Thank you everyone for your patience! I've been updating my Darker story, so that's the reason for the delay on this. I've had a request for a surprise triplet from a wonderful reader. Any thoughts? And, as always, I so appreciate your devotion to my stories! More of this and Darker soon! xox
"Who the heck is William Whipple?" I ask Tilly, as Ana and I stand in the lobby at the school waiting for the kids to finish with all eighteen verses of the Teddy Bears Picnic in the caddy corner classroom. Right now, as we talk to the real beast of the wild, I'm identifying with the line from the song about it being safer to stay at home. It's times like these I wish Taylor carried tranquilizer darts. Wait, maybe he does...
"The role you'll be playing in the Fourth of July show, Mr. Grey," Tilly says.
"I thought I was playing a major character."
Tilly steps back like I've offended her on some level, which delights me greatly.
"William Whipple Jr. was one of our country's most patriotic citizens," Tilly says, chest puffed and resembling a mountain mid avalanche, as she hands me a script she's had tucked under her armpit. I cringe as I take it. I would refuse, as I don't know quite what's transpired—or rather perspired—in that land down under, but I promised Ana I'd be nice. And when your nearly due with twins and hot as all hell wife tells you to do something, you do it, or you won't get that ass later.
"What's this?" I ask, looking down at the script. She may as well have handed me a brick. This thing rivals War and Peace.
"Everyone's heard of Hamilton," Tilly says and looks out, her hands framed in the air as if she's seeing a vision through them. "Well, this is Whipple."
Oh my god.
"You mean like the Broadway musical?" Ana asks.
"Even better!" Tilly says. "There is so much more to Whipple than anyone ever knew."
"That's because no one knows anything about him at all," I say and Ana looks up at me like I better shut it. Oh right, like she's heard of him. But, then I remember that ass...
"In addition to being a visionary, a true leader, and a revolutionary voice in the perilous times of our budding nation," Tilly says. "He signed the Declaration of Independence."
"He did?" I ask.
"Yes, he most certainly did." She's so adamant about all this, it's like she's enlisting members for a cultish offshoot of The Daughters of the American Revolution, and I'm the sacrificial prodigal son. "And he just so happens to be my family."
Oh, good lord.
"Really?" Ana asks. "That's fascinating."
"Yeah, a real mind bender," I mutter and Ana gives me a swift, though concealed nudge to the ribs. God, her breasts jiggle so beautifully when she does that, cupped perfectly in her lacy scoop-necked bolder holder. I almost want to piss her off so she'll do it again. And I realize it's a fine line I'm walking for ass later and jiggle now.
"How are you related?" Ana asks. Oh, Tilly's probably making this shit up. But seriously, who brags about sharing blood with the fiftieth person to sign the thing? Sure, you don't shoot for unbelievable levels like Thomas Jefferson or Ben Franklin, but at least if you're going to shove patriotic moonbeams up our asses, tell us you're the shirttail relative of John Hancock or something.
"He was my mother's father's brother's father's father's father's great uncle's second cousin twice removed," she says.
"So, wait a minute...if your mother had been a boy, you'd be named Tilly Whipple?" I ask, and Ana nudges my ribs again. I give her a look—what? It's a serious question. Then, I look down to enjoy the jiggle. And with the size of her tits these days we've got fault line level aftershocks.
"Yes," Tilly says, as if lamenting what could have been.
"Forgive me for not being a steward of American revolutionary wartime history," I say. "But, the whole Fourth of July production is about this guy? What exactly did he do that deserves an entire musical?"
"You have to read! It's so juicy," she says in a low and guttural tone, and I envision this is what she whispers to a pork shoulder before taking it down. "You know, I majored in musical theatre in college."
"You wrote this thing yourself?" I ask and she nods. Oh right, I should've recognized the smudged chocolate thumbprint over the title. Like Prince, the symbol is enough to identify. "I thought you majored in education." I knew this hippie school was a sham.
"Double major," she says. "Everyone thought I should go to Broadway, but my mother had angina." She shrugs. "I also acted. I played Miss Hannigan in Annie at the Tacoma Community Playhouse two seasons running."
"Imagine that," I mutter.
"Well, I can't wait to read it," Ana says, giving her a smile. Why is Ana so nice to this she-wolf in Big Foot's clothing? Sure, she teaches our kids, but she practically tries to hump my leg every time she sees me. Speaking of which...
"Let me take a wild guess," I say. "Whipple has a wife."
"Catherine Moffatt Whipple," Tilly says, beaming. "That's my middle name."
"Catherine?" Ana asks.
"Moffatt," she says. This just gets better and better.
"Let me take another even wilder guess," I say. "You'll be playing her."
"They had a love story for the ages," she says, and I think she attempted a wink my way, but her spider lashes got hooked on each other and now she's picking her eye. Probably something like that occurs every time she crosses her legs, as well.
"What about the Tidwilers?" I ask. "Why are they hosting this thing? Shouldn't we have it here at the school?"
"They have a lovely property and they do up the Fourth every year. It's really their holiday."
"What do you mean their holiday? Every holiday is my holiday!"
All of a sudden the teddy bears song stops and there's a collective eww coming from the classroom.
The janitor waves and whistles Tilly down. "Clean up on aisle Pugh!"
"Excuse me," Tilly says. "We'll talk later. I think Arthur Pugh wet his overalls again." She takes off frantically.
"Ana, this is insane," I say, holding the script up. "Look at this thing. This isn't a script, this is a semester at college. Clown college, but still."
"Maybe it's interesting."
"Tilly wrote it. It's not interesting. It's bullshit. She has no credible relatives and certainly no one in history that did anything."
"Christian, calm down—"
"And what about Tidwiler? I don't like the idea of you almost due and frolicking around a foreign land."
"Foreign land? You mean someone else's house?"
"What if you get lost going to the bathroom, suddenly go into labor, and then you can't find your way back out to us. There's no way in hell my sons will be born in another man's loo. "
"That hardly seems possible, as you have a team of security follow me even to my own bathroom."
The teddy bears start up again, so I guess Arthur got cleaned up.
"Grey!" a man calls out to me from down the hall and I immediately step in front of Ana, fearing attack. Oh, for fuck's sake, it's just Teddy's best friend Fritzy's father, Haskell Fritzwater. He thinks because our kids are friends we should be. What an idiot. Little Fritzy's full name is Harold Haskell Fritzwater—I know from his dossier—and they shortened it to that ridiculous moniker. There's always been something weird about this father Fritz, aside from his weirdness. Welch looked into deep corners with him, but found nothing but high cholesterol and Internet girlfriends. But still, a man who wears orange sneakers and a painter's hat on a daily basis needs to be watched with a close eye.
"Haskell," I nod, putting my arm securely around Ana to encourage him to back the fuck off and also so he won't shake my hand.
"Hey Ana," he leans in to greet her, not getting the hint as he holds his paw out for a shake.
"She's pregnant. Germs," I say, swatting him away. He backs off, playfully holding his hands up in surrender. I swear if his eyes go to her tits, my foot goes to his nuts. "Did you hear the good news?"
"You got a new job, you're moving to another state and we'll be pressed to see you again?"
He laughs like I'm joking. He always thinks I am.
"No, I'm Benjamin Franklin!" He pulls out these little wire glasses from his front shirt pocket and puts them on.
Oh god, I was right about the shoes and hat. He's completely lost it.
"Excuse me?" I ask.
"In the show!" he says.
Oh. Oh!
"You're Benjamin Franklin?!"
"Yeah, and I heard Elliot got the big TJ!" If you would've told me that less than a decade ago I'd say I wasn't surprised, hand my brother a package of condoms and refer him to the clinic for antibiotics. "Thomas Jefferson, that is!"
"Elliot's playing Thomas Jefferson?" I'm fuming.
"Christian, you have the lead, remember," Ana says.
"I'm playing Whipple. That's not a lead, that's a toilet paper salesman."
"The dads are getting together at Tidwiler's to build the big set if you want to lend your muscle," Haskell says.
"What's the big set?" I ask
"You know. The big boat," Haskell says.
"A big boat for what?"
"To throw all the tea off of."
"They're building an actual boat at the Tidwilers?"
"Yeah. It's gonna be much better than the paper one we always use. We won't have to squat the whole time so our faces line up with the portholes right."
"Well, I didn't ever have to worry about that, because I was always the one sailing the ship!" I say and Ana brushes my arm in an attempt to calm me down. Not working.
"They also have a big stage area and a place to set off the fireworks out in the yard," Haskell says.
"Tidwiler actually shoots professional fireworks off his lawn?" I ask.
"Last year was unreal!" Haskell says, laughing. "Why weren't you there?"
"I didn't want to be," I say.
"We were in Georgia, with my mom," Ana says, in an attempt to cover my perceived rudeness.
"It was off the hook. Never saw anything like it in my life." Which isn't saying much. "He says this year is going to be even better!"
"I can hardly wait," I grumble.
The bell rings and the teddy bears picnic ends abruptly. And as a sea of kids pours out of the classroom, I'm left with an ill feeling in my gut about a makeshift ship, a nearly due wife and explosives in another man's yard.
#######
"Taylor, what do you know about William Whipple?" I ask after Ana and the kids are secured in the back of the SUV.
"I'm not sure. Is he a new father at the school, sir?"
"No, he's some revolutionary war figure in the show we're doing at Bo Tidwiler's place." Taylor gives me an odd look. "For the school, Taylor." Jesus, it's not like he hasn't seen me do enough of these things.
"Oh yes, I think Gail said I was playing a tree again."
"A tree?"
"The cherry tree, sir. The one Washington chops down."
"What the hell? They have talking trees in this thing?"
"I don't think I talk, Mr. Grey. I think I'm just playing a tree, realistically." He was quite good in the Thanksgiving show. Playing wooden really is his specialty.
"Wonderful, now find out about Whipple!" I say. "Oh, and get Welch to run a background check."
"On Whipple?"
"On Tidwiler!"
"We have in the past, sir."
"I mean more in depth! I want to know everything about this idiot. What he eats for breakfast, how he ties his shoes, what times he takes a shit... I want a map of his home with bathrooms clearly marked. And most importantly I want to know how this guy celebrates the Fourth of July."
"Okay, sir." Why is he looking at me like I'm the reason for the holes in Swiss cheese?
"Oh, and Taylor..."
"Yes, Mr. Grey?"
"Could you and Gail watch the children later? I've got something special planned for me and Mrs. Grey tonight. And tell Gail to double up on towels in the master bath." Scrub a dub dub, indeed.
He nods and that ass is on my mind all the way to Ana's doctor's appointment.
#######
"Daddy, which dwarf is your mostest favorite?" Phoebe asks me as she sits on my lap—repeatedly kicking her heels into my shins as she swings them back and forth— in the cramped waiting room of Dr. Greene's office. Ana thought it would be an educational experience for the kids to see the babies on the ultrasound. And, I thought it sounded like a good idea at the time, but after forty-seven minutes of the same infomercial for birth control—ironically the one Ana took—playing on a loop, a Muzak version of the Titanic soundtrack blaring out a speaker just northeast of my head and so many games of eye spy I can't see anything anymore, I'm thinking that it wasn't.
"Which dwarf?" I ask and Phoebe nods—and kicks.
"Snow White and her seven little mens," she says. I think I saw a porno with that title once.
"Well," I say. "I have to think about that." Which dwarf... Happy is nice, though his perpetually jovial nature says he's simple minded, hiding something, or high on drugs. No, that's Dopey. That guy is a disgrace. Always laughing mindlessly, eyes rolling around, slopping all over creation and falling out of his clothes. He reminds me of Elliot—or Kavanagh. They really are one in the same. Then there's Bashful, with his fluttering lashes, and his blushing cheeks, and the way he dips his eyes. I can't even watch him; he reminds me of Issac, that submissive of Elena's.
"I like Sneezy!" Teddy says from the floor as he crashes flying dinosaurs into unwitting cars on a highway made of lined up women's magazines. Some indeterminable Kardashian has tire tracks and brontosaurus ass skid marks all across her face.
"Why do you like Sneezy?" I ask.
"'Cause he's always got a reason to not go to school."
"You had a chance to not go to school this summer, and you begged me to sign you up for that camp."
"That's 'cause I didn't got to go. If I had to go I wouldn't want to go no more." Crash. Explode. Another Ferrari bites the dust. "Plus, all we do is eat snacks and fart around and sing funny songs." Great, that's what my $10,000 a kid went for.
"Grumpy is my favoritest," Phoebe says.
"Why do you like Grumpy?" I ask.
"'Cause he's like you, Daddy."
Ana giggles next to us as she reads a magazine article about Martha Stewart's favorite way to fold sheets. Why is Ana reading that housework shit? We have a staff for that! I swear, if I catch her folding sheets we're going to have a real problem.
"You think I'm grumpy?" I ask Phoebe.
"Yeah," she giggles, just like her mother, and then turns herself around in my lap—kneeing me in the balls and gut while doing so—and uses her fingers to manually turn my frown upside down. "'Cause, Grumpy just likes to make like he's got a rain cloud mood, but when Snow White kisses his cheek everybody sees he's really all made of mush like you are with Mommy."
"You think I'm all made of mush, do you?"
Phoebe nods and I look to Ana who smiles up at me. I'm lost for a moment in her blue, blue eyes. Phoebe's right, I am a mush-made man.
"I like Doc," I say. "He was motivated to leave the mine and get a good education."
"But, he's still in the mine," Teddy says. Damn, he's right. Odd. Why didn't Doc leave the mine?
"Yeah," Phoebe says. "And why can't Doc make Sneezy all well if he's a doctor?" Geez, these really are deep questions.
"Because he'd have to change his name if he got better and it's already carved into his bed," Teddy says. What a terrible story, having a character only identified by his medical condition, emotional state or questionable profession. That's like if I went around and called Elliot "Man Whore", or Kavanagh "Snarktress", or the photographer "the photographer" all the time.
"Yay, I know! Doc Happy!" Phoebe calls out, throwing her arms in the air in victory.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"My brother's name! My one could be Doc Happy."
Oh no, the names.
"You have to save your choices for the family meeting, remember," Ana says. Good save. Hopefully Phoebe will forget it by then. Doc Happy sounds like a medical marijuana vendor.
"How long do we gotta wait out here?" Teddy asks, obviously tired of his reptilian overthrow of the highway paved with reality stars. "It's so hot and it smells like all of the feet in the world came here for a Stink Scouts meeting." Whatever that is. It actually sounds like something he'd want to join.
"Yeah, I feel like I waited all of my life already," Phoebe says.
"Yours and mine both," I say.
"Oooh," Ana grunts and clutches her stomach.
"What is it, baby?" I take her other hand. "What's wrong?"
"Braxton Hicks," she says.
"Ana, you can't be sure about that," I say.
"Yes, I am. It's okay."
"No, it's not okay." I set Phoebe down to standing and get up.
"Christian, don't make a scene," Ana whispers.
"When do I ever make a scene?" I ask, already making a scene, as all the women are staring at me. Why aren't any other men ever at the OBGYN? Ana gives me a warning look, but before she can say anymore, I rush forward to speak with the wicked gate keeper up front—Nurse Doreen.
"My boyfriend and I have been together for like three months, so we're super serious..." some college-aged girl—whose father should be alerted to all of this so he can call the convent—stands in front of me asking Doreen about that birth control infomercial. "Are there any side effects?"
"My wife and I were super serious at three months with it. You want to see a side effect." I nod back to Ana as the kids run in a circle around her. The girl takes one look and practically bolts for the door.
"Yes?" Nurse Doreen says, all pissy, as she looks up at me from her seat of dictatorial authority. I'd say I saw stars when I saw her, but that's just because I was blinded by that frosted shadow she's wearing that makes her eyes look like the Big Dipper shit on them.
"We have been waiting—" I say.
"As you can see, so have the rest of the patients."
"As you can see, you have a new wing to this office thanks to me and my wife and our endless little dividends."
The little dividends are now chucking dinosaurs at each other and coming up with new words for fart. Booty Tootie Air Doodie is my personal favorite.
"She's next, Mr. Grey," she says, flippantly, going back to putting stickers on her files. What do all those colored stripes mean? It's pissed me off for years now. Numbers and letters, pink and blue and neon yellow. Probably code to the other nurses of who to fuck over the most on the next appointment. There's probably a special color for me. I scan for gray.
"You said that twenty-three minutes ago."
"Dr. Greene had an unforeseen situation to handle." Yeah, more like she worked five minutes and it was time for her to chug an iced latte and count her money.
"My wife is having contractions," I whisper, so Ana won't hear and try and stop me.
"Really?" She scrunches her nose. "You didn't notify us of this before."
"That's because they just started."
"How far apart?"
"Close enough."
"Did you hit your head?"
"What?" I'm pretty pissed she's insulting my intelligence and sanity, until she points to my Little Mermaid bandage on my forehead. Oh fuck, Sebastian is still up there from this morning. When and where did Disney characters overtake my life? "Yeah, I fell into a door."
"A door?"
"Forget my injury! My wife needs to see the doctor! Where is she?"
"I told you, she had a meeting."
"I thought you said she had a situation?"
"What's the difference?"
"Situation and meeting are two completely different things. A situation arises, a meeting is planned." Except when my situation arises and I show up at Ana's office for midday sex and call for a meeting.
"Mr. Grey—"
"My wife is having twins and now she's experiencing contractions. If you don't want them birthed on your heirloom seventies shag carpet out here, I'd suggest you'd get the doctor immediately!"
"Mr. Grey, if you're crying wolf—"
I lean in. "I don't have to cry wolf, I am the wolf."
"I'll get Dr. Greene," she says, and she looks fearful of me now, but more due to the fact I may be mentally unhinged, rather than powerfully intimidating. I don't care. Whatever gets the job done for my family.
"My mommy is having two brothers, and I was so sad for no girls, but Daddy promised to do all the work he could to make Mommy have a baby sister fast," Phoebe says to an elderly woman she just walked up to on the other side of the room to have this conversation with.
"Phoebe!" I lift her up. "Excuse us," I say to the woman and she looks at me and gives me a wink and a nod. Oh god. That was weird. Was she flirting, or encouraging me to fuck my wife? I whisk Phoebe away before it gets even weirder.
"How do you make Mommy have my baby sister fast, Daddy?" Phoebe asks.
"I put a special call in to the golden fairy and arrange it with the stork to pluck a girl cabbage out of the patch."
"I knew it!" she says.
"What were you whispering about over there all that time?" Ana asks with a raised brow when we return to her.
"They needed our updated insurance information." Oh right, Grey. Like she believes you were arguing over co-pays.
Thankfully, before I have to answer Ana's suspicious squint, that old dowager nurse opens the door and squawks out, "Grey." Hell, it's like Igor just called Frankenstein home for supper.
The kids squeal and run ahead, and I move to help Ana up from her seat.
"Okay baby, take my hands." She grabs them and I get in position. Claude and I have tried to perfect this move in my training sessions, though lifting Ana is far different than sandbags. "Okay, feet flat on the floor and I'm going to pull. You don't have to do a thing."
On three, I pull, but nothing.
"Okay, do a little something." Another count of three and this time I pull with all my might and she flies at me. With sheer will and Claude honed muscle I'm able to steady her before I misstep and crash back into the door.
"Twice in one day, Mr. Grey?" Doreen asks, shaking her head at me. What the hell? Oh right, the door. "I'm sure pediatrics can get you a matching bandage."
"Christian, are you okay?" Ana asks.
"I'm fine." I work myself upright and take Ana's hand, ushering her past Doreen and into the hallway. And though my head is okay, I think I need another Sebastian bandage for my tailbone.
"Mrs. Grey," Dr. Greene says, rushing up to us in the hallway. "You're having contractions?"
"No, they're just Braxton Hicks, I'm sure." Ana says and then in unison she and Dr. Greene give me a look.
"They're still contractions!" I say.
"Dr. Greene shakes her head. "Let's get you in exam room two, Mrs. Grey."
#######
"I remember when you were first in your Mommy's tummy," Dr. Greene says, shaking Teddy's hand, as we stand in the exam room. Ana's already propped and lying on the table. As I hold her hand, I can't help but think about those days, too. Our first baby. I'm so proud of him, the way he holds himself and how polite he is. How happy he gets when he talks about science and bugs and baseball. He's fearless and good, and that's a combination that can really do things in this world. I'd say he reminds me of myself at that age, but he doesn't. He's him, and that's so much better than me.
"I bet I was super small," Teddy says.
"Just a little blip," I say and squeeze Ana's hand. She smiles up at me, a tear falling from the corner of her eye that I wipe with the pad of my thumb and then bring to my lips to kiss.
"And you," Dr. Greene says as she looks down to Phoebe, who's donning her pink diamond tiara, a pretty floral summer dress with a light cream sweater, and the dirtiest green galoshes. I asked her this morning why she was wearing them and she said she had to walk through the mud and puddles at recess on a search-and-rescue mission to make sure no ladybugs or butterflies were drowning from the morning's storm, and that she didn't want to get her red bottomed sandals all "dirted up." My sweet princess.
"I remember telling your father he was having a little girl," Dr. Greene says. Phoebe giggles and I smile. I remember, too...
"Ana, I don't know if I'll be any good at this," I said, pacing the floor of our bedroom the night we got the news. I had also paced the floors of my study for hours earlier that evening looking at the ultrasound picture as I pretended to work late. I studied her face and her hands. Her little fist was tiny, clenched up into the tightest ball beneath her chin, and she looked like she was smiling. As if she was determined to come out and take on the world and have the best time doing it. I knew I was in trouble.
"You're a wonderful father to Teddy," Ana said, curled up so cute and sweet in our bed and running her hand along her swollen belly as she read a book on nursing—the baby feeding methodology, not the profession.
"Yes, but he's a boy. I know boys. I may have been completely fucked up as a kid, but I still know how to throw a ball and race cars. I don't know anything about girls." I sighed. As much as I loved Mia, I never played Barbies.
"How do you know she won't want to play ball and race cars?"
"You know what I mean." I sat down on the bed and picked at the lint on my pajama pants. "I don't know the first thing about dolls and dresses and ballet recitals."
"Christian, it'll be fine."
"How do you know?"
"Because I always have before." She leaned over and brushed the side of my head with her fingers. "And I especially do now."
"She'll be so fragile... what if I can't protect her?"
"Judging by her kicks, I think she'll do pretty good at protecting herself." She smiles. "Plus, I'm pretty sure you're already getting a security team together." Already done.
"Ana," I turned to face her to ask the real question rooted in my heart and weighing on me. "How could a man like me possibly be any good for a little girl?"
"Because he's the same man who's good for me and good for his son, and who didn't think any of that was possible before."
I smiled, because it was true. Before Ana...
"I'm going to make a prediction about our daughter," Ana said as she wrapped her arms around my neck and rested her chin on my shoulder. "By the first second you hold her she'll be wrapped around your little finger and she'll lead the way from then on."
"A girl giving me orders?" I raise a brow and smile when she nods. "Well, I know one thing for sure. I'll leave it to you to play all that princess stuff."
"Daddy, lift me so I could see my brothers," Phoebe orders me, stealing me from memory. I let go of Ana's hand and pull her into my lap as we settle on a stool. Her tiara is crooked, so I straighten the sparkling pink crown and then kiss her hair. And as I hold her now all I can think about was the first second I held her then and how right Ana was. And also, how damn good I am at all the princess stuff.
"Now, do you want to see your brothers?" Dr. Greene asks and the kids cheer like they're about to see the Beatles on Sullivan.
"Do we get popcorn?" Teddy asks.
"I want strawberry jellybeans and Lem-a-Lem's!" Phoebe says. Her name for M&M's. When she asked for them the first time, I thought she meant Lemonheads. Boy, did I get the talking to.
"No, it's not a movie," I say.
"How do you take pictures of them when they're in Mommy?" Teddy asks Dr. Greene as I take hold of Ana's hand again, playing with her new ring. Eight carats feels good on her finger, though not as good as ten would...
"Well, I have this little wand," Dr. Greene says. "And it can magically see beneath all the muscle and skin."
"Is it like Ghostbuster's stuff?" he asks. Elliott's been watching movies with him again and he's been singing the song all week. If he asks me one more time who I'm gonna call, I'm telling him the quiet time police.
"Sort of," Dr. Greene says. She's so personable and friendly with the kids today. If I could stand her I may actually like her.
"Eww," Phoebe says as Dr. Greene squirts the jelly stuff on Ana's stomach.
"Cool!" Teddy says. "It's like the slime!"
The screen pops on as Dr. Greene moves her wand and the babies suddenly appear. My sons—our sons—moving around in their mother. They have no idea yet, or maybe they really do, that they have the best mother on earth.
"They are aliens!" Teddy says and Phoebe shrieks. "Those are like the hoses that are hooked up to their planet's food."
"They're not aliens, they're your brothers," I say. "And although your mother is out of this world, she's not a planet." I look down to a smiling Ana and wink.
"Those are umbilical chords connecting them to your mother's source of nutrients for them," Dr. Greene says.
"Eww, they eat through their bellies?" Phoebe asks.
"Yeah, that's where you get your belly button from, Fritzy said," Teddy says and lifts up his shirt and sticks out his own belly for demonstration. "It's where your teeth used to be before the doctor zapped them and put them on your face." He clamps down on his belly button repeatedly like it was a chomping jaw.
"That's what Fritzy said, huh?" I ask and he nods. Typical. Haskell probably told him that shit.
"He's waving at me!" Phoebe says, pointing to a hand that one of the babies is holding up.
"I think you're right," Ana says. "Let's wave back." And we all do. Somehow this feels like clapping in your living room at the end of a TV show and expecting the actors to take a bow.
"Do they get hot in there?" Teddy asks.
"No, the amniotic fluid keeps everything comfortable for them," Dr. Greene says.
"What's that?" he asks.
"It's sort of like the water they float around in," I say, for lack of a better small child explanation.
"How do they breath in water?" Phoebe asks.
"They don't breathe like we do until they're born," Dr. Greene says.
"You mean my brothers is fish until they come out into the air?" Phoebe asks.
"Cool!" Teddy says. "Was I a fish, too?"
"I didn't think fish had teeth," Phoebe says. "And I never saw one who would eat with its belly."
"They're not fish!" I say. "It's just how babies grow in there."
"Well, I'd say these are two good looking boys," Dr. Greene says. "Are you kids excited about having new baby brothers soon?"
"Yeah, I already made them sparkle headbands," Phoebe says. "Chester's got one, too."
"Well, I'll get you two pictures of your brothers," Dr. Greene says. "I heard you talking about candy before. Why don't you both go run ahead and get suckers from Nurse Doreen up front while I talk to your mom and dad about something important." They squeal and take off, racing each other out the door.
"What's wrong?" I ask, standing. "Why do you need to speak to us alone?" Ana squeezes my hand.
"Well, I didn't think you'd want this talked about in front of the children?" Dr. Greene says. "With the positioning of the babies now..."
"Oh my god," Ana says, and I hold tight to her hand.
"And especially with twins, you know I want them in there as long as possible," she says. "So..." She looks at me.
"Just tell us!" I try and brace us both for the worst.
"No more sex."
"What?" I ask.
"With multiples I would not advise it at this point in the pregnancy."
"We're not into multiples, we're completely monogamous," I say.
"Multiple babies, Mr. Grey." She tries to hide it, but I saw her roll her eyes. "It's a sound precaution. I wouldn't recommend sex again until at least six weeks postpartum..." she explains further, but her words slow and echo like one of the adult voices on The Peanuts' cartoons.
Thud. That's the sound of my dick crashing to the floor. It takes me a moment to catch my breath. No more hot pregnancy fucks... no more of that ass... my special bath time lovemaking tonight with Ana has to be canceled. Is Dr. Greene doing this on purpose to piss me off? Of course she is! She hates me. All sorts of crazy thoughts stab through my brain. But, as soon as I gather myself and find my resolve, knowing its what's best for Ana and the babies, I proverbially pick my dick up again, dust it off and mournfully put it away for a long summer in a cold dark closet. That's when I hear my wife's voice shriek.
"What do you mean we can't have sex?!"
#######
"Maybe Dr. Greene was overreacting," Ana says as I tuck her into bed. Hell, I practically had to drag her out of that office kicking and screaming after the news. I actually heard my wife utter the words "is anal okay?" to Dr. Greene. It's like a sex crazed mad woman possessed her. It was so fucking hot. "We've always had sex before right up to the end. Maybe we could have just have a little sex..."
"No, Mrs. Grey," I say, making sure the covers go up to her neck so I'm not tempted by her breasts. And they were glorious tonight. I'm not sure if it was because they were the forbidden fruit or just because they are the hottest thing I've seen, but all through dinner all I was hungry for was melon milk. "We're not putting you or our babies at risk." I kiss her chastely on the nose.
No, of course not," she says. "I'll just miss you." She takes my hand and looks at me like I'm leaving for war.
"I'm still here."
"I know, but I'll miss you," she says. And by that you, I know she means him.
"Well, I will miss you, too. But, just think of what we have to look forward to, Mrs. Grey..." Next season. I'll be raking leaves by the time I get into her panties again. Or at least Taylor will. The leaves, not the panties! "And I promise I'll make it well worth the wait." I kiss her again and before I get either of us revved up, I stand to leave.
"Where are you going?" she asks.
"I've got a few things to take care of in my office and you need your rest."
"Well, at least she said I'll be fine to watch the Fourth of July show."
"I'm not so sure, Ana."
"Oh Christian, the kids are looking so forward to it."
"I know, but... Let's talk about this in the morning." I switch off the light. "Sleep, now."
"I love you, Mr. Grey," she murmurs and by the sound of her breath I know in seconds she's nodded off.
"And I love you, Mrs. Grey." I stand there for a few moments longer, just watching her like I did that first night and thousands since.
This is more.
#######
"William Whipple signed the Declaration of Independence," Welch says as I talk to him on the phone in my home office.
"Well, I fucking know that. That's all I do know about the man," I say. "What else did he do?"
"Mostly legislative shit," he says. "They loved him in New Hampshire. He was a general and involved in battles and yada yada. Good stuff, but nothing interesting enough to make a musical out of. You can visit his house. It's really his wife's house, but he planted some patriotic tree there you can take selfies with for a price."
"I'll schedule a tour."
"Oh yeah, and he's the cousin of Stephen Hopkins."
"Who's that?"
"Another guy that signed the thing."
"You mean Tilly is related to two signers?" Why didn't she mention him? Why is he less important than Whipple? How does Tilly have so much B-level Americana running through her blood?
"Who knows. Maybe they inbred." Oh, that's true...
"What else?"
He pauses a moment. "Nothing, really."
"No, tell me. Don't hold anything back."
"No, I mean there's nothing. Really." He laughs. "Oh, wait, he fainted off his horse and died. His heart."
"Where'd you find this shit out?"
"Wikipedia."
"That's how you researched him? I could've done that!"
"What was I supposed to do? I can't hunt down his DMV and cell phone records. Or take photos of him coming out of strip clubs."
Speaking of which...
"What about Tidwiler?" I ask.
"Oh yes, you'll want to hear this."
"Spill it."
"Party last year got so out of hand the cops came."
"What?"
"Yep. Alcohol, marijuana, hot tub threesomes."
"With the kids there?!"
"No, this was after hours. After, after hours."
"Got it. What happened?"
"Tidwiler is a friend of the Sheriff, so they got off with a warning about the music. It was just noise ordinance shit. Oh, and a count of public intoxication."
"On private property?"
"Haskell Fritzwater was drunk on their private front lawn, but then he fell into the street. That made it public." I knew Haskell was bad news.
"What about the fireworks? Did they have a permit?"
"No."
"Well, isn't that worse than loud music?"
"They didn't need a permit. It's legal where he is."
"What? Are you kidding me? A professional fireworks display on personal property doesn't need a permit?"
"Professional?" He laughs like the jackass helium balloon sucker he is. "I guess if you consider buying "the big box" from a stand professional."
"You mean he just got it from a regular stand?"
"That's what I said."
Taylor walks in.
"We'll talk later, Welch. Stay awake!" I hang up. "Taylor?"
"Sir."
"What is it?" I look down and see his biceps flexing from carrying that damn script. I'm surprised Tilly didn't get into better shape just writing the thing. She should sell it on an infomercial as an exercise system.
"I was just looking over my lines, sir..." he looks at me, worried and perplexed. He's wearing satin pajama bottoms and a muscle tee late night in my office. This worries and perplexes me.
"I thought you didn't have any lines," I say.
"That was confirmed, sir. No lines. Although, I make swoosh, crack and topple sounds when the the tree falls down after the big chopping." He grimaces. Why does it look like he's going to take a labored shit on my carpet?
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"You're the one who chops me down, sir." He grimaces.
"So? What, are you offended by this? I won't hurt you."
"No, sir. It would be fine... if you were George Washington."
"What are you saying?" I grab the script from his hands and thumb through it. The opening is the cherry tree chopping incident, so I read. "Oh my god."
"Yes, sir."
I read page after page. From I cannot tell a lie, to the crossing of the Delaware, to the throwing of tea off the ship in Boston harbor. Every major act of American revolutionary history Whipple was responsible for. There's even a veiled reference to The Gettysburg Address thrown in, which is completely bonkers.
"This is bullshit," I say. "Whipple never did any of this!"
"I know, Mr. Grey."
Then I get to the love story... you'd think this was Romeo and Juliet from the way it's played out. Either that or a late night Showtime hour.
"There's a kissing scene!" I say, throwing a hand over my mouth to prevent any projectile vomit from escaping.
"Read page 253, sir." He cringes.
"Oh my god!" I nearly cover my own eyes in response to the thing. "I'm not having my children learn this crap..." I read further. "Or see this crap!" Lying Tilly down amorously on a pile of hay in the family barn while professing love is something no one should have to imagine.
"What do you propose we do, sir?"
"There's no way we're doing any of this at the Tidwiler's!" I pace. I want to call the whole thing off, but Ana and the kids are so looking forward to the show. I have to keep Ana safe... "Wait! They want a boat? I got a boat."
"Do you want me to build a boat, sir?"
"I already have a boat! A real one!"
"You want to have to on your yacht, sir?"
"Yes," I say. "And not only that, I want real fireworks. Ones that require a permit. The biggest display this city's ever seen!" Tidwiler thinks he's the fireworks king, well he's got a sad day coming.
"Yes, but what do we do about the play?"
"Get your typing fingers ready, Taylor. Because, we're going to put on a show no one will ever forget."