Page 31 of Merrily Yours
Ben points his finger toward Gabe. “He helped. I don’t understand how he’s so cheery right now.”
“Enough out of you,” Gabe says, piling his arms with gifts to pass out. Elodie is first, of course, unwrapping a bag of goldfish crackers. We all laugh as she squeals in delight at the sight of her favorite snack.
Bex was explicitly clear that she did not want us to shower Elodie in gifts. First of all, because she is one and really has no need for a bunch of random things. And second of all, she said their New York apartment is entirely too small for lots of toddler items, especially with baby number two on the way. That meant that Jules and I spent much of last night wrapping up various snacks so El would have lots of presents to unwrap today.
We respect Bex and Anders’ parenting choices. However, that respect didn’t stop me from getting Elodie a doll house that will stay here for when she visits. And several dolls for her to play with. And a box of books. And some new puzzles. She is the first grandchild, after all.
We take turns opening the rest of the presents, Gabriel, unsurprisingly, making his brothers wait until the very end before he passes anything out to them. To his utter dismay, they don’t much mind, all of us entranced by the littlest Bardot-Olsson.
I find my way next to Bex on the other couch, rubbing her back as she watches her daughter open snack after snack with childish joy. She leans her head on my shoulder and whispers, “I’m nervous.”
Not an easy admission for her to make, I know. I move her head down to my lap so I can braid her hair as we talk. “What are you nervous about,ma petite chou?”
She sighs, rubbing her hand mindlessly up and down her stomach. “Two girls,” she finally says. “I don’t know what to do with sisters! I don’t have any of those. What if I’m a bad girl mom?”
I tut, letting her words hang. She thinks a bit more. “I miss it here,” she says moments later. “I didn’t know that having kids would make me need my mom, but I do. I need all of you guys. It’s lonely doing this in the city, just the three of us.”
“Oh, darling. I can come down more often,” I reply. “You’ve always been so independent. I never wanted to squash that in you.”
“You haven’t!” Her reply is quick and emphatic. “I… I don’t know. You are a great mom and we”—she gestures around the room—“are all so lucky. It feels like a high bar that you’ve set.”
Her sincerity makes my eyes sting. “I love all of you. Your father and I have four amazing children. You and Anders have built a beautiful life and family together, as well. You, my cabbage, are an amazing mother. Don’t try to be me—beyou. That is exactly what Elodie and her sister will need.”
Bex nods, turning her head to give me a small smile. “We are going to try to move back soon, I think. I always wanted to get away, and now I feel that same desperation to return,” she laughs.
I shrug, continuing to twirl her curls around my finger. “Things change. People change. That’s a good thing, Rebecca.”
She tucks her hands under her chin and murmurs, “Thank you, Mom.”
Hugo catches my eye from his spot across the room, a question on his face.She’s fine, I mouth. He seems satisfied by that answer, standing when the oven timer dings.
“That’ll be the breakfast casserole,” he says to a room that is not really paying attention to him. I see Jules notice his dad walking into the kitchen. He gets up to follow, and I frown at his retreating form.
Bex and her family will be fine, I truly do believe that. The rest of these boys, however, are worrying me.
Christmas day has been utterly perfect. We’ve eaten entirely too much, Elodie has played with all of the toys we were not supposed to get her, and the weather was nice enough to bundle up and take a quick walk around town.
Now, Hugo and I are snuggled together on the loveseat, everyone more or less in the same position they were when I came downstairs this morning except Elodie, who has already gone to sleep, and Bex, who doesn’t look like she’s far behind her.
I sip on another mug of spiked hot chocolate and consider my children. I heard whisperings today of Ben coming home, and Bex also seems ready to return. My hopes are up, whether I want them to be or not. Now I just need to figure out how to make sure they follow through.
“You have your scheming face on,” Hugo whispers. “Should I be scared?”
I think about my answer before I reply. “I don’t think so…”
Hugo hums, seemingly unconvinced. “Well, just don’t make anyone too angry.”
“Anger can be a good thing, darling. It fuels.” I smirk. “But the boys need a shake-up, I think. They are all unhappy.”
He frowns. “I don’t know that you’re wrong… what are you planning to do about it?”
“They need a little meddling. It will be good for them. Partners, job shifts, location shifts… something,” I contemplate.
“Having those things won’t necessarily make them happy. They need to do some inner work, first,” Hugo adds.
“I agree.” I watch all three of my boys—study them as they lounge and talk to each other, no one paying us much attention.They are so different from each other, but they all have their father’s capacity for love. And my sense of humor, even when it’s in a quiet way.
I tap my chin with my index finger. “Who should I start with? That’s the real question,” I whisper conspiratorially. My husband’s huff makes me giggle, which draws the attention of our children.
