Mr & Mrs Page 12

  “Because we wanted to watch you run,” Louise says.

  “That’s not why,” Mathilda says, shooting her sister a look that says, Shut up, because she knows I’m about to bail out on the whole stupid plan. “It’s because we have to smear mud all over our bodies so they can’t smell us when we leave the food. And we didn’t think you’d want to take a mud bath. So plan A had to come first.”

  I think about this. I’m not very excited about smearing mud all over my body, that’s for sure. So yeah, I probably would’ve said no before I realized these pigs are more like an LA street gang than some harmless tropical oddities this part of the Bahamas is famous for.

  “Come on, Nolan,” Louise says, doing that pouty thing.

  “Yeah,” Mathilda says. “We’re gonna help you. We promise.”

  I look up at the sun. It’s gotta be noon already. “I just want to spend some time with my wife. And learn how to be a better dad to a girl, that’s all.”

  “I know exactly how you can do that,” Mathilda says.

  “How?”

  “You gotta get us that pig first,” Louise adds. “Then… we help you.”

  I sigh. Because I just really want to make this day special for Ivy and I’ve got no ideas on how to do that. So fuck it. “What do we feed the pigs?”

  They both clap their hands and jump up and down. “Fruit!” Louise says.

  “Yeah, we just go pick bananas and mangos and put them in a pile. They’ll come running. They always do.”

  “But first we roll in the mud,” Louise says, but she’s got a little glint in her eye that makes me suspicious. “And then we feed them the fruit and steal the baby pig. Just like that.”

  “They won’t let the little pig eat,” Mathilda says. “So they’ll leave it alone and you can go in and get it.”

  “We’ll watch your back,” Louise chirps. “And we’ll have rocks to throw to distract them this time if they go after you.”

  “Fine.” I sigh. “But I’m spending one hour on this and that’s it. One. Then I’m gone. I can’t waste this day. I just want to spend some time with my wife.”

  “Deal,” they both say, spitting on their hands and holding them out for me to shake.

  Jesus. I spit on mine and shake them. Five’s girls are not the little princesses I imagined them to be.

  Then we go trekking through the jungle looking for fruit.

  I try not to look at the sun, knowing that more than an hour has already passed by the time we collect enough fruit to feed a gang of pigs, but I can’t help it. My perfect day is wasting away.

  “OK,” Mathilda says, leading me up to the mud puddle. “This is where the pigs roll. So all we gotta do is roll in the mud until we’re covered, then sit in the sun for a minute to let it dry, and then we’ll go get that baby pig.”

  I give up. There’s just no fighting these girls. They want that stupid pig and they’re not letting me off the hook until we get it.

  Louise goes first. She’s all too eager to get into that goop. And a minute later she’s covered and smells like, well pig shit, if I’m being honest. Mathilda goes next, and then it’s my turn.

  “What the fuck am I doing?” I mumble, dropping to my knees and lying back in the thick, disgusting, slop.

  “You’re making sure you have the perfect date for your wife, Romantic,” Mathilda says.

  I glare at her, and then Louise splashes me with mud until I’m covered, and I’m sure, like one hundred percent positive, that my date is never happening. I’m a total failure at this date day thing. And I bet all the other guys are having the best time ever. And it was my idea! Fuckers.

  “OK,” Louise says, standing back to look at me. She smiles, blasting me with that adorable gap that used to be her front teeth. “You’re ready.”

  “Let’s do this,” Mathilda says, picking up her pointy stick.

  I follow them back to the beach, hoping—praying—that the pigs will be gone. On a whole other island, maybe. Or swimming in the ocean, so we can just stop this stupid plan before it goes off the rails.

  But no such luck. They are all snorting around on the shore looking for crabs or something.

  “There he is!” Louise squeals.

  Mathilda hushes her with a well-placed hand over her mouth and says, “OK, Romantic, you go down that way and wait. We’ll lure them away with the food and then run. And while we’re doing that, you grab that pig and meet us back here. Got it?”

  It sounds so simple. I mean, I know it’s crazy, but she makes it sound so simple. So I just go, “OK,” and stalk my way down where she was just pointing.

  They take off in the jungle, leaving me alone. And part of me wonders how the hell I let two small girls talk me into such a crazy plan in the first place.

  But I’m here now. Covered in stinking pig shit—I’m pretty sure that wasn’t mud—and that little pig is only about twenty yards away.

  That’s when I hear Louise calling out from the other end of the beach. “Here, piggy-piggy-piggy! Here, piggy-piggy-piggy!”

  She’s nuts.

  Then Mathilda throws bananas and mangos at the bigger pigs, who turn, snorting and huffing, toward their attacker. I wince, expecting a full-fledged charge to happen next, but then… they just walk calmly over to the bouncing fruit and start eating. The whole gang of them.

  The little pig tries to get in there, but one bigger pig gives it a kick and it goes reeling backwards with a squeal.

  Fuckers. They’re hurting my baby pig!

  I glance down the beach, where Mathilda is waving at me to go grab it, and come out of the jungle looking like the Swamp Thing incarnate.

  I’m stalking up behind them, carefully… slowly… and as I’m holding my hand out for that little pig, it occurs to me I really should’ve brought some fruit with me so I could feed it.

  And that’s when Louise yells, “Run!”

  Shit! There are at least six boars coming at me. I sprint to the piglet, scoop it up like a football, tuck it under my arm, and take off for our meeting place like I’m about to make the winning touchdown.

  “Look out!” Mathilda says.

  And when I glance over to my left I see that huge daddy pig coming straight at me. I swerve, barely missing his teeth as he gnashes the air, and then get hit with a rock. “Ow!” I yell. “Motherfucker! Watch where you’re throwing those things!”

  “Sorry!” Louise calls from down the beach, just as another rocks pelts me in the ear.

  But that daddy pig isn’t giving up so easy. He’s right behind me now, and then I see Mathilda up in front, hiding in the jungle with her arms out, like she wants me to toss the pig to her so she can take it over the goal line.

  And I don’t know what I’m thinking, but I do it. I fucking throw the pig and it goes sailing through the air, squealing and twisting, and then she catches him!

  That’s when I trip and fall. And get trampled by daddy pig as he takes off into the jungle after Mathilda.

  I shake it off and get up running, because I know that injury won’t hit me until later anyway, and there’s no way I’m walking back into Five’s place with the news of his daughter’s demise from pig. So I take off after them, scooping up rocks as I run, and find daddy pig snorting and howling as he stalks up to Mathilda and her piglet.

  “Yaaaaaahhhhh,” comes from off to my right, and that would be crazy-ass Louise, spear in hand, as she charges the pig at full speed. She throws her spear, which hits the boar in his side, but of course, it’s a fucking stick and not a spear. So it bounces right off his thick hide.

  Jesus Christ. We’re all gonna die if I don’t get this shit handled quick.

  So I handle it.

  I grab another rock, wind my arm up like I’m about to throw the last strike in game seven of the World Series, and hurl it as hard as I can, right at that pig’s head.

  It bounces off too. And for a second I think that fucker’s made of steel or something.

  But then the boar wobbles, his eyes
crossing, and just… falls over.

  “Is he dead?” I ask, panting out the words.

  “No,” Mathilda says, running at me. “Come on! We gotta go! He’ll be up in a few seconds!”

  So the three of us run and we run hard. We run like kids. Like this is a game we’re playing and we just won.

  And we laugh. Even the little pig laughs. We laugh like this is the best day of our collective lives.

  Because it might be. It just might be.

  I don’t even argue when Mathilda tells me to stand still while she hoses me off. Of course I need to be hosed off. I rolled around in pig muck. And my consolation prize is that I get to hose them off afterward. And the pig, who goes squealing away into the bushes, setting off a wild pig hunt that is almost—not quite, but almost—as exciting as the first one.

  When we’re done with that, and we’re lying on the grass in front of their princess palace, I sigh and realize the day is gone. “My big plans for today are bust, I think.”

  “No,” Louise says, propping herself up on her elbow. “We’re just getting started, Nolan. You gotta go home, shower, change, and then bring your wife and baby back here. Leave it to us. We’ll take care of everything.”

  I shoot her the stink-eye. “The whole point of date day was to have time alone.”

  “Leave it to us,” Mathilda says. “Seriously.”

  “You know,” Louise says, “everything would go a lot faster if you just gave in and did what you were told.”

  And then they snicker like that’s a fantastic joke.

  “Would it?” I say, wondering.

  “My mommy tells my daddy that all the time,” Louise says.

  “She always wins,” Mathilda says. “So she’s right. Daddy should just give in first. Then they could skip the arguments.”

  Fuck it. I’m exhausted. I don’t even have it in me to fight with them anymore. So I drag myself up, walk back to our bungalow, and go inside.

  “What the—” And that’s as far as Ivy gets because she breaks into a laugh.

  “I’ve had quite a day,” I say.

  “What happened to your shoes?”

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  “Is that mud in your hair?” She’s still laughing.

  “Yes, Mrs. Romantic. Not only is that mud, but a very special kind of mud. Found only in the wallow holes of island pigs.”

  “Pigs?”

  Now Bronte is laughing at me too.

  “Pigs,” I say. And then I stop talking. Stop thinking. And just look at them. Bronte’s cheeks are pink, like she’s been outside today. And Ivy’s skin is glowing with the radiance you only see after a day in the sun. They are so fucking beautiful. I want to hug her. Hold her. Kiss her. Both of them. But I smell. So I just say, “What’d you guys do today?”

  “Hung out at the pool with Five’s girls. They’re delightful. What did you do?” She’s eyeing my still-wet clothes like it’s a puzzle that needs to be solved.

  “I too spent the day with Five’s girls. The younger hoodlums, not the twins, obviously.” And then I smile. “It was the best day.”

  She sets Bronte down on the floor so she can play with some toys, and comes towards me.

  “Stay back,” I warn her. “I smell like… a nasty, disgusting, daddy pig.”

  She wraps her arms around me anyway, kisses me on the lips, and then says, “I love you. And even though tomorrow is what we’re calling the real wedding, our real wedding happened last year. While I was pregnant. And only you and I were there. And it was perfect, Mr. Romantic. Just perfect. So I’m going along with this wedding to make you and my father see eye to eye on this transfer of power, but I’d just like to go on record that I don’t need it. None of it.”

  I smile and kiss her. “I know, Ivy. And I had planned to spend the whole day with you and just you, but I got wrangled into the most fun ever. With two very non-traditional little girls whose ideas of what it means to be a little girl just upended my world. So even though we didn’t have the day, we’re gonna have our night no matter what. We’re gonna have to take Bronte along with us, and the place I’m taking you isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time”—she laughs—“but we’re going anyway. So let me take a shower and then we can go.”

  An hour later the three of us walk back to the Princess Palace. Bronte is half asleep in my arms and Ivy is telling me all about how she wants Bronte’s hair braided for the wedding tomorrow, and how her little dress has to be done up just right, and all kinds of wedding shit that I have no clue about, but love to listen to, when we come up to the front door of the oversized playhouse.

  “Here?” Ivy laughs.

  “I told you it wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time.” But in my head I take that back. Five’s kids have probably had millions of days like this growing up. This little house is the definition of a good time if you’re one of them. “Just trust me,” I say, even though I have no clue what I’m gonna find inside.

  “Welcome to the Princess Palace,” Mathilda says, opening the door.

  “Ohhhhh,” Ivy says, looking at me. “Fancy!”

  I grin, because not only is Mathilda dressed up like a proper little princess, complete with silver fairy wings and a sparkling crown, she’s got on a long white summer dress that just… just says everything about what it means to be a little girl, and then again, nothing at all about what it means to be a little girl. Her skin is tanned and glowing, just like Ivy’s. And her hair has been washed, brushed and swept back with a white cotton headband.

  Louise appears then, looking like the most perfect little lady in pink version of what Mathilda is wearing. And I can’t stop my glance over at Bronte to imagine what she’ll be like when she’s that age.

  I cannot fucking wait.

  “Come in!” Louise says. “We’ve got your table ready.”

  Ivy and I exchange smiles, and even Bronte is awake and looking around at the magical place her parents have brought her.

  It is magical. All the toys have been put away. The small table has been newly set for tea with their tiny china set. There’s classical music playing from a tape recorder. And in the corner, sitting atop a pink velvet cushion, is the piglet. I almost die when it snorts at me.

  “A tea party?” Ivy says, catching on to the theme.

  “Yeah,” I say, smiling so fucking big. “A romantic date for my girls.”

  I decide Corporate was right.

  I already know how to throw a football, but every father of a princess needs to learn how to throw a tea party.

  And I had the best teachers ever.

  Chapter Twenty-Two - WEST

  I surface from the water and my memory of that first day with the Conrads and see Tori and Ethan still on the rock.

  “Dad!” Ethan laughs. “I already got one!” He holds up a fish. I can’t make out what it is from here and I’m not all that familiar with the tropical fish anyway, so I don’t even try. I just wave from the water and continue to swim.

  The ocean feels like coming home every time. And maybe that life wasn’t so bad. I mean, being that kid, on that Nantucket beach, diving every day to feed myself… it made me into the man I am now.

  But no adult wants that for a kid, theirs or not. And I don’t want that for Ethan. I want to give him all the things the Conrads gave me without all the bad things that came with it.

  “Hey, kid,” I say, dragging myself up on to the rock. “Good job.” I ruffle his wet hair and then look at Tori. She’s smiling. She loves him. So much. And even though she’s pregnant with our first biological child, there’s no way Ethan will ever come in second. And I know that’s impossible to say, since when you have two, they can’t both always be first. But she will make it happen. And Ethan will grow up loved, and valued, and respected for who he is and not what we might want to turn him into.

  Which then makes me feel guilty. Because I wish—very much—that he’d stop all this stuff he’s doing and just settle down.

  B
ut what if that never happens? What if this is just who he is? What if he never stops sneaking out at night? Or feeling like he has to provide for people? Or—

  “What are you thinking about, Weston Conrad?”

  I sigh and pull her into me. She’s warm and dry, and I’m cold and wet. But she lets me do it anyway. “Just… stuff. Ya know?”

  “Stuff like me?” Ethan says. Offhandedly. Not even bothering to look over his shoulder at us. He’s always like that. Just kinda… honest and open. Not many people have those two qualities as their default setting, so it’s a little disarming when you encounter it.

  I’m fully disarmed at the moment, but I figure the only way to handle honesty is with honesty. So I say, “There’s gonna be a whole party of people here tonight. Are you planning on feeding all of them?”

  He laughs. Says, “Yup. As soon as you show me how to get these lobsters. They’re prickly, look!” He holds out his hand and shows me his palm, which has little spots of blood from where he’s been trying to catch lobster and got stuck with their spines. “But I got him.” And he points to the cooler of seawater with one lobster already inside it.

  “Well, I’ll show you how to do it the right way, how’s that?”

  “Yes!” he says, doing a fist-pump. “I’m gonna be as good as you one day.”

  “Better,” I say, looking at Tori.

  She says, “You know, I think I’ll leave you two here to fish for a while. I see a white sandy beach calling my name.”

  She gives me a kiss, tucks her sunglasses into her shorts, and then dives off the rock and starts swimming for the beach.

  That’s my cue to get to the bottom of what’s going on with Ethan, so I clear my throat and say, “So…” And that’s as far as I get.

  “So Mom wants you to talk to me about sneaking out at night and doing stuff kids shouldn’t do, right?”

  “Uh… yeah.”

  “Well, Dad, look.” He redirects his attention from his fishing over to me, lifts up his mirrored aviator sunglasses—where the fuck did he get those?—and says, “I’m just being me. And I know it’s not normal. They’ve all told me that over the years.” And then he lowers the glasses again, hiding his eyes.