Page 70 of Husband of the Year
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“A surprise baby? Whoa. I didn’t see that coming.”
Jill pulls her head back, recoiling in surprise.
“Neither did I. But Olan is committed to helping his family and, well, Greggie is his nephew.”
“Greggie?” Her face softens and her forehead wrinkles. “That might be the cutest name I’ve ever heard.”
“Right? Short for Gregory. You should hear Olan say it. It’s adorable.”
Olan’s email has my head and heart in a whirlwind of emotions. He’s always been a kind, loving partner, but reading these letters peels back new layers and once again, I find myself falling deeper in love with Olan Stone. Or maybe I’m just missing him. Or horny for him. Or all of the above.
Olan’s email only cemented his connection to his nephew. The way he was writing about Greggie, pouring out his feelings and emotions, left my head spinning by the end of the letter. I wasn’t able to chat with Isabella about it because she had Illona. We texted a few times, and she assured me everything would work out. Olan brings a sense of peace and calm to everything he touches, and Isabella reminded me he would carry that energy over to his family’s current situation.
I almost told my mother. This morning, she was cradling Gonzo, making baby noises at him and it practically slipped out. But I need Jill’s counsel first. Witnessing my mother’s reaction to Illona has been very sweet, but I fear she’ll become unhinged at the mention of a baby. The dormant bubbe inside her will spring to life like a volcano stirring from its slumber, ready to erupt after years of quiet stillness. I need to be ready for that energy.
“And Olan’s parents are taking custody?” Perched across from me on a student table, Jill pulls her legs up and crosses them, leaning forward.
My lips form a thin line, and I nod.
“Good. That’s smart. Makes perfect sense.” Jill’s eyebrows collide in the center of her forehead. Perhaps the gravity of the situation has tampered with her quips. “Does all this family talk have your uterus catching baby fever?”
Or maybe not.
“Contrary to what you may believe, Ms. Kim, I do not, in fact, have a uterus. And baby fever? No ma’am. The thought of being Illona’s stepfather is enough to send my anxiety into overdrive. And she’s seven.”
“Going on twenty-seven.”
“Exactly. Illona, I can handle. Or she can handle me is more like it. But a baby? No way. I’d break it.”
“You watched Maria on your own. And you had fun.”
My mind replays little Maria leaping in the bed uncontrollably from the extra sweets I gave her. The dread curdling in my stomach from knowing I didn’t follow Jill’s directions. The guilt about my misstep comes crawling up like bile, and I blurt out the truth.
“Even though you said only to give her one cookie, I gave her three. Okay, three and a half, she ate half of one of mine. So almost four cookies.” I bow my head in shame. “Those cookies were… interesting. Something was off. Don’t get me wrong, I still ate a bunch. But do they think toddlers don’t enjoy a quality chocolate-chip cookie? What’s in those things?”
“Beets.” Jill pinches her face and shrugs. “It’s a way to sneak more vegetables into her diet.”
“In cookies? The goyim have lost their damn minds.”
“Very true,” Jill says, nodding.
“Anyway, I’m sorry, but she was jumping on her bed and I couldn’t get her to settle down and I didn’t want to bother you during your night out with Nick so I called Isabella and she talked me down from the ledge.”
Jill’s face shows little emotion, and I rush to finish my confession.
“Maria crashed after maybe fifteen minutes and, well, you saw, she fell asleep on me. I am so not cut out to be a parent. No way. I’d give Greggie all the cookies and send him into a sugar rush tailspin.”
“Marvin, breathe.” Jill reaches across the table, taking my hand. Her skin is always so soft and the light floral scent of her lotion soothes me. “Do you think you’re the first person to question their ability to parent? Look at me and Nick. How they let us take Maria home from the hospital is still a mystery to me. Do you know why I told you to only give her one cookie?”
Jill removes her hand from mine, readjusting herself on the table.
“Because the first time I bought them, I let her have six. Six. And she didn’t crash after fifteen minutes. She was up all night. Dancing. Screaming. Jumping. I thought we were going to have to perform an exorcism.” Her hands reenact a wild Maria. “And then there’s Nick. He still leaves his towel on the floor after a shower. He still forgets to flush when he takes a dump. But you know what he’s terrific at? Being Maria’s dad. When he bathes her, he tells her to hang up her towel. We’re potty training Maria and her favorite part about it all? Flushing the damn toilet. Because her dad made a game out of it. He can’t remember to flush himself, but he created a flushing song for his daughter.Flush, flush, flush away, all the pee and poo, merrily, merrily, merrily, watch them go adieu.”
“Adieu?”
“Right? He made that up. It includes French, for fuck’s sake.”
