Soon after we got together I found a new doctor for my mother. Joey was right. She did need a new one. Badly. Evidently, her old one was paid by my uncle to over-medicate her to keep her from interfering with the way he wanted to run the company. It had been happening for years. Since the girls were born. We moved into my mom’s place for a few months to be with the girls while my mom was checked into hospital so she could safely adjust her meds, losing those she doesn’t need, and finding the right dosage for the ones she does. She’s doing much better. In a way, it feels like I’m getting to know her for the first time. When I was growing up she was always out, socializing or working. She’s different now. She seems peaceful. I’m happy my sisters are getting to know this version of her.
Truthfully, I was kind of worried about how Joey would handle being around kids so much, but to my surprise he didn’t bat an eye. He never gets flustered or impatient. Not even when they try to fight to the death over something like a pair of dance leggings, or when they both speak to him, at the same time, for the entire duration of a long car trip.
I’m not sure exactly how it happened, I think it might have been a product of a nanny who was unable to pick them up from school one day, but somehow, Joey started doing the school pick-up. I still do the drop off and now he picks them up. Recently, he’s started doing some mixed martial arts training with them while they wait for their tutor to arrive to help them with their homework in the afternoons.
I asked him how it was going last week and he got a wistful look in his eyes and said, “Give me seven more years, and the pair of them will be absolutelylethal.”
He was so proud when he said it, I didn’t have the heart to point out that having two lethal teenage girls in the family might be something we come to regret.
My biggest concern at the start of our relationship was how the hell to get Lacey on our side. I knew she was going to hate Saint with the fire of a thousand suns after she’d seen what a mess I was when we were apart. Lacey is many things, but forgiving isn’t one of them. I was pretty nervous about introducing them. I put it off until she sat me down and said, “Look, Boo, I’m going to have to meet the fucker at some point. Might as well get it over with.”
It didn’t bode well.
I spent a considerable amount of time planning-slash-micromanaging their first meeting. I decided to hold it at my mom’s place. I thought it would be nice, neutral ground and I thought it would be a good idea to have the girls there to act as a buffer. I ordered a mammoth casket spray of calla lilies. I know it was over the top but honestly, it looked almost as good on the dining table as it would have looked on a coffin and it made her smile, so it was worth it.
On the day she was due to meet Saint I was in such a high temper from nerves that right before she was due to arrive, I flew down to the kitchen and gave my mom’s chef, Francois, some tips for improvements he could make to the vegan high tea I’d ordered. Long story short, chefs can be a temperamental bunch, and it turned into a whole big thing. It was a nightmare. By the time I’d extricated myself from the situation, I got out to the backyard only to find that Lacey had already arrived and had been commandeered to play baseball on the lawn with Saint and the girls. She was wearing a catcher’s mask and mitt.
It couldn’t possibly have been worse.
I felt so weak from the stress I flopped down on a patio chair and watched the spectacle from a safe vantage. At some point, Francois in his wisdom, decided to serve tea outdoors. He’d used the wrong serveware and had brought out plastic goddamn cups and plates for the girls. The eats looked good, but I could tell at a glance they were going to taste like complete shit. It was without doubt the least elegant social engagement I’ve ever thrown. There was no question about it, I was going to fire Francois on my mom’s behalf. I toyed with the idea of doing it right then and there but decided to wait until Lace left, so as not to make the event even more of a disaster.
I was wallowing deeply in my failure when I looked up and saw Lacey looking at me. She straightened herself out from her squatting position and held her mitt-clad hand out, thumb to the side. She kept still for several fraught seconds and then slowly and very deliberately turned her thumb up.
I’ll admit, I teared up then. I was so happy and filled with goodwill, I decided to let Francois off with a warning.
Recently, I was having coffee with Lace and asked her whether she thought the girls preferred Saint to me and she said, “No, no. Definitely not,” I was buoyed until she added, “but only because you’re blood.”
*
I look at the time on my phone. It’s almost one. Even though I know it’s wishful thinking, I check to see if I’ve had a message from our interior designer, Clara de Beaumont. No joy. They must still be under the gun getting the house ready for us by two.
I’m so excited I can hardly sit still.
The new house is a big deal for both of us, but especially for Joey. He’s never lived in a house that feels like a home. When my mom got out of the hospital, we moved into my apartment. He can’t stand the place. Says it’s too minimalist, if you can believe that. Says less isn’t always more. And that’s coming from a man who didn’t own curtains, or moisturizer, when I met him.
As repulsive as it is, I seem to have found myself in the most awful predicament; I will do anything to make my big oaf of a man happy. Anything. Evidently that includes the extreme measure of buying a house that meets all his criteria; near the park so he can take the girls out to play, outdoor space for cooking out, a house not an apartmentanda kitchen designed for cooking in rather than for aesthetics. On top of all that, I’ve even allowed him to have an opinion on decor.
How I’ve regretted that.
When we first bought the house, being the good boyfriend I am, I asked him what his preferred color palette was. He was quiet and thoughtful for a while and then left the room and came back holding his stack of hideous cargo pants.
“I like these colors,” he said earnestly.
I nearly passed out.
Chapter 36
Saint
“Isitready?Isit stunning?” Damon’s pale eyes flash with excitement.
In truth I’m a little excited too. Okay, fine, I’m a lot excited. I might be the most excited I can ever remember being. The house looks amazing. It’s unbelievable what Damon and Clara have achieved. He’s listened to everything I asked for and even though it’s nearly killed him, the man has delivered.
We do a walk-through of the ground floor with Clara. The living room is spacious but has a lived-in feel. That’s important to me, though I know it’s caused Damon some consternation. I want to be able to eat pizza on the sofa and then put my feet up and watch TV. I don’t want to feel like I’m living in the Museum of Modern Art. The sofas are over-sized and luxurious, but it’s the sort of room the girls could comfortably have a playdate in. The rest of the furniture is a mix of old and new, modern pieces with antiques dotted here and there. I don’t really get the art on the wall, but it was very important to Damon. It cost more than the average Manhattan apartment. It’s enormous and mainly black. It's supposed togroundthe room. I can’t tell if it’s meant to be an onion or the profile of a woman’s face. I’ve been categorically informed that it’s neither.
“Good flow,” says Damon.
“Mm,excellentflow,” says Clara.
