Twelve
Jameson
“You have got to talk to your mother,” Willow said firmly.
We were standing next to each other in the foyer of our mansion, staring up at the nine-foot-tall stuffed giraffe that had just been delivered.
“Sir, where would you like it?” the delivery guy asked.
“Second floor, third door on the right,” I answered, still staring.
“Fourth door,” Willow corrected. “Please put it next to the elephant.” She nudged me with her shoulder and motioned for me to follow her into the kitchen.
I still wasn’t used to this house. We’d been officially moved in for a couple months now, and we loved it, but damn…there was a lot of space. We’d assigned the entire right side of the second-floor hallway as the kid’s domain. The nursery, the playroom, the overflow closet, then additional bedrooms for additional babies.
Well, that was my plan anyway. Willow kept calling them guest rooms.
“What are your plans for today?” I asked, bustling around the kitchen to make her a cup of decaf as she settled onto a barstool.
“I have to go into the office for a couple hours.” She was already glaring at me when I spun around to argue with her. “Don’t. I just have a few things to wrap up, Jameson.”
“That’s why you have assistance,” I told her. “You’re on maternity leave. You shouldn’t be working.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t aware that companies gave women two months of maternity leave before their due dates,” she said.
“We’re very progressive,” I informed her, turning my back and smiling into the fridge as I got her cream. “Besides, I need you here. Laura is coming over today to continue work on the nursery, and I need you here to make decisions.”
“You make them,” Willow said, her tone exasperated. “I’ve had to deal with the whole house.”
“Because I want you to be happy,” I insisted. “I thought you’d want to decorate the house. I would have just made everything black and gray, and you would have been miserable.”
“I wouldn’t have been miserable,” she lied.
“You told me my penthouse reminded you of a television prison drama.” I handed her a mug of coffee and watched as she took a sip.
“This isn’t as awful as that Columbian from last week,” she said, shaking her head and setting down the cup. “But still not great.”
“By the time I find you a decaf that doesn’t suck,” I picked up the mug and dumped it in the sink, “you’ll be pregnant again.”
“Mmm,” she hummed, looking down and rubbing her belly. “So, you’ll talk to your mom, right?”
“About what?” I asked.
“About the menagerie she’s purchased for the baby. About everything she’s purchased for the baby.”
“Wills, it’s her first grandbaby.” I reached across the island and took her hand. “Are you really surprised she’s going overboard?”
“Surprised? No.” She shook her head. “Annoyed, yes.”
“Why?”
“This baby is already spoiled, and he hasn’t even been born yet,” she answered. “I don’t want him to grow up expecting the world to be handed to him.”
“The world is going to be handed to him,” I insisted.
“Jameson Cassel,” she snapped.
Her mood swings had gotten a lot worse now that we’d hit the third trimester. She was tired and sore all the time, so I could see how that would wear her down. But I’d been tiptoeing around her for so long, that sometimes, I forgot and stuck my foot in my mouth.
At the moment, my basic plan was to agree with whatever she said whenever she said it. Even when it contradicted itself. Agree. Agree. Agree.
“Sorry, babe,” I said quickly. “I just mean, didn’t we work our asses off so our kids didn’t have to?”
“Is that how your parents raised you?” she asked, quirking an eyebrow. “They’re the richest people I’ve ever met, but they made you boys earn your keep. And that’s why most of you are good men now.”
“Hey!” I walked around the table and wrapped my arms around her. “I resemble that remark.”
“You know I’m teasing,” she said, cupping my face in her palm and kissing me softly. “You are a good man. And you’re going to be a great father. I’m just worried…”
“We’re about to be parents, Wills, I think we’ll always be worried about something,” I said. “But yes, I’ll talk to Mom. Do you want a cheetah or a lion next?”
“Lion,” she said, sliding to her feet. “And when Laura gets here, tell her I want to change the playroom to a safari theme to match the animals.”
“Will do,” I said, nodding as she waddled to the stairs. I sat down and blew out a heavy sigh. The women in my life were going to drive me crazy.
* * * *
“Yeah,” Laura said, looking around at the random collection of things in the room we’d decided to call the playroom. “I can make this look like a safari.” She made a note in her phone then smiled up at me. “Which room is going to be the aquarium?”
I laughed, but she just kept looking at me.
“What?” I asked, totally confused.
“The aquarium,” she repeated. “I’ve got to get the tanks on order, but I need to see the size of the space, so I know which ones to go with.”
“Laura, I literally have no idea what you’re talking about. Is this something you and Willow talked about?”
“No, your mom said—”
“No,” I said, drawing the word out. “Uh-uh. No aquarium. And please don’t take directions from my mother anymore.”
“Hey, guys!” Willow said brightly, walking in and hugging Laura then me. “Do we have a vision for the room?”
“Sure do!” Laura agreed, smiling at Willow. “You look so beautiful. I can’t wait…” She cleared her throat. “Anyway, yup, we’re all set on the safari. The baby furniture for the nursery is due in tomorrow, so I’ll have one of the guys come and set it up for you.”
“No, I got it,” I said. “I’m going to build the furniture.”
“No,” the women said together, both of them staring at me.
“What?” I laughed. “I’m the dad here. I’ll set up the crib. It’s a rite of passage.”
“Jameson, you’ve never built so much as a card house,” Willow said, touching my arm softly.
“I’m part owner a construction firm,” I reminded both of them. “As is your husband, Laura.”
“Yeah, but you don’t do any of the actual building ,” Willow said firmly. “Let’s just have the professionals do this, okay? I mean, our baby is going to sleep in it.”
“I’m not going to hurt our baby,” I promised. “Fray will come over, and we’ll all do it together. It will be good practice for him.” She still looked unconvinced, so I changed the subject.
“Mom tried to get Laura to build an aquarium in one of the rooms,” I said, my tone as shocked as I could make it sound.
“Ooh!” Willow squealed, clapping her hands. “That will be so cool. Come on, Laura. Let’s go pick a room. I’m thinking saltwater. We can hire someone to take care of that, right?”
I stared after them, unable to believe what I’d just heard. After all of Willow’s bitching about my mom interfering and overspending, she was going to let my mother install a saltwater aquarium in our house.
But, on the plus side, it sounded as if I wouldn’t have to talk to my mother after all.