“Welcome to our home!” Dad said, opening the condo door wide and kneeling to engulf Hannah.
“Say hi to Grandpa.” She leaned down to kiss her dad’s pate. When they were growing up, it was a game she and Blythe played, planting loud smacks on the top of his head whenever they caught him unawares—slouching at the table, napping on the sofa—to reinforce how much balder he was getting year by year. Now he sported grandfatherly fluffs of hair above his ears, and an otherwise hairless head. It was funny how familiar it was, kissing that baldness, how much more connected to him it made her feel, compared to chatting on video calls.
Hannah kept her arms locked around his shoulders as he stood and backed so they could enter. Mom hugged everyone at once, already asking about luggage and road conditions and bathroom needs and meal times.
“Let’s show Grangran all your potty skills, okay?”
They took a group trip to the half-bath under the stairs, which made for a crowd, especially when Rachel had to lean over to help with wiping and pulling up the padded panties. But Hannah enjoyed the fuss and applause, and Rachel in her turn enjoyed the rare chance to shut the door and pee in private.
While her mother and daughter played, Rachel hauled their bags up to Blythe’s old bedroom, then joined the others in the den. Dad passed everyone servings of his latest smoothie blend. Cucumbers and beets and apples. He even had a cup with a lid and straw for Hannah, so at some point since their last visit he or Mom had paused by the kid aisle in the supermarket. That was nice.
“Guess what?” Mom was pulling out her iPad.
“Potato,” said Hannah.
“Well, no, not that.”
“She’s got a farming game she plays on my friend’s tablet,” Rachel explained.
Mom’s face cleared. “Oh, right. Well, I can download it, if you want.”
“It’s fine, she was just making associations. What’s your news?”
“I listed you as a co-host for Blythe’s baby shower tomorrow. It’s going to be beautiful.”
She held her hand steady as Hannah took sips of her smoothie. Dad had served the adults in matching glass mugs, nice heavy ones with swirls of color around the rim. Hannah wanted to taste from the green side and the yellow side and the purple side, and was ignoring her grandfather’s comments about it being the same as what was in her cup. Experiment over, Rachel wiped Hannah’s beet-colored upper lip and set aside her mug. “Blythe’s having a baby shower tomorrow?”
“I know, I know.” Mom handed over the iPad, which displayed the invite: ‘Blythe’s Baby Boy Brunch!’
“Blythe’s having a son?”
“She didn’t tell you?”
She shook her head. Hannah’s smoothie was making condensation rings on the coffee table. It was the same table they’d had in their house growing up, the one they played games at and where Blythe did her homework—Rachel had to sit at the kitchen table, where Mom could monitor her progress as she went about her afternoon mom tasks. They’d sold that kitchen table, along with Rachel’s bedroom furniture and the plush purple rocking chair and several other items that wouldn’t fit into the condo. Rachel kept asking if the rocking chair could go with her to Aunt Johnston’s. Mom and Dad kept explaining why she could only take what fit in two suitcases and her backpack.
It was fine. Aunt Johnston’s house had the porch swing.
But they’d kept the coffee table all these years, and it, like Dad’s bald spot, was a reminder of the safety and comfort of her childhood. And of less comfortable childhood moments, but she grabbed hold of the good and jettisoned the rest.
Mom enlarged the invite so she could see her name there, alongside those of her sister’s best friends from med school. “You don’t have to tell me it’s tacky for the grandmother to host the shower,” she said. “That’s why it’s so perfect that you got here in time. I knew you would stress over dealing with the back and forth emails and researching party favors and such. So I got to do it all, and put your name on it, which worked out great.”
When she was little, they had a set of sandstone coasters with pictures of bears on them. A grizzly and a Kodiak and a black bear and a sun bear. A rack on the sofa table held the four of them when not in use, and for a while she cried if she couldn’t have the black bear. It had the friendliest pose. Then she learned to alternate her favorite every month, so even if Blythe carried her drink to the living room first, there was a good chance her favorite would still be available. The important thing was to always have a coaster under their drinks. And to their credit, her parents had kept the coffee table ring-free for decades now.
She didn’t see the bear coasters. Likely they’d faded or cracked or lost the cork backings long ago. She didn’t see any coasters. She guessed it didn’t matter if Hannah’s smoothie left a sticky stain or two behind. Maybe Mom and Dad were ready to replace the coffee table. It had sharp corners. Her nephew would be safer if it was gone.
The party decorations were green and orange, to match Blythe’s nursery. The menu featured omelets and three kinds of blintzes.
“But I like planning parties.”
Her mother paused her litany of event negotiations. “Well, sweetie. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that. You used to hate looking things up.”
Since she was in a room with two other responsible—if not always thoughtful—adults, she could close her eyes and sink back against the sofa for a minute. It hadn’t been replaced, but they’d reupholstered it since the days when she and Blythe woke Dad from his naps with a kiss to his bald spot. Given it some extra foam. Added coordinating throw pillows. It didn’t feel like the same spot where she’d curled up and watched countless episodes of Friends and ER.
Hannah used Rachel’s thigh as a handhold as she pulled herself up to lie beside her. “Mama nap?”
She kissed her curls. “I think it’s time for us to go meet Aunt Blythe and Uncle Jason for dinner.”
“Rachel, we didn’t mean...”
“It’s fine, Mom. I’m excited about the party.”
“Well, of course you are. I knew you’d want a chance to celebrate our grandson.”
She refused hear Mom stumbling over her last word. It did her no good to compare Hannah to her forthcoming nephew, like it had done her no good to compare herself to Blythe. Aunt Johnston had drummed that, at least, into her head. “Different people, different relationships. No matter how tempting, does you no good to keep score.” An image from that morning of Aunt Johnston waving them off, her face so like Dad’s except with profuse hair, was a quick mental snapshot guaranteed to calm her down.
Still, petty and useless as it was, she said, “I am sad you didn’t tell me about it before we left. I’ve been knitting her a blanket, and I’d have tried to finish it in time.” It even had a lot of green in it, though she’d picked that because it was cute and gender-neutral, not because she’d heard from her sister about her favorite baby colors.
Dad stacked the empty cups on a tray, wiping the condensation off the coffee table with his sleeve. “Want to get the door for Grandpa?” he asked Hannah, who rolled off Rachel and led the way to the kitchen. He never had been good at sitting in a tense room.
“Well, Rachel, goodness. Your gift is the party.”
“So do I write a check to Liz or to Angie?” She knew she was making it worse. Two full days of driving, a two-year-old’s favorite playlists on repeat, worry over Theo’s business, a sofa that wasn’t as welcoming as that of her childhood.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I should make it out to you, then? If it’s more than three hundred I’ll have to pay you in installments.” She needed a healthy meal and a solid night’s sleep and a morning hike, and then she could be a daughter they wanted around.
“Rachel.” Mom twisted her fingers together. She’d done it so often, sitting at that old kitchen table while Rachel wrote out spelling words or flash cards full of history facts. Mom suffered a lecture by one of Rachel’s specialists, who said no matter how abysmal Rachel’s handwriting, she had to write down her own lessons or she’d never learn. So instead of grabbing the pencil to do the work herself, Mom twisted her fingers. By the time she was thirteen, the finger twisting applied to any reason Mom was frustrated with her.
“Fine, then. On the way to dinner we can stop by the mall and you can pick something off Blythe’s registry. Will that let you drop this nonsense talk of checks?”
She nodded. Because Aunt Johnston was right, in the end. Scorekeeping was knotting her stomach into tighter twists than the braided cable of her mom’s fingers, and it would unravel both of them if she stopped.
Nonetheless, she decided that’s night dinner was not, after all, the perfect moment to tell her family she was pregnant.
“So are you going to take her kayaking or something?”
“She’s two, Theo. She doesn’t like sitting still. Or getting her head wet.”
“Okay, Ms. Colorado, I was joking.” He closed out his report and leaned back in his desk chair. “What are you up to today?”
She’s told him neither of her parents had taken time off work to spend with them. Not even a half-day.
“We’ll go up to Santa’s Workshop in a bit. Dad got me a coupon.”
“What’s Santa’s Workshop?”
“It’s an amusement park. She can go on most of the rides, and there’s, you know, entertainment, pictures with Santa, all that. Do you want a souvenir ornament? Do you guys even celebrate Christmas?”
“Of course. But last time I had him at Christmas, we spent the whole week up with my family, so I didn’t decorate. Can’t do that this year.”
She didn’t ask why not. He’d offered Marti’s brother the job as head brewer and was working with his accountant and lawyer to take on full ownership of Elixir. Ron agreed to stick around for a month to transition, in exchange for no criminal charges. Theo felt like he was pushing his luck, but that morning he’d submitted a proposal pay Ron out in stages, instead of adding to his loan. And while he hadn’t undervalued Ron’s shares, his appraisal used forced liquidation values for all their equipment. As he’d explained while talking it through with Rachel, if he couldn’t buy Ron out, they were going to have to sell out. He gave Ron a chance to meet with his own advisers and come up with a different valuation. Now he just had to wait for the man’s response.
“Okay,” she said, and he appreciated her brisk cheer. “I’ll look for the most hideous ornament for your tree, and what’s more, I’ll help you decorate. That way I can be sure you’re displaying it prominently.”
“Damn but I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He closed his eyes to savor her words. No ambiguity, no hesitation. Just a statement, from her to him, and it eased everything in the world.
“I quit.”
He sat up and found Sergei in their office doorway. “Sorry, Rachel, hang on.”
“That’s what I thought. First you accuse me of stealing, next you force Ron out, now you’re running off with my wife. I don’t need to put up with it.”
“Serg, hold up.”
“Oh, he’s got his ‘world is working against me’ tone happening,” Rachel said. “I’m going to go pack up to head to the North Pole. Call me later, love.”
He looked at his mobile, but she was gone. Sergei, not so much. “Sit down.”
“No thanks, re.” Clear as the Aegean he was reverting to the rudest meaning of the interjection.
“You’re going to walk out on me? I explained about Ron and the money.”
“How do you explain stealing my wife and daughter?” The man had a world-class sneer. He took note of it, as a warning to himself. If he was ever tempted to replicate it, he’d know he was way off track from who he wanted to be.
“Ex-wife. And I’m not stealing either one of them. Loving them isn’t theft.”
“My mother warned me about your intentions.”
“Does your storming out mean you’re not having Depy’s name day dinner here tomorrow?”
Sergei crossed his arms across his chest. “I’m giving my two weeks’ notice.”
He rubbed his temple. “Fine. I appreciate that. Give me your company card. And send Marti in on your way back up front.”
She could be ready to move up to manager, if he had her shadow Sergei for a few weeks. And he could still take Andres up to his parents’ for their scheduled visit without stressing every single day about how the place was functioning.
In the ensuing quiet moment, he googled Santa’s Workshop. Looked a little old-fashioned, but tailor-made—elf made—for Hannah to have a blast. Maybe they’d all go back sometime, him and Rachel and Andres and Hannah and the baby. They could take Rachel’s nephew, too. All the other in-laws could decide for themselves if they wanted to tag along, but they wouldn’t mind either way. With him on board, Rachel wasn’t anyone’s afterthought. And neither was he. Because they loved each other, and love meant choosing each other, every day.