edge of the bed, eating from the other side of the pie plate. He kept smiling at Chelsea. It made her feel wonderful.
He looked meltingly handsome, she thought. With his slightly crooked nose and expressive eyebrows, he had the kind of face that only got more appealing with repeated viewings.
Reaching out, Chelsea traced one fingertip along his cheek. Barry leaned forward and his mouth grazed hers.
A long, lemony moment passed between them. When he drew back, Chelsea sighed with pleasure. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“Eat a little more,” he said.
Puzzled, she dipped her spoon into the pie, and felt it clunk against something. “What’s in here?”
When the spoon emerged, something gold gleamed amid the white meringue. Chelsea wiped it with a tissue.
It was the most beautiful diamond ring she’d ever seen. “Will you marry me?” Barry asked.
She couldn’t speak. Words, which had never deserted her before, caught in her throat.
“If you don’t like the ring, we can exchange it,” he said.
“When did you…?” was all she could say.
“Andrew recommended the jeweler and I bought it this morning,” Barry said. “It wasn’t primarily the lemon meringue pie I dreamed about. You were in there, too. All night. So this morning, well, I couldn’t resist. But if it doesn’t suit you—”
“It’s beautiful.” Her throat clamped shut again. What if he’d only asked her to marry him for the children’s sake? she wondered, still not ready to believe her good fortune.
“Are you upset about my reaction last night?” Barry watched her as he spoke. “I was angry. I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings.”
“I deserved it,” Chelsea said. “I don’t understand…why…” She indicated the ring.
“This morning, after having a night to sleep on it,” Barry said, “I realized that I used to think I loved you in spite of the fact that you’re a little weird.”
“But you don’t?” Her voice squeaked with tension.
“No. Now I realize that I love you because you’re so unpredictable. You have this freedom, this spontaneity. It makes life exciting.”
“You want life exciting?” The ring felt so light in her hand, she feared it might disappear.
“Not all the time,” Barry said. “Mostly what I want is you, for better, worse or in-between. What do you say?”
“Yes.” Immediately, doubts besieged Chelsea. “I mean, no. We’re so different. You might get tired of arguing with me.”
“Conflicts are okay when they’re brought into the open and resolved,” Barry said. “It’s when they fester, when people snipe at each other and don’t deal with the issues, that things go bad.”
Chelsea never sniped at people. She didn’t know how to snipe. So that was no problem. “I will marry you after all.”
“Hurray!” Barry shot one fist into the air. “I’ll take best two out of three.”
“Two out of three?”
“One no, two yeses. Don’t you dare try changing your mind again, either.”
“Not in a million years,” she said.
BY CHRISTMAS MORNING, four weeks later, Chelsea fit into regular clothes. Not her old zany clothes, but a new, more elegant outfit she’d bought with Barry’s encouragement.
After putting on the dark green suit with a festive flowered blouse, she dressed the twins in red-and-white sleepers and newborn-size Santa Claus hats. They blinked up at her like cozy elves.
Barry carried the babies out to the sedan he’d bought to replace the leased sports car, and she carried the gifts for the Mentons. “My only regret is that Dad can’t be here,” he said as he drove. After all charges were dropped, Lew had gone home to take care of his patients in Blink.
Chelsea yawned. Despite regular naps, she never seemed to get quite enough sleep. It didn’t matter. Since becoming a mother, she’d discovered depths of love and patience she’d never known before. “My only regret is that you can’t nurse the babies in the middle of the night.”
“Was it my imagination, or did I wake up once with Merry under my armpit?” Barry asked with a good-natured grin.
“That was Hank,” Chelsea said. “I decided it would be easier to bring the babies into bed with us, and he ended up on your side.”
“Is this a permanent development?” he asked.
“You tell me, Doc. How long before they start sleeping through the night?”
He groaned. “A couple of months.”
“Okay, so we have bags under our eyes, but the kids are healthy,” Chelsea said. “They’re a living testament to your skill as a pediatrician.”
“My skill has nothing to do with it.” He slowed on the freeway to let another car merge ahead of them. Since becoming a father, Barry drove more cautiously, she’d noticed. “You’re a natural parent.”
“Thank you.” Winter sunlight filtering through the windshield warmed Chelsea. So did Barry’s approval.
“I do want to ask one thing,” she said, “although maybe this isn’t the best time.”
“Shoot,” he said.
“Would you mind terribly if I didn’t go back to work right away?” She’d arranged for three months of maternity leave. “I know it’s tough at the office with that temporary receptionist. I wouldn’t mind if you hired someone full-time.”
“You want to stay home?” Barry asked.
“Yes. Maybe when the twins get older, I could go to community college.” Chelsea had never been the academic type. Recently, though, she’d begun to think she might enjoy teaching someday. “Meg’s been taking classes since Dana started preschool, and she loves it.”
“That’s a great idea.” Barry touched Chelsea’s hand lightly before returning his own to the wheel. “One of the best aspects of marriage is that it gives us a chance to grow and change within a safe framework.”
“Speaking of marriage,” Chelsea said, “shouldn’t we start planning our wedding?”
“I thought we decided on March,” Barry said.
“That’s a month, not an event.”
“Whatever you want to do is fine with me,” he said.
A mischievous imp inside Chelsea wondered if he really meant that. What if she suggested something outrageous?
Before she could think of anything, they arrived at the Mentons’ mansion. From the driveway, she saw a huge Christmas tree in the window, and spotted Hugh and Meg’s car already parked.
Inside, they were engulfed in a tide of hugs and exclamations about how fast the babies were growing. Angela immediately took Merry and Hank under her wing.
The young dancer wanted to spend as much time as possible with her tiny new cousins before next summer. At the gala, she’d drawn the attention of a San Francisco ballet company and would be joining its apprentice program in July.
Everyone was also buzzing with Meg’s news. She and Hugh were expecting another baby in July, a brother or sister for Dana. “Lots of kids in the family!” Grace proclaimed in delight. “They make me feel young again.”
The Cantrells and the Mentons settled down for brunch. At the head of the table, Andrew manned the wafflemaker as per family tradition while Hugh, at the other end, made pancakes. Cindi and Grace had prepared fresh fruit, scrambled eggs and sausages.
Halfway through the meal, Meg asked Chelsea whether she’d made any decision about the wedding, beyond the fact that it was to take place in March. She was about to say no, when an idea popped into her head.
A thoroughly ridiculous idea. She didn’t expect to carry it out, but Barry had said that he liked it when she made life exciting.
“We’re going to get married on a chinchilla ranch,” she said. “We’ll have little furry rodents running everywhere. Won’t that be cute?”
Dead silence fell over the table. Seated beside Chelsea, Barry choked on a bite of waffles until Andrew whacked him on the back.
“What do you think, honey?” she asked.
He took a swallow of orange juice before speaking. “It’s fine with me.”
“It is?”
“We’ll save money on a bouquet. You can carry a couple of chinchillas instead of flowers,” Barry said, straight-faced. “We’ll save a bundle on the reception, too. None of the guests will stay to eat.”
She burst out laughing. Relieved chuckles sounded around the table as the rest of the family realized she’d been joking.
“Let me propose that you get married in our garden,” Grace said. “The roses should be in bloom.”
“Thank you. We accept,” Chelsea said. “Right, honey?”
“With great relief,” said Barry.
THEY WERE FINISHING the meal when the doorbell rang. “Who can that be on Christmas morning?” Cindi asked as she went to answer.
Barry found, to his surprise, that he didn’t mind the interruption as he once might have. He was beginning to enjoy the unexpected.
A loud “Ho ho ho!” resounded from the living room, followed by the appearance of a skinny Santa Claus with a natural white beard. “Surprise!” Lew said, and held out a bakery box.
“I’m glad to see you, Dad.” Barry went and gave him a hug, careful not to disturb the gift.
“I hope that isn’t what I think it is,” said Grace. “I wasn’t kidding about hiring thugs.”
“I hope they like chocolate cake.” Setting the box on the table, Lew removed the dessert. “I decided I’d better bring something sweet, seeing as I’m arriving uninvited, and I figured pies were out of the question. I carried it on the plane all the way from Colorado.”
“Of course you’re invited.” The hostess stood and indicated that everyone should scoot over to fit in an extra chair. “You’re family.”
“In spite of my antisocial tendencies?”
“The opera and ballet are having their best ticket sales ever,” she said. “Also, despite his little mishap, Fiorello has consented to give a benefit concert in June. That’s one event to which you are not invited, by the way.”
“As long as he behaves himself, he has nothing to fear from me,” said Lew. “I plan to visit as often as possible. Hank and Merry need the stability of an involved grandfather.”
“Excuse me, did you use the word stability in connection with yourself?” asked Grace.
“No fighting on Christmas,” warned Cindi.
“They’re not fighting,” said Barry. “They’re having fun.”
“You got that right.” His father beamed. Grace, her eyes alight with merriment, nodded.
“Did anyone tell you, Dad? Chelsea and I are getting married on a chinchilla ranch,” Barry said.
“We are not!” She hadn’t expected him to resurrect the idea, even though she knew he couldn’t be serious.
“I’m disappointed.” Barry grinned. “I’ve grown fond of your little guy, Smithee. Still, a rose garden will probably smell better.”
He reached for Chelsea’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Resting her head on his shoulder, she gazed through the window at the quiet winter garden where, in a few blooming months, she would become Mrs. Stuffy Doctor.
She could hardly wait.