Page 62 of Husband of the Year
“Not you, silly,” Illona says. “Me. I’m already in my pajamas!”
“Oh my goodness.” My mother laughs and gives Illona a wink.
“Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll be right up,” I say.
“Okay! Good night, Sarah.” Illona clutches her around the waist, and she reaches down and strokes Illona’s head. I can’t recall the last time my mother was this happy.
“Good night, Sarah,” Olan says as Illona skips upstairs to bed with my phone in hand.
“Good night!” Mom yells back, but I’m not sure he’s heard her, as Illona has him at the top of the landing already.
“I’m going to help tuck her in and then chat a little with him in the bedroom before I hit the hay,” I say.
“Sounds good, sweetie.” Sarah sits on the couch and pulls her legs underneath herself. “I’m going to stay up and read a little. I’m dying to find out who the killer is.”
She holds up a new book.
“Where did you get that?”
“Hannigan’s. Bruce and I were talking about thrillers and he recommended this one. They sell books, right next to the aspirin. You truly never need to leave the island if you don’t want to.”
I walk over and kiss the top of her head.
“Love you,” she says.
“I love you too, Mom. Thanks again for dinner. The lasagna was fantastic.”
“Illona made the salad all by herself. I can see why you adore her so much.” She grabs the throw from the back of the couch and blankets her legs. “And you’re welcome. It’s what moms do.”
I pull my lips in and nod. Yeah, it is what moms do.
Upstairs in Illona’s bedroom, I sit on the edge of her bed, the pink comforter bunched up around her. Illona lies with my phone propped up against an extra pillow on her stomach. Her room always smells like bubble gum and lavender to me, which is strange since she doesn’t chew gum or have any lavender products I know of. Olan says some of her stuffies came with the fragrance infused into their DNA, but I prefer to just think of it as Illona’s scent. Simple, calming, and sweet.
She’s quiet, and I hear the low tone of Olan’s voice coming from the tiny speaker.
“And your mom was convinced she had all the time in the world before your arrival, so she insisted on taking a shower, putting on makeup, and checking her hospital bag for her favorite slippers.”
“The yellow fuzzy ones,” Illona says.
In the two years since we’ve lived together, I’ve heard this storymany times. I can’t decide who derives more joy—Illona from hearing her birth story or Olan from recounting it.
“Yes, the yellow fuzzy ones.” Olan laughs. Even though the sound from the phone is minimal, its impact is magnified in the peacefulness of bedtime, as his deep chuckle reverberates through the room.
“She still has them.” The smile on Illona’s face is priceless and I’m deeply grateful they’re on video and Olan can enjoy it.
“She does.”
Now, Isabella has confided in me the fuzzy yellow slippers in question are actually a new pair that replaced the original “birth story” pair, but we’re not telling Olan or Illona that. Let them maintain the magic of their story.
“So, after a couple of hours, your mom told me she was finally ready, and we got in the car to head to the hospital.”
Illona cuddles in with Noelle, her favorite stuffed kitty, while Gonzo makes a spot near her feet. She’s told me this is her favorite part of the story and I’m eager to watch her reaction.
“When we finally got there, the nurse put your mom into a wheelchair and started pushing her to the room where we’d wait, but then—”
Illona’s eyes burst open. She knows the story by heart, and she’s too excited to not interrupt her father. “I came early! Before you made it to the room, there I was. Born in the hospital hallway. The nurse did most of the work, ’cause nurses can do anything, and the doctor ran up when I was already born.”
“Yes, princess. You couldn’t wait to see us. And we were over the moon—we finally got to meet you.”
