Mr. & Mrs. Read online

  “We’ll always have the butter.” She laughs.

  “Always, babe.”

  Chapter Nine - NOLAN

  “You know what we should do?” I say to Ivy. She’s feeding Bronte some freshly pureed bananas picked right off of this fucking island. Rory took her around to all the different orchards they have here and they picked fruit to mash up for my baby daughter.

  I kinda love Rory already.

  Bronte is gobbling it up like she’s never had bananas before. She has, and they’re not her favorite unless it comes in the form of banana bread—which also gets mashed up, but mostly by Bronte’s chubby little fingers.

  “What should we do?” Ivy asks between making goofy faces at the baby.

  “We should go on a date. I mean, shit. We’ve got all these built-in babysitters at our disposal right now. Plus, we’re like… in paradise, right? We should definitely go on a date tonight.”

  “Where?” Ivy laughs, looking over her shoulder at me.

  “The beach,” I say. “I have a beach fantasy all ready for you. Been planning it for weeks now.”

  “Really?” she asks, shooting me a coy wink. “Tell me about it.”

  “No,” I say. “That spoils all the fun.”

  “You mean we don’t need a signed contract for this one?”

  “You’re my wife, Ivy. I know you better than you know yourself. I don’t think I need to ask permission anymore.”

  She raises one eyebrow at me. It’s not a cute eyebrow raise, either.

  “Not that way,” I say. “Get your mind off Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “Good God.” She laughs. “I never think about that night.”

  “Yeah, that fucking Richard. He ruined everything.”

  “Well, yes. He really did. But…” she says, then pauses for a moment. “Your fantasy was way out of my comfort zone.”

  “Mine too,” I say, suddenly serious. “But that’s not what I’m talking about, either. I just mean a good time. Me doing things you like.” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

  “You mean… like ordinary men?”

  “I’m ordinary,” I say.

  “Nah,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re very extraordinary, Nolan. But anyway, back to your offer. I think a date night sounds fun. We’ve barely done anything alone since Bronte was born.”

  “I know.” I sigh. “And I like being with both of you every night. Love it. But I feel like we might’ve missed out on a few things. We got married so fast. And all that bullshit with the Misters really put a cramp into our honeymoon time.”

  “Not to mention I was pregnant.”

  “And that too,” I say. I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but fuck. Things got serious like… immediately. “A fun night just for us.”

  “If you can find a sitter.”

  “Are you kidding? I bet all of them want to sit for us tonight.”

  “OK. Go set it up and I’ll get Bronte to sleep.”

  I do a silent, Yes, with an imaginary fist-pump as I exit our cabaña. I’m gonna take her down to the beach, get her naked, and then…

  “Hey!” I yell, noticing West leaving his cabaña with Ethan. “Weston!”

  He waves, but barely gives me a second look.

  “West!” I yell again, jogging to catch up with him and the kid.

  This time he stops, realizing I’m calling his name for a reason that has nothing to do with a greeting—fucking Corporate. Sometimes he’s slow on the uptake. “Yeah? What’s up?”

  “What are you guys up to tonight?” I ask.

  “Just taking Ethan down to the beach to throw the ball around.” He tosses a football in the air and Ethan, quick little shit that he is, grabs it and then runs off.

  “Fun,” I say, actually meaning it. “I can’t wait until Bronte is old enough to throw a ball around. But that’s not gonna be for a while. And right now what I really need is a babysitter. So I can show Ivy a sexy time tonight. What do ya say? Can you guys watch the baby for us?”

  “Shit, man,” West says, looking at the empty dirt path where Ethan disappeared. “If I can catch him, maybe. And even then, this kid—he’s kinda wild, Nolan. Crazy about sports. He’s gonna make me toss that ball until it gets too dark to see.”

  “Cool.” I’m weirdly jealous. “How about Tori? She up for some baby Bronte time?”

  West looks around, like he’s making sure no one’s listening. “She can’t. She’s sick.”

  “Sick?” I ask. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Don’t say nothin’, OK?”

  “Who would I tell?”

  “It’s pregnancy stuff. I bet it was the boat trip. Dammit, I should’ve seen that coming.”

  “Oh,” I say, remembering the conversation this morning about Ellie. Welp, I guess I can’t ask Ellie to babysit either. “That sucks. Sorry she’s not feeling well. But I think I can talk Cindy or Katja into doing it. So no worries. Go have fun with your boy.”

  Did ‘boy’ just come out sarcastically? No. No. I didn’t just do that.

  But Weston picks up on it and narrows his eyes. “Did you just—”

  “Nope,” I say. You don’t admit that you really wanted a boy instead of a girl. And you don’t get jealous of your friends who do have a boy. It’s just not done. So I’m in denial.

  “You’re sure?” West asks.

  “Positive.” I blank my face. Like you do in poker.

  “You’re lying,” West says. “You’re fucking lying. Ivy doesn’t know—”

  “No, dude. And I’m not lying. My daughter is the most beautiful baby ever born.”

  “And you dressed her up in a Top Gun outfit for the ride over here.”

  “That was cool, right?”

  West laughs. “Yeah. I fucking loved it. I told Tori we’re taking those hand-me-downs and boy or girl, that’s how my next kid will dress.”

  “See,” I say. “Ivy just rolled her eyes at me. But I knew it was a great outfit.”

  “Dad!” Ethan yells from… somewhere. “Come on!”

  “Well,” West says. “I gotta go. He’s wild, Nolan. Count yourself lucky to have that sweet baby girl. Boys, man. High insurance rates, drunken games of beer pong, and sports doctors are all I see in my future. I hope I have a girl next. I already know how to throw a football. I’d like to learn how to throw a tea party.”

  And with that, he turns and jogs off after his wild kid.

  Two strikes right out of the gate.

  I head the other direction where I know Pax’s cabaña is. But I can hear him singing an Army cadence song before I even get to the door.

  “‘I wanna be an Airborne Ranger! Live me a life of blood and danger!’”

  I open the door and find him lying on the bed, head hanging over the edge, upside down. He smells like tequila. “Paxton?”

  “‘Airborne Ranger! Blood and danger!’” His eyes swing around the room as he looks for me. Then he slumps over the side of the bed and drops to the floor. “Nooooolaaaaaaaan,” he croons, crawling forward. “Sing with me. ‘I wanna be a scuba diver.’” He points. But I just stand there, kinda fuckin’ stunned. “Sing it!” he yells.

  “‘I wanna be a scuba diver,’” I sing.

  “‘Jump right in that muddy water.’” He points to me again.

  “‘Jump right in—’” But then I realize he’s way too drunk to look after my baby so I don’t really need to play along. “Where’s Cindy?” I ask. “I wanna have a date night with Ivy and I need a sitter.”

  “Party!” he yells. “Muddy water! Scuba diver!”

  I leave. He’s got issues. Obviously.

  OK, so I can’t ask Ellie because it might make her sad. I can’t ask Victoria because she’s sick. Cindy is apparently partying… so that leaves me with Katja or Rory.

  I look over at the main house sitting up on a hill. It’s big for an island house. Big enough for four kids and a wife? That I’m not so sure about. I’d go crazy on this island if I had to stay here all the time.

&n
bsp; But I head up the path that leads to the house anyway. Partly because it looks inviting and friendly in the coming dusk, and partly because it’s my last hope of having some alone time with Mrs. Romantic tonight.

  I’m just coming around a little twist in the path when two tiny masked people jump out from the bushes and scare me half to death.

  “Who goes there?” one of the little shits demands.

  “Uhhh,” I say. “It’s me. Nolan.”

  “How do we know it’s you?” the other tiny shit asks.

  “It’s me,” I say. “You saw me earlier when I got off the helicopter, remember?”

  “Then what are our names?” the first one asks.

  Jesus. Fucking kids, right? “I can’t see your faces,” I say. I really don’t remember. And I just want to get up to the house to ask for help, so I try to push past them.

  The smaller one pokes her pointy stick into my gut and says, “I command you to stop! In the name of the queen!”

  I’m getting kinda irritated now. So I say, “You guys. It’s me. Nolan Delaney. I’m one of the Misters. I’m your dad’s friend.”

  “If you’re his friend, then what are our names?”

  I think real hard. Five did introduce them. They aren’t the twins. They’re too short. So I concentrate on the smaller kids in my memory.

  They both had long, wild, brown hair. And they both have wide brown eyes peeking through eyeholes. Which isn’t helpful, I realize, because they look more alike than the damn twins. Not to mention they’re wearing masks. Not ski masks. Something looser. And made of cotton. More like a hood.

  “Where’d ya get those masks?” I ask, trying to change the subject. Because I have no idea what Five calls them.

  “We made them,” the taller one says.

  “With our hands,” the little one clarifies.

  The tall one asks, “Does your wife sew, Nolan Delaney?”

  “Ummm…” Does Ivy sew? “Yeah,” I say. I’m pretty sure Ivy does shit like that. So my answer comes out confident.

  “Do you sew?” the smaller one asks.

  “No.” I laugh. “I don’t sew.”

  “Why not?” they both demand at the same time.

  “I’m a dude,” I say, still chuckling.

  “Our daddy sews. He made us these capes.”

  They are some pretty nice capes. Made out of black felt. And they have some kind of logo on the back. Like superheroes or somethin’.

  “And he taught us to make spears.” They both shove their pointed sticks at me again.

  “Ow! Jesus, you guys. I just wanna go talk to Kat and see if she’ll babysit for me tonight. Can I go now?”

  The taller one lifts up her black mask to show me her face. “Why do you need a babysitter?”

  “Because I want to go on a date with my wife. And you’re six years old, so I’m not telling you any more details.”

  “I’m seven,” she snaps. “And you don’t even know my name. Do you?”

  “Maggie,” I guess. I’m pretty sure it starts with M.

  “Wrong,” the little one says.

  “Martha,” I try again.

  “Nope!”

  “Hey,” I say, kneeling down so I can look them in the eyes. “How about you tell me your names and then I’ll remember them forever this time, and you guys let me go up there and ask Kat to babysit for me. Deal?”

  They look at each other and laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “No deal,” the older one says. “You’re our prisoner now.”

  And then they poke me again!

  “This way, prisoner,” the tiny one barks. “March!”

  I do as I’m told because I’m directed to march up towards the house. I figure Five will show up eventually and call off his mini-assassins, so it’s easier to just go along.

  But they don’t lead me to the front door. They lead me around the back and stop me in front of a window.

  “Look,” the older ones says, pointing her stick at the window.

  And that’s when I get attacked by a pack of kittens.

  “Ow! Motherfuckers!” I shake my leg and kittens go flying into the grass, and both of the little girls fall to their knees, giggling.

  “They got you!” the tiny one exclaims.

  “They got you good!” laughs the older one.

  And yeah, there’s blood running down my legs from a dozen kitten claw marks.

  I sigh. Count to five to keep my temper under control. And say through gritted teeth, “I’m going to look for Katja now.”

  “She’s right there,” the older one says. “Look.”

  So I look through the window—’cause that’s where her stupid pointy stick is telling me to look—and sure enough, I see both Katja and Rory in a room.

  “They’re putting the final touches on her wedding dress. My mommy can make dresses,” the little one says.

  “Pretty, pretty dresses,” the taller one adds. “So she can’t babysit for you.”

  I stare at them and throw up my hands. “Fine. I’ll just go back to my bungalow and forget about date night.”

  “I’m Louise,” the small one says.

  “And I’m Mathilda,” the other one says.

  “Very pleased to meet you both,” I say, turning to leave.

  “Don’t you want to ask our daddy to babysit?” Louise asks.

  I stop and turn, look at them for a second and get hopeful. “Do you think he will?”

  They both have another fit of giggles.

  I take that as a no and turn to leave again.

  “Wait!” they both say, dropping their spears and taking my hands.

  “We’ve got plans for you, Nolan Delaney,” Mathilda says.

  “I don’t have time. I gotta get back to—”

  “You have to go to prison for trespassing,” Louis says. “Thirty minutes in the gulag.”

  “It’s the law,” Mathilda says, her voice serious as all hell.

  And then they push and drag me over to a small playhouse. It looks like a mini-castle and there’s a light on inside.

  Just play along, Nolan, the voice in my head says. Go inside, stay five minutes, and then back out carefully.

  So I let them lead me towards the playhouse, thankful that they’re not still poking me with those stupid pointy sticks.

  Inside it looks like a princess threw up. Two princesses, really. There’s a small table in the center with a tea set laid out on a white table cloth with eyelet lace edges. And each of the four small chairs has a fuzzy pink pillow on the seat.

  “Sit,” Louise commands.

  So I sit, way too big for this chair, my knees practically touching my chin, half hoping I break the thing, half hoping I don’t, since that would probably add another thirty minutes to my gulag sentence.

  They pour me tea—which is water. And feed me cakes—which is crackers. And I realize I actually am on a date. Just not with my wife.

  And that makes me smile.

  They tell me stories about their life on the island. And those damn kittens find their way into my lap. And pretty soon, they pronounce me free and caution me not to break any more laws. And then I’m pushed outside the castle and told to go straight home or the king will be angry.

  I wander down several pathways trying to find the one that leads back to my cabaña, wondering what the fuck just happened. Thinking maybe girls aren’t that different than boys. Imagining myself with Bronte when she’s that age and kinda liking that image.

  Say what you want about Five and his secret island. He’s got some cool kids.

  I smile as I walk through the cabaña door, calling out, “Ivy?”

  But she doesn’t answer back. And when I wander into the bedroom, I see why.

  She and Bronte are all wrapped up together. Bronte’s face pressed against Ivy’s breast. Ivy’s fingers twined into Bronte’s fine, loose curls of blonde hair.

  Fast asleep.

  “Fuck it,” I sigh. But I’m smiling all the
way through that sigh.

  It wasn’t the date night I imagined, but it might’ve been better.

  I crawl into bed, Bronte between us. And if this was yesterday that might’ve been a bad sign. It might’ve meant that Bronte was an interloper. That we’re kinda doomed. That things went too fast, changed too quick. That we’ll never be the people we were before.

  I think all those things are true now as well. But not in the bad way.

  My daughter will grow up to be one of those little shits out on that path. She will poke me, and frustrate me—but she will delight me with surprises too.

  I think… maybe raising a girl is gonna be a blast. And I need to learn how to do it right.

  Chapter Ten - WEST

  “West.”

  Tori is prodding me.

  “What?” I mumble, still mostly asleep.

  “Wake up.”

  “Why?”

  “Ethan is gone again.”

  “Fuck.” I lie still for a few seconds, forcing myself awake.

  “I’m gonna go find him,” Tori says. “You stay here.”

  “No,” I say, pulling her back into me before she can escape. “It’s an island,” I say. “How much trouble can he get in on an island?”

  This is something Ethan’s been doing for a while now. It started a few weeks after we moved to Fort Collins and a part of me wonders if the move was too much for him. I mean, we did pull him from his life in New York—however messed up that was, it was still his life. And we moved him out to LA. Which is a culture shock all its own. And then a few months later, he was living in Fort Collins.

  Colorado isn’t extreme in any way. It’s not New York and it’s not LA, which are the two most opposite cities in the entire US. It’s just a small-town place with looming mountains and unpredictable weather. It’s slow, and calm, and pretty. That’s it.

  But he wasn’t used to slow, and calm, and pretty. He was used to big, and loud, and city.

  “He could drown in the ocean,” Tori says.

  “He’s a great swimmer,” I say. “He took to the ocean like he was born on Nantucket.” And then I turn to her, hug her close, and say, “We could make the most of it, ya know? Have a little sexy fun?”

  “Weston Conrad!”

  I swing my legs out of bed, rub my hands up and down my face, and look over my shoulder at Tori. “I’ll go find him.”