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SOPHIE
I sleepily opened one eye to check the time on my phone, wondering how long I had before my alarm went off for work. More than half asleep, I noticed it was almost nine.
Almost nine!! I bolted upright in a cold panic, then smacked myself in the head as my brain engaged in the holy-crap-I-am-wide-awake-now-but-I-don’t-HAVE-to-be mode. Crap balls. I still had the last two days of my vacation left. As the manager of my family’s restaurant (Try The Veal), I didn’t get two days off in a row very often. And by very often, I meant never. Unless it was during my yearly vacation. Which it was.
I flopped back onto my pillow, stretched luxuriously and smiled at Max (my portly 105 lb. German shepherd). Once a year, usually in early fall, my family (Nonno, Nonna, Mama, Papa, and three brothers, Gio, Paolo, and Luca) closes our restaurant (Try The Veal) and treks off to Italy for a week. It’s like some holy pilgrimage. Which likely meant Nonno’s Sicilian relatives were involved, which meant my whole family should probably be living in Jersey instead of Atlanta, but I don’t ask those kinds of questions for fear of swimming with the fishes, or eating sardines wearing cement shoes or whatever the mobster-speak was these days. Maybe I should ask Paolo since the mob was his worst nightmare and honestly, he’s become an expert authority on all things Mafioso.
As you may have guessed, I’m Italian. I have dark, curly hair which I can’t seem to control, my eyes are green which makes me wonder who in my gene pool drowned in the deep end since my entire family has brown eyes except for me which always made me wonder if maybe I was adopted except that I look like a female version of my father which probably means I’ll have a mustache before I’m forty. But I digress.
I live in a one-bedroom apartment above my family’s restaurant (Try The Veal) in Atlanta and my biggest weaknesses are my family, my dog Max, and my complicated relationship with Jack O’Donlan.
This year I managed to stay behind my family’s annual trek to Italy due to Max having a raging case of Synchronous Diaphragmatic Flutters which was a fancy way of saying the hiccups but I wasn’t about to tell my family what it meant or that I’d lied. Yes, I had totally lied. To my family. I should probably say ten Hail Mary’s but I think Max may have eaten my Rosary and I wasn’t sure how many Hail Marys or Our Fathers I actually knew. Obviously I was a bad person and should not be allowed to stay home alone without suffering dire consequences.
Crap, now I was going to worry about consequences and all things dire.
Okay, fine. I admit it. I didn’t want to go to Italy and leave Max behind. Yes, I had people I trusted to take good care of him, but those people weren’t me. Besides, I’ve been to Italy at least twenty-nine times. Once a year since I was born. I wasn’t worried about missing another one. Or two.
Besides, how often did I get to binge-watch Netflix, stay in my PJ’s all day, order whatever I wanted online, and make endless lists of things I knew I’d probably never do?
I made a mental note to shower, eat a proper meal, and hit the gym instead of staying in my pajamas and eating nothing but chips, popcorn, and frozen pizza.
I was almost feeling disgusted with myself. Ha, no I wasn’t. Not even a little. Not having a schedule was awesome.
Plus, I didn’t have to tromp around Italy with a bunch of mustachioed Mafioso. My brothers think it’s cool, but they’re morons and too old-school macho to ever believe, let alone admit, they entered this world through their mother’s vagina. I love them, but will confess that most of the time they’re a great human skid mark on the underwear of life.
Anyway.
Max, snuggled next to me in bed, stretched his legs and nearly sent me crashing to my death. Well, perhaps not death but certainly I would get a bruise if I fell off the bed. Which some people might consider a consequence, albeit not altogether dire.
I made another mental note to remind Max yet again that he has his own giant doggie bed. Someday I’d figure out how to make him use it. Maybe soak it in beef broth as Max is a total pig about food.
Ha. I couldn’t soak Max’s bed in beef broth as I was quite sure he’d eat it. Then I’d need a horse trailer to haul away his poo.
My phone rang and I hoped it wasn’t my parents calling from Italy to tell me Nonna had been arrested again for throwing her dentures into the Trevi fountain. Before I could answer, Max licked the phone, somehow managing to swipe the answer button.
“Donkey balls, Max!” Once again I’d underestimated Max’s obsession with my iPhone. “Hold on!” I hollered, and wiped my phone and the dog slobber on my T-shirt before putting the phone to my ear. “Hello,” I finally managed, all the while giving Max the evil eye. He one-upped me by throwing his paw on my forehead with a hard thunk, which felt like getting wonked by a manhole cover. I gently placed his paw on his pillow before I decided an empty treat bag was in his future.
“Hi, Soph. Put me on speaker.”
It’s Lana. Greg’s wife. Jack and Bailey’s sister-in-law. Who was in Hawaii on a family vacation of her own. “No. No, no, no. Max is rotten enough without you cooing baby talk at him.”
“Sophia Zinelli. Speaker. On. Now.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. “Fine.”
“Max? Hi, Max! It’s Auntie Lana, Max! How’re you doing my big happy baby? Are you a good boy? Of course you are. What a good boy. Auntie Lana has a big Hawaiian surprise for you, Max. I love you, Max-i-poo.”
Gah. I just threw up in my mouth. Then...I suddenly found myself wondering if I might get a big Hawaiian surprise, too. I should maybe let Lana blather on a bit longer.
Max gave a loud WOOF and rolled onto his back, paws in the air, and squiggled back and forth nearly knocking me off the bed a second time. I gave Max a hard glare. His mighty butt dry heaved with a cheerful pfffft in response.
Argh! Couldn’t breathe! Fat, farting, hairy phone hog.
Careful to breathe only through my mouth, I took the phone off speaker. “Max-i-poo? How many Mai Tai’s have you had?”
“Not nearly enough. I need your help.”
“Sure, anything.” I hoped it was nothing huge or, heaven forbid, dire. Maybe something like picking lint off one of Lana’s many black sweaters. Or sending her stamps for her postcards. Which obviously she could buy in Hawaii since Hawaii was not Mars, and just thinking it probably made me a terrible friend. I immediately felt small and ashamed.
“My babysitter has an illness in the family and has to catch a flight to L.A. in a few hours, which means I have no one to watch Emma. I’m not sure if Greg was able to get the flight changed yet. We’re either leaving today or tomorrow morning. You can help Jack take care of her for a day or two, right? Isn’t your restaurant closed for the week? I really need your help, Soph, I’m desperate. So will you?”
“Of course!” Baboon balls. This was it. My punishment. My mouth had completely taken over my brain and barreled to the Dark Side. I didn’t know anything about babies. I’d never babysat a day in my life, let alone changed a diaper. And what exactly did Lana mean by help Jack? If only Yoda were here to kick my big-mouthed butt. “Um, what about Bailey, wouldn’t she be more suitable?”
“Bailey? Oh, well yes, but... Bailey’s kids have, er ... you know ... the um ... the chickenpox! She’s just swamped with poor Kelsie and Liam and all those spots. Plus there’s the pub and her vet practice.”
“And Jack? He needs my help why?”
“He’s, well ... a little ... uh ... phobic. Er, that is to say, he might get called in to work and he can’t very well take Emma with him. All that danger, and dealing with drunks and hooligans and just the thought of babysitting during all that would make anyone phobic, right?”
I felt an eye twitch coming on. “Danger? In Live Oak?”
“Well, probably not danger exactly, but he can’t take her to work if he gets called in, now can he? And think about this. It’ll be just the two of you with Emma. You’ll get to see what kind of dad he’ll be.”
“Dad? DAD!?!? He thinks a one hour drive is a long-distance relationship! It took Bailey nearly a year to talk him into pet ownership! He’s commitment-crazed! Okay, not as much as he used to be, but still. He loves me, he tells me he loves me, so what is he waiting for? Plus I don’t like that gleam in your eye.”
“Gleam, what gleam, I have no gleam. Must be a tear of joy. Maybe an out of place contact. Wait a sec, can you see me?”
I looked at my phone. “No. Should I?” I was starting to get suspicious. Just what was Lana up to? And why did she sound funny? “Are you sure Jack’s okay with this?”
“Of course I’m sure. Emma’s his niece. He adores her. You and Jack will make a great team, I promise. Diapers are beyond easy. They practically change themselves and absolutely never smell like a landfill. Feeding Emma is super simple. A piece of cake really. Not that you should feed her cake for crying out loud, she’s only six-months-old. Why would you even bring up cake? Holy cow, Soph, so much sugar! Anyway, I’ll have Dottie drop off everything you need. We’ll be home first chance we get. So see, it’s only for a day or two. How much could go wrong in such a short time?”
“Lana, seriously, have you been drinking?”
“Okay, so technically a lot could go wrong but it won’t, not with you, you’re the most responsible person I know. Plus Jack’s a professionally trained officer of the law. And an ex-football player. I’m sure he knows CPR. And Bailey’s only a phone call away if things get hairy.”
“Hairy?”
“Hairy? Did I say hairy? I meant merry. Like Christmas. Ho, ho, ho! Not that it’s Christmas yet or anything. But it sure is close. Only a couple of months now, yepper, then we’ll all be Christmas shopping and fighting the crowds, and decorating and baking, and glugging eggnog.”
My eye twitch had become a major spasm like...like Exodus without Moses. Just everyone running amok then drowning in the Red Sea. “Okay, fine. But I’m only going to help Jack. I’m not doing this on my own so don’t even think about telling him to count on me doing this without his help.” Mostly I hoped Jack would call me in a panic, thus proving I had superior babysitting skills. Not that I did, but still. I wouldn’t put it past him to rip his arms off just to wriggle out of this.
As I ended the call, I felt like I was about to save middle earth. Only I wasn’t Frodo or Sam. But Jack could very well be the Dark Lord of Mordor.
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Lana hung up and called Bailey. “All set. Sophie doesn’t know we’re back from Hawaii so don’t let on. I lied about Dottie needing to go to L.A., but Sophie bought it, which is good because I’m a pretty terrible liar. I’ll have Dottie call Jack now and she can drop Emma off in an hour or so. Actually, I’ll ask Dottie to play it up a little, do a goof on Jack just for fun. And oh, you’re going to need a pink Sharpie.”
“What? Why?” Bailey asked.
“I kinda said your kids have the chickenpox. So paint dots. Lots of dots. And add calamine lotion. And just to be on the safe side, make sure that Jack and Sophie don’t see them. The kids, I mean. But do the dots anyway in case Sophie or Jack panics.”
“Aye, all right then. But you do realize you’re actually trusting two people who don’t know bum’s all about babies with Emma? It’s lucky you are that I’m here to take over when they run screaming before dinner hits. Possibly before lunch.”
“You’re not counting on how smart, and stubborn, they both are. I have a feeling we’ve hatched the best match-making plan in the history of Live Oak. Operation Baby Blitz has begun.”
#DidYouReallyJustAskMeWhatHappensWhenIGetToThree?
#IfAllOfYourFriendsJumpedOffABridgeWouldYouToo?
#YesIfBabiesWereAlsoOnTheBridge