2. Big News
Lucy and Winston intended to fly to Switzerland for a winter getaway. After Winston admitted he was unsure about travelling, Lucy launched into a tangent. She felt unloved. Deep down, she knew her husband loved her. She wanted him to want her. She needed him too long to spend time with her—alone, in bed, naked.
Lucy’s mother blew up her phone when they reached the private terminal. She swore Lucy’s father was sick as a dog but provided no specifics. Lucy hadn’t spoken to her father in nearly two years and wasn’t keen to let another of her mother’s attempts to reunite them ruin the only weekend they’d been away since having the baby.
Winston was not the planner Lucy was. Her entire job revolved around organising chaos. Winston liked living in a slightly chaotic world. He thrived on it. Lucy could appreciate that. It kept things light. However, he knew that since Lucy organised chaos for a living, he should treat her taking it off her plate sometimes.
Lucy appreciated his planning but still felt her life was in flux.
“We’re going to be stuck here an eternity,” Winston sighed. “If we even get off the ground at all. Nat says it’s something called crosswinds.”
“You’re texting Natalie right now?”
“Well, first I was just checking on the baby, now I’m just wondering why we aren’t moving.”
Lucy let out a loud, frustrated groan.
“What?”
“Tony, the whole point of this trip is for us to spend time with one another not worrying about the baby. Do not spend the entire time on the phone with Natalie.”
“I am not trying?—”
The captain cut Winston off.
“Apologies, ladies and gentlemen, but we will not head out this evening as planned. Technical issues and wind sheer have us grounded. See the ground crew for rebooking.”
Lucy wanted to collapse in a puddle of tears. They were stuck only 15 minutes from their own house—stranded at bloody Heathrow—and nowhere near her goal of wild, childfree togetherness. She saw the wheels turning. Winston wanted to go home and wake Malcolm.
“No, no, no,” Lucy shook her head.
“We should go home and?—”
Lucy burst into tears. Winston stopped, looking at her with confusion.
“Lucy, what is going on?”
“You don’t want me. You don’t want me, Winston. You’d rather run home to the baby than spend an evening alone with me. I don’t exist. I don’t… matter. Like, as a person. Not as your wife. Not as the mother of your child, but just as Lucy. I want to be wanted.”
“Oh, Luce, that isn’t true,” Winston said.
“And now I’m just embarrassing myself. But I cannot stop crying.”
“Shhh, shhh,” Winston held her, ignoring those disembarking. “It’s not that at all. Perhaps, you’re right? Maybe I have been a little… distracted in dad mode, but… Lucy, I love you.”
“Not enough to make any form of physical intimacy a priority beyond your constant dropping of breadcrumbs about us having another baby. And I don’t want that. Not right now. I want you. I want to be married and happy. We rushed in and?—”
“Okay, okay, shhh,” Winston said. “That’s not it. Deep breaths, Lulu. Just deep breaths. I didn’t realise you were so upset.”
“I would have hired a fucking skywriter, Winston!”
“Wonder if Nat would do that?”
Lucy snickered.
“Who am I kidding? If you asked her, she would.”
Lucy smiled. “Maybe. Okay, well, let’s go home.”
Winston stood and held his hand out to Lucy. “No. I think I have a better idea. Just give me a moment to orchestrate it.”
“Okay, well, now I’m just terrified?—”
“You don’t trust me, Lucy?”
“Do I have a choice in the matter?”
“No,” Winston chuckled. “Trust me on this.”
“You still sureyou don’t want to take a test?”
Sanne knelt over the toilet in her mothers’ house in Union Pier, vomiting violently. Her twin sister, Linnea, perched on the big bathtub to her right.
“Linny, it doesn’t matter. I’m not drinking and?—”
“You are pregnant. I can tell. Your face is puffy. That’s what happens when you get pregnant.”
“Thanks, Linny. Fuck off!” Sanne grumbled.
“Why are you so resistant to taking a test?”
“Because I’m on vacation. I just got married. Everything is in flux and?—”
“Sanne, Paul is going to be so excited.”
“This wasn’t supposed to happen like this!”
“I get the feeling you weren’t trying to stop it… so what is the story there?”
“We didn’t suspect it would happen within the first two tries, okay? It was a romantic idea. Paul wanted to try. He was rather obsessed with the idea. His obsession made him detail-oriented.”
“Uh-huh,” Linny giggled. “Detail-oriented.”
“I swear I saw God. No, it was that good. And now, I regret everything.”
“I am running to get you a test,” Linnea opened the door and ran into their mother, Elisabeth.
“It’s been done,” she said in her native Norwegian, handing Linny a box.
“What?” Sanne asked.
“Your mother got very irritated waiting on the two of you in here for forty minutes.”
“And how did she guess why we were in here?” Sanne followed up.
“Because your husband has no self-restraint and is convinced you’re pregnant. That’s my guess.” Linnea cracked the box open. “Two tests. I can take one if you will like old times?”
Sanne and Linnea used to pee on a stick if they got worried in college. Unfortunately, the one time they did this thinking they were being hypochondriacs, Linnea was actually pregnant. That baby was now almost nine.
“No need,” Sanne said. “I’ll piss. You pray.”
“Pray for what?” Elisabeth asked. “For baby or no baby?”
“I don’t even know. I do know I want to throttle my husband. Can you give me a sec?” Sanne shooed them out.
She took a moment, followed the directions, washed her hands and waited. Linnea popped her head in.
“Yes, you can come back in,” Sanne said. “I am struggling to be here in Michigan doing this. Something about it feels off. Like, we must tell Robbie about it but we’re here and?—”
“Deep breaths. Deep breaths,” Linnea said.
“If I am not pregnant, well, I will feel like I let Paul down.”
“You needn’t worry about that,” Elisabeth said.
“Why?” Sanne asked.
“Because the thing is already positive.” Linnea cackled. “You’re pregnant, Sanne!”
“What?”
“You’re having a baby.”
Sanne smiled amid tears. “I’m having a damn baby. Okay, this has to stay here. We cannot mention this to Marie. Because there is a chain of command and I’ve already broken it.”
“I think Robbie and Vanna will understand.” Elisabeth had tears, too.
Sanne stared at the test. She wiped her tears, the pink lines brightening in an instant. She tossed it in the bin, satisfied, and proceeded back into the living room where Paul and Hannah argued about the names of buildings in London and whether they fit the architecture.
“Natalie calls it… well, she uses a rude word I cannot say because little ears,” Paul said.
“Are we talking about the gherkin?” Sanne asked.
Paul nodded.
“You’re talking to two lesbians and two women who are no strangers of that sort of thing,” Linnea said. “It does look like a D-I-L-D-O.”
“Mom, I’m not an idiot. I don’t know what you’re talking about but I can spell.” Marie, Sanne’s niece, rolled her eyes.
“We’ll talk about it when you’re older.”
“Paul, can I talk to you?” Sanne asked.
“You feeling any better?” He asked.
“Meh. Not really,” Sanne answered.
They stepped out of the living room into the kitchen and kept their voices low. Well, Sanne kept hers low. Paul never understood how loud or how well his voice carried. Sometimes, it was hard to see the family resemblance between Paul and his father. However, their voices were remarkably similar, and neither was good at a whisper.
“So, I’m feeling shitty. So, Thanksgiving will be fun.”
“But?”
“But—and don’t start shouting here—but I’m pregnant,” Sanne whispered.
Paul’s face broke from a look of expectation into sheer joy.
“We’re having a baby?”
He grew loud and bombastic.
“Paul, I said?—”
Paul didn’t listen. He spun Sanne before wrapping her up in a great big kiss.
“We’re having a baby,” he said, in a daze.
“Yes, Paul, we are having a baby. I hope,” Sanne giggled. “God, you’re like a child on Christmas morning.”
“I am elated! You couldn’t come up with a better present, honestly. And this one was even fun to assemble—not a chore!”
Sanne smiled and slowly kissed Paul.
“It will be a good year for us,” Sanne said.
“Hold this,”Natalie grunted, foisting a baby into Ed’s arms.
“I thought he was asleep?” Ed asked.
“He had a poo incident. I called and asked for help, but none came.”
“How? Was that when you shouted ‘Mayday. We’re coming in heavy?’ Because it wasn’t clear you needed help.”
“What is it you thought I needed?”
“Natalie, none of that stuff makes sense to me—or anyone, really.”
Natalie stared at her phone, typing. Ed looked at the baby, now wide awake and smiling. The baby’s big blue eyes and wild red hair just made him look more precious as he grew.
“He looks almost like a Disney cartoon,” Ed remarked. “In the best way. He’s bloody adorable.”
“Until he shits on you. Then not so much,” Natalie said. “It’s fine. If I can shit in a hole, I can clean it off a baby.”
Ed snickered. “Natalie, you are so strange.”
“You married me!”
“What does coming in heavy even mean, Nat?”
“Overweight. You might say it if you had to do a return after takeoff and there was no time to dump fuel or if you knew you were landing overweight. It lets the tower know to give you lots of length of runway. You take longer to stop.”
“Thanks. What are you doing?” Ed asked.
“Oh, well, I need both hands because Winston needs help. They’re grounded. I had to explain to him that if a seven-four can’t take off, a Leer won’t, either. Lucy is feeling the lowest right now and he’s neglected her. I’m trying to find him a good hotel in London she won’t hate.”
“Someday, I think you and Lucy will leave us for one another.”
“Given the George-Lucy subplot, that would be a startling and saucy turn of events. I like it,” Natalie said. “Sadly, I’m not into women like that and my libido is too high to put up with it. Ah, yes, the Shangri-La. That’s the new one at The Shard. She’ll be impressed.”
“If she is so desperate for alone time with Winston, does it even matter where the venue is?”
“You don’t understand. Trying to keep Lucy calm and impressing her with being thoughtful is what Lucy thinks is Winston’s love language. Winston isn’t always so good at reading her. However, his real love language is asking for help and knowing where to go for it. It’s resourcefulness.”
Ed chuckled. “Okay, okay.”
“And… sent. Yes. He will be alright, won’t he, darling?” Natalie cooed at baby Malcolm.
The baby smiled broadly and grabbed her face.
“You are such a stinker,” Natalie giggled. “Do you feel better now? Lighter, probably. God, I never knew babies could shit so often until this one. I suppose he’s the first one we had that much contact with.”
“Yeah,” Ed’s face softened. “He’s a doll.”
“Watching you with him is painful somehow,” Natalie said.
“Painful?”
“My poor ovaries need a break.”
Ed felt his stomach dip. Talk of baby-making sent him spiralling.
“Pull up, Edwin,” Natalie said.
She half-joked, but her voice was tender. She’d hit a nerve.
“I love you,” Natalie assured. “That’s why I want everything with you. And this, too. But don’t panic. Don’t go there. Spatial disorientation is awful. Be like a gymnast or a diver. Don’t lose control of that point on the horizon.”
“What?”
“Gymnast—and platform divers, I assume—get the twisties, right?”
Ed shook his head, shaking off whatever he focused on. He tried to follow his wife.
“Yes. I’ve heard of that.”
“Any of us can get spatial disorientation. But it’s in a dogfight when you’re exhausted and taking eight Gs that it can come up and kick you in the arse. You’ll get yourself in a pickle if you don’t take a deep breath and realise you’re inverted and not aware of where your wings are. You must course correct or go down. I can see you in a spiral. It’s just like a gymnast over-rotating. It’s dangerous. I have seen it happen to people. Don’t let yourself spiral, Ed. I’m here, okay.”
“And what if it never happens?”
“I am always here, Edwin. I am always here for you, darling, as you are here for me. If it were all on me—if I had no eggs—would you leave me? Would you blame me?”
The baby fussed.
“He wants a bottle,” Natalie said. “A top-up before actual bed. We won’t tell Daddy we failed to adhere to your precious schedule. What are aunts and uncles good for if they can’t spoil the dickens out of you, right?”
Ed smiled. He’d never leave Natalie over such a thing. She was everything—sometimes the entire reason he got out of bed. Her enthusiasm for life was infectious if often misdirected. She was terrifyingly brave. Sometimes, Ed felt directionless, while Natalie rarely suffered from a moment’s doubt.
Ed would never leave her because she couldn’t produce a baby. He’d scorn anyone who suggested such a thing. She was his person—for life. And yet, he couldn’t feel the same about his situation. He prized Natalie above all else. She was a superhuman deserving of a baby. She needed a legacy. He failed his one job. It felt altogether different.