"Will, sweetheart, I'm sorry but Mommy has to work with Uncle Natie and Uncle Chuck today," I explain to my almost seven-year-old, trying my best to comfort him over the phone.
"I'm sick." He moans, and the words cut through me like a knife. He might have what is only a simple cold, but the fact that I can't be there to comfort my child absolutely destroys me.
"Will, I'll be home really soon, and I'll even bring you that delicious pasta you love so much. We'll sit in front of the TV and stuff our faces. Why don't you give the phone back to Daddy?" He whines incoherently, but soon gives in to my request and puts Dan back on the line.
"Babe, I thought you were supposed to be holding down the fort," I whisper loudly. Normally I am the one at home with the kids, my various creative jobs giving me the freedom to dedicate the majority of my time to my family, but The Spectator needed a supplemental article from me and I wasn't in the position to deny them. To make things more challenging, Bass Industries was once again debating whether or not to go public, and as a board member I was expected to meet with them later this afternoon. At first, I was excited to spend a day focused on my career, but there were four little people who didn't quite share my joy.
"Serena, everything is fine. Will's just complaining because he's a mama's boy and he doesn't feel well, but he'll be better as soon as I make him waffles," Dan reassures me, and I feel myself start to calm down.
"How are the others?" I ask.
"Annoying," he deadpans, and I giggle.
"Did you remember to take your medicine today?" He asks, concerned.
"Yes, Dan, just like I have every morning for the last eight months," I reply, running my fingers through my thick blonde hair.
"Just double checking, go be a kickass career woman." He encourages me before quickly hanging up the phone, probably in a hurry to meet one of our children's demands. I smile, once again appreciating his devotion to me.
"Seriously S, how do you manage?" Nate asks me, pulling up a chair at my desk. I roll my eyes, wondering what compels him to keep asking me this.
"Manage what, Natie? I have breast milk stains on my blouse, snot on my jacket, my spanx are digging into my cesarean scar, I'm two weeks behind on the five-days-a-month job because my children keep getting each other sick, and I've gotten about ten text messages from Dan is the last five minutes," I smile, hoping I don't sound as whiny to him as I do to myself.
"That's just your insecurities talking, S, you look gorgeous," I smirk at him. "And no, I'm not hitting on you, I have a wife and two horrible children of my own, remember? That brings me to my original question, how do you do it, especially with four?"
"Well, this is my second latte and it's only half past nine, so caffeine. Which I'm worried I'm developed a tolerance for, because I am exhausted," I answer, wanting to end this subject. These days I never stop feeling like I'm shortchanging one of them. Sometimes all of them, including Dan.
"Don't worry, Nate, your kids are nuts about you," I reassure him. "Just do the best you can, think before you speak, and keep putting one foot in front of the other." I finish, speaking as much to myself as I am to him.
"One foot in front of the other," I mutter as I refocus on my work.
"Sebastian, I know this isn't as good as the real thing, but you have to eat," I tell my ten-month-old, forcing the nipple of the bottle into his mouth. He stares up at me with his wide navy blue eyes, one of the many beautiful features he inherited from his mother, before beginning to suck.
"Was that so hard?" I laugh, kissing the wispy blonde hair atop his head.
"Daddy, these chicken nuggets are yucky," Celia, my four-and-a-half year old informs me. Two-year-old Brooke nods in agreement.
"Mommy makes the same ones all the time," I scoff.
"Mommy's nuggets are crispy, these are chewy," Will complains. "I thought she was bringing us pasta."
"For dinner, not lunch. And unless you start eating your nuggets, there will be no pasta for dinner," I threaten, and watch as they begin to eat.
Because of my work schedule, with regular signings to commemorate the annual release of a new book, my time with Serena and the kids has been a lot less frequent as of late. Thankfully, the press behind my latest book ended last week, and the next six months can be focused on preparing a manuscript. Today was supposed to be a brainstorming session, but that's damn near impossible with four children under the age of seven roaming the house. Makes me appreciate Serena all the more.
When I look outside I see that it is snowing, the sixth storm in the month of November. It is coming quickly, our lawn already covered in a blanket of white. One thing I miss about the city is never having to shovel. The winter has been brutal this year, and I worry how Serena will fare driving home from the city. While she has had her license since we moved to Greenwich seven years ago, it still makes me nervous when she drives in inclement weather. I suppose I'll never stop worrying about her. Amid my thoughts of her, I hear my phone vibrate.
How would you feel about a destination Christmas? ;)
I laugh, wishing I could actually take her up on that offer. While Serena has mostly healed from the post-partum depression she's experienced following Sebastian's traumatic birth, I still worry about the effect the prolonged cold will have on her emotions. Especially when it means being cooped up. If Will hadn't decided to come out on Christmas Day, it might be feasible for us to travel somewhere warm for the holiday. But our boy loves to go see the Christmas Eve tree lighting and be doted upon by his grandparents, and we could never deny him those pleasures.
Thanksgiving, however, has little sentimental value in the Humphrey household. In fact, since the kids are so young it is often hit or miss. To book a vacation would be short notice, but we have more than enough money to make it happen. Our eighth anniversary was just over a month ago, it could be a belated gift. Sure, we had our weekly date night, but it'd be good to do something special. I grab my phone, my mind overflowing with creative ideas.
"Hello?" I hear a collected, feminine voice on the other side of the line.
"Mrs. Van Der Woodsen," I greet. "Remember the time Serena and I gave you four beautiful grandchildren? How would you feel about watching them for a week?"
Brooke, Celia, and Will are all standing by the front door when I get home, eager to get their share of Basta Pasta.
"Hello, my angels," I greet them, kicking off my heels and kissing each of their soft cheeks. Burton, our chubby ten-year-old pug, patters over to me. I lift him up, leading all of us into the kitchen. Turning on the lights, I am shocked at the sight of my husband in swim trunks, a semi-conscious Sebastian clad in the Little Mermaid themed crab costume I bought him for Halloween. He places a small, fake flower in my hair.
"What's all this?" I ask, admiring the view. With his hair cropped short and his muscles defined from working out, I blush at the sight of my handsome husband.
"You wanted a destination holiday, remember? Christmas is out of the question, but how about Thanksgiving in Turks and Caicos?"
"Thanksgiving is in less than a week, how would we get all six of prepared in such a short time?"
"We won't, I only bought two tickets," he smirks, his brown eyes excited. We've never been away from our children for more than a weekend, and as nervous as I am to be away from them, it is far outweighed by my excitement.
Forgetting everything, I pull his face to mine and kiss him.
"More champagne, Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey?" The flight attendant asks us, and we hold our glasses out in response.
"We really need to slow down, Sebastian will need to be breastfed and I'll have to get some writing done," I say, feeling tipsy, and Serena bursts out laughing at my sorry excuse for a joke. She has all but given up drinking since becoming a mother, and her tolerance is nothing short of pitiful. The flight attendant comes back to shush us, our behavior an annoyance to other first class passengers. We quiet down, Serena resting her head on my shoulder and running her hand through my very short hair.
"Do you remember the bus ride we once took from the Hamptons back to the city?" She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
"I do, and much as I like the thought of recreating on a plane, I was seventeen then and I'm thirty-four now, and I know the sex with you is too good to be had in a bathroom stall," I kiss her hand, and she relaxes further into my side.
"Do you think my parents will be okay managing the kids for a week? And taking care of Burton?"
"The kids know to be on their best behavior with them, they don't exactly scream mischief or fun," I say, honest. Serena pokes me with her elbow, not appreciating my jab at her uptight parents. "And I don't think they'll have too much trouble putting an elderly dog on the treadmill for twenty minutes a day. Not that it's helped him get trim."
"Yeah, it hasn't helped me lose my baby fat either," Serena sighs, and I cannot help but scoff.
"What baby fat?" She blushes, completely flattered, and smiles against my neck. I stroke her hair, hoping she knows I was sincere in my comment.
"Dan look, that one's just a pup," Serena points to the small dolphin, struggling to keep up with its school. She is amazed by the sight, smiling brightly and bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her bright blonde locks is as long as I've ever seen it, falling past her breasts and down her back. I struggle to keep my attention on the ocean life.
While it isn't quite in season, Serena rented a boat for two hours to take us out on the water. It's stunning out here, the ocean clear enough you can see the tropical fish swimming below the surface.
"Babe, if you bend any further over the ledge you'll fall forward," I warn, placing my fingers around the strap of her tank top, surprised to feel a bathing suit underneath. Serena hasn't worn a swimsuit since the summer of last year, when she was a few months pregnant with Sebastian, too insecure about her body since his birth. Serena is not someone I've ever known to be self-conscious, between modeling for a designer catalogue and sporting a bikini two months after Celia was born, and I wish I knew how to bring her back out of her shell. I tell her she's beautiful, often, but I don't know if she believes me.
"Are we thinking of going swimming once we're closer to shore?" I stammer.
"Probably, it'd be nice to cool off," she smiles, a slight blush to her cheek. "Do you mind touching up the sunscreen on my back?" She asks, pulling the straps of her tank off to expose her shoulders. I notice she's careful to keep her stomach covered, ridiculous considering the only person here besides me is the captain, and neither of us would mind the view.
"Serena, what would you think about swimming to shore from here?" I ask. She looks at me, skeptical.
"What about all our stuff?"
" The captain said he'd be willing to drop it off at the resort," I answer, the captain giving me thumbs up to the affirmative. My fingers tease at the hem of her tank top and shorts.
"Won't you join me for a swim?" I whisper, my face a mere two inches away from hers. I unbutton her shorts and pull off her tank top, her breathing hitched as I do so. Pushing the denim to her feet, she hesitates when our hands reach her shirt.
"Serena, no one is criticizing your body except you," I tell her. Smiling at me, she throws it off then jumps in the water, splashing at me to join her. I throw myself in, eventually pulling her ankles to fully emerge us both. I hear her melodious laugh and smile. It is such a magical sound.
"When do you think we should call the kids?" Serena asks, placing a jumbo shrimp into her mouth.
"Maybe when we reach the airport," Dan shrugs, smirking.
"That's days from now!" Serena laments, and Dan laughs.
"Babe, I'm kidding, but I wouldn't worry too much about it. Of course we'll call them sometime in the next day, but I can pretty much guarantee they're fine. Your parents have it all under control, shocking as it is for me to say that."
"I know, I just always missed my mom a lot when she travelled, Eric and I would go weeks without hearing from her. I don't want my our kids to ever feel that forgotten," Serena frowned, saddened by the memory. Dan looks into his wife's eyes, eager to get his point across.
"Serena, you are nothing like your mother," he promises. "You're the most devoted, caring, fun-loving mom I know." He grabs her hand from across the table, giving it a kiss.
Perhaps because of the time of year, Dan finds himself thinking of the dreaded Thanksgiving after Juliet drugged his now-wife. Lily had made assumptions, tried to force into lockdown while Dan had broken her out, believing her in spite of the bizarre evidence. While their children were still very young, he couldn't imagine Serena ever behaving the way Lily did, and he was grateful.
"Enough about the kids," Dan transitioned. "Let's talk about ourselves and I'll start. I'm thinking of trying my hand at a crime drama for my next manuscript."
"Very Faulkner," Serena quipped. "Have you comprised a plot yet?"
"I've been trying to pin down an idea since I finished the tour, and was even going to get a head start on the plane ride, before you insisted we get drunk," Serena blushed, giggling her precious four-year-old laugh.
"I'm sorry for being such a bad influence." She winked.
"What about you? What's new in the world of SVDW?" He asked, using her maiden name.
"Well, Bass Industries wants to go public, though something tells me I'll need to attend fifty more board meetings before everyone makes up their mind. Nate wants me to write two more articles a month, a challenge I think I might be up for. Blair wants me to model part of her spring line," she lists, taking a deep breath.
"That's quite a range of activities."
"Yeah, guess I guess I should be used to it now. Feels kind of weird working for all my friends."
"Serena, you're not working for them, you're working with them. They see you as an asset, because they know you bring something new and creative to the table, and why wouldn't they? It's the same way I see you, you're my muse."
Serena reaches her hands across the table, pressing her lips to his. They kiss for a long time, not worrying about where they were or who was watching, like they did in high school. They'd always been connected, in good times and in bad, but after eight years of marriage even the best of couples are susceptible to a rut.
"Thank you so much for bringing me here," she whispers into his mouth.
"It's been my pleasure. I love you."
"I love you too." They smile at each other before kissing again.