She was annoying perky and rocking expertly applied winged eyeliner. Makeup. One of many things that had once been a daily part of my life but now felt like ancient history.
“Look at this gorgeous boy,” she cooed, lifting Vincent out of the baby swing that looked like a lunar lander. “It’s only been two days, and you’ve already grown bigger and stronger.”
She cradled him to her chest, her whole being lit up. “Go. Cleanse yourself. We’re good.”
“But.” I scanned the room, which was much cleaner than it had been only minutes ago. The washer was going, and Frankie was now pulling the vacuum out of the hall closet.
“Go,” she growled.
With a nod, I went. How could I turn down the chance to shower in peace? As I assessed myself in the mirror, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I washed my hair. A week ago, maybe?
In addition to being the most perfect baby to ever exist, my son had the unique ability to bend the space time continuum. How was it that he was already a month old? It felt like I’d only just held him for the first time.
After a luxuriously long shower—it was ten minutes, but that was twice as long as any shower I’d taken in weeks—I discovered a clean outfit laid out on my freshly made bed.
Damn, Frankie worked fast.
The moment I was dressed in the leggings, nursing tank, and denim shirt, I began to feel like an actual human being.
As I shuffled back to the bathroom, I took a second to check in on the situation in the living room. Frankie was in the kitchen now, scrubbing down the kitchen countertops, and Ruby stood in front of the couch, gently swaying with Vincent in her arms.
The sight, blessedly, caused a decent amount of my anxiety to drain away.
In the bathroom, I dried my hair and slapped on a thick layer of moisturizer and even a little mascara.
When I was finished, I found Vincent dressed in a new outfit, probably courtesy of Ruby, and a magically clean house.
“You guys are machines,” I said, taking the place in.
Frankie stretched, letting out a yawn. “I wanted to hit the baseboards too, but I’m not myself today. I was up late installing security cameras at Basil’s store.” She rolled her eyes. “He’s extra paranoid after what happened at the Maple Festival.”
She snagged the throw blanket from where it was bunched on one end of the couch and quickly folded it.
“His rivalry with Lola is a bit unhinged,” she teased, “but she’s not going to murder him over a little gouda.”
I giggled. Basil owned Curd Your Enthusiasm, an artisanal cheese shop. He took great pride in his locally sourced delicacies and had cultivated a never-ending and ruthless rivalry with Lola Prentice, who had opened her own shop, Cheddar Off Dead, across the street.
Feeling more awake than I had in I didn’t know how long, I reached for my son. “I’ll top him off before we go.”
Ruby buried her face in his neck and blew a raspberry, then handed him over. “I’ll pack the diaper bag.”
“I’ve already given the stroller a tune-up,” Frankie said. “The suspension was a bit off.”
I bit back a laugh. Damn, my friends were the best.
“Let’s move out,” Ruby said when I finished feeding Vincent. “A walk and a little sunlight will do you good. We can run errands and grab lunch, and while we’re out, you can speak to humans.”
I huffed. “I speak to you guys.”
And Jasper. Though I didn’t say it out loud. He texted constantly to check on Vincent, and every time he stopped by to visit, he tried his best to chat with me. I couldn’t deny him time with his son, but his presence unnerved me. It undercut my confidence as a mother. I should be enough for Vincent. I didn’t need help.
I buckled my little guy in his stroller, adjusted his hat so it shaded his face, and pulled the canopy over him. Then we set off.
I’d bought my house because of the proximity to town and the neighborhood’s homey feel. This kind of community was one I’d never had back in New York, and every day, I fell more in love with it.
We took our time walking around the town green, taking in the spring flowers and the festive historical signage that had recently been added. The downtown area looked like it belonged in a snow globe. The streets were lined with wide brick sidewalks and flanked by maple trees strung with twinkle lights that stayed up all year, glowing like fireflies at dusk. And the storefronts boasted sturdy brick façades and historic charm.
Every couple of minutes, someone would stop to coo at Vincent. Ned Shaw, the postman, leaned out of his truck to wave, and Stacy, the florist, had the door to the shop propped open so the scent of fresh-cut lilacs drifted into the street. Maplewood was gorgeous, but it wasn’t just the cobblestone sidewalks or the revolutionary war cannon on the town green that made the town so memorable. It was this intangible charm. This place had its own rhythm. The people here prized history but openlyembraced quirks. Gossip ran faster than the river that poured over Lover’s Leap Falls, but so did kindness and concern.
