23. Whale, lookie who it is!
Chapter 23
Whale, lookie who it is!
CJ BLISS - THE HEROINE FROM “LOVE & OTHER TROUBLE” (ONE OF THE LEGENDARY AMOS-HOLES)
A half-hour earlier
A t some point during my forty-some-odd years on the planet, I learned to listen to the little devil on my shoulder almost as often as I listened to the angel. And tonight, it paid off.
It’s been a while since we’ve had the pleasure of chatting, so let me get you up to speed and refresh your memory about me—CJ Bliss, formerly CJ Amos.
For most of my life, I favored the rose-colored glasses of the angel. I made peace with everyone and gave people chances to do the right thing. Multiple times. And then another for good measure. Even when their poor choices hurt me.
Guided by my little shoulder angel, I strived to see only the good in the world. I lived my life accordingly, sprinkling sunshine everywhere I went and defusing tension. Growing up as a middle child in a family fueled by sarcasm and chaos tends to have that effect on you.
It worked for a while. Until the stingray barb of fate stabbed me in the butt a few years ago.
Because I was listening to my shoulder angel, I failed to recognize all the signs that my ex-boyfriend, Douchebag Danny, was cheating on me. Making it worse, my then coworker and sort of friend, Becki—yes, with an i —was the one he was sneaking around with. She also plagiarized my research and tried to ruin my life. Trusting her was a huge mistake, courtesy of my doormat tendencies.
In the end, though, it all worked out for me.
Rumor has it, Becki’s still picking flecks of glitter from her teeth after Operation Glitter Shield.
But I digress.
Come to find out, my little devil isn’t always trying to poison me against people or get me in trouble. Sometimes, she’s the voice of reason. Perhaps the person she says deserves to have hot sauce poured into her drinking straw when she isn’t looking truly deserves it. Another perfect example is when she convinced me to climb up on the face of my hunky boyfriend and let him do delicious things to me. My ass cheeks still clench at the tantalizing memory.
My angel was huddled in the corner, peeking through her hands. The devil was zipping up her boots and cracking a whip. And now he’s my husband, so you tell me who was right.
Sorry for the thought-rambling. I suppose I’m just feeling nostalgic and nervous in the jolliest of ways. Allow me to circle back to the point.
On this joyous night, my shoulder devil was once again the voice of reason.
I listened to her and remained stone-cold sober, which was odd since it’s the Amos-holes holiday game night, our Christmas Eve tradition. After eating, drinking, and being merry, we always end by opening presents at midnight.
The tradition has changed slightly in recent years. What used to take place in the cozy living room at my grandparents’ home now takes place in Hudson and Chloe’s sprawling mansion. It’s catered, and everyone has their own room to crash in. And there’s a lot more kids now. But the games are just as unhinged as ever, and the laughter is plentiful.
Another part of the tradition is my sister Cara attempting to pour her special cranberry margaritas down everyone’s throats. Surprisingly, my angel flicked her little angel wrist at me and said, why not drink a little? It’s a holiday party! On the other hand, my devil told me it would be hilarious if I stayed sober, refusing to tell anyone why. She thought it’d be a laugh riot if the Amos-holes started speculating I was pregnant. A Christmas prank. And I was game for it. It unfolded just as the devil knew it would. Millie started the baby rumor. By the end of the night, Vegas odds were established. I just kept giggle-snorting, refusing to confirm or deny anything.
At one point, my hunky husband, Archer, pulled me aside and asked if we needed to talk. I attempted to keep the gag going with him, but he pinched my nipples until I confessed.
He also made me climax, although that’s beside the point.
Five minutes ago, my phone rang with the best news. Had I been drunk, I don’t think I’d be on my way to another happy ending.
Guess what! Our family is growing again . A Christmas miracle.
And since I trusted my devil, I’m able to drive us to the hospital and won’t make an ass of myself when we get there. A few others were sober for various reasons, so we’ve all loaded into several vehicles, including one limousine. It’s an Amos-hole Christmas Caravan. More than twenty jolly assholes barreling down the road to the hospital.
My teenage stepdaughter, Lily, lets loose her third squeal of the ride, shaking me from my rowdy thoughts. “Is this really happening? No cap? On Christmas Eve, no less? Gah! What even is my life right now?”
Archer and I exchange gleeful glances as he pats my thigh. Relief and joy strum through my veins.
Initially, we were concerned Lily wouldn’t be on board with the adoption idea. After all, she’s sixteen and already has two younger siblings who drive her bonkers on the regular. Bringing a new baby into the mix could have triggered a landslide of teenage angst, making us all miserable.
Before committing, we talked to all three kids over dinner, encouraging them to be honest with us. Good or bad, we wanted to hear it. Ultimately, Archer and I were going to decide. However, we wanted them to feel heard. We value their opinions.
As expected, the twins were over the moon with excitement. But Lily’s joyful reaction left us dumbstruck. No sooner were the words out of Archer’s mouth before she shoved away from the dinner table and wrapped us both in a bear hug.
A single tear leaks from my eye at the sparkling memory.
Without warning, I’m unceremoniously jerked back into the present when two thumps against my seat jolt me forward abruptly. A boyish roar accompanies the kicking.
“ Ahhh !” Ethan hollers at the top of his lungs, the deafening sound reverberating around the inside of the SUV.
Part of me wants to scold him to keep his voice down and stop kicking, but he’s got me wrapped around his little finger.He’sso excited he can’t contain his energy. It’s a common problem for him.
Archer throws a stern look over his shoulder at his son. “Ethan, you know better than to yell in the car. And stop kicking Mama’s seat.”
“Make him sit in the way back row,” his twin Emma sasses.
Lily chuckles. “Then he’ll kick your seat instead of Mama CJ’s.”
“I take it back. He should stay where he is,” Emma quips.
I peek into the rearview, spotting Ethan dragging his splayed palms over his cheeks, contorting his entire face. “I can’t help it, Daddy. I’m fwippin’ out.”
Occasionally, his speech reverts to how it was a few years ago when I met him and his lisp was so prevalent. I miss the way he used to talk. I suppose it’s because I don’t want him to grow up. I wish I could keep him as my squishy little guy forever. He’s getting so big I can barely catch him when he sails off the couch into my arms.
Side note: He still does that without any warning. One second, I’m walking through the living room, and the next, a nine-year-old is flying through the air toward my chest.
“Oh no. He’s punning again,” Emma huffs.
Flipping. Ha.
He gets it from me. As a marine biologist, punny ocean humor is a way of life.
Naturally, I join in.“You’re flipping excited, huh? Well, I’m otter -ly losing my mind.”
“Here we go,” Archer mutters with a shake of his head.
“Don’t be crabby,” Ethan chides his dad.
“Ocean puns always come in waves,” Lily jokes. “Even my father can’t stop the rising tide.”
Everyone busts out in laughter at her unexpected addition.Clearly her excitement over the new Bliss baby has rendered her unable to resist the pun life.
After the hilarity settles, Archer makes an announcement. “When we get to the hospital, we need to be on our best behavior, okay? I know we’re all excited, but we don’t want to startle the baby with loud voices. Do we, Ethan?” He looks pointedly at his son, brows raised in warning.
In response, the little cutie swirls his finger over the top of his head in a circle, miming drawing an imaginary halo. We’ll see how long that lasts.
I’m ready to bolt out of the car as soon as we park. Archer stops me before I can get out, grabbing my wrist.
His rugged face is waxed over with seriousness. “CJ?”
“Yeah, babe?”
He doesn’t say what he’s thinking. And I don’t force him to explain.With Archer, words aren’t always necessary. We’ve always been connected this way.
In the crinkle of the skin beside his left eye, he asks if I’m ready for this.
The way my lips thin with the slightest hint of a smile tells him yes.
The pulse of his hand around mine, combined with the downturn of his lips, says he’s sorry he didn’t meet me sooner so we could have had a baby the old-fashioned way.
I shake my head, raising my brows to remind him I wouldn’t change a single thing about our lives.
He nods, eyes warming, conceding the point.
With words, we’ve talked the topic to death over the last two years. I could have tried to get pregnant. It worked for my sister Chloe when she was my age. But with three beautiful children already—even if they aren’t mine by blood—why take a chance with a high-risk pregnancy?
Almost immediately after I set sail to the idea of getting pregnant, this little miracle blew into our lives on the winds of fate.
My sister-in-law, Amber, funds a women’s domestic violence shelter and makes regular appearances to connect with the residents. One of the women was pregnant, and she asked Amber to adopt her baby after deciding she wasn’t stable enough after years of emotional and physical abuse.
Being pregnant with her second baby at the time, Amber declined and offered to have someone from an adoption agency meet with the woman. In desperation, she asked Amber if she had anyone in her family who she’d trust to love the baby the way she would.
And now we’re here, pledging to honor her wish with all the love we have to give.
“It all happens for a reason,” I tell Archer, finally speaking out loud.
He leans his face over the console, offering me a kiss. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” I breathe the words over his lips before closing the distance to join our mouths.
When I pull away, I tap his bearded cheek with one hand and look him straight in the eyes. With a tender voice, I give him the honest truth. “Babe, get a mint from my purse before your beer breath sabotages the adoption, thus ruining Christmas.”
Although he’s not trashed, he’s not entirely sober. However, I suspect getting the call telling us to rush to the hospital did a decent job of sobering him up.
Reminding me we have an audience, Emma gasps and whispers—probably to her brother. “Uh-oh. Daddy has beer breath.”
“And he’s gonna ruin Christmas,” Ethan squeals, substantially louder than his sister, which is par for the course.
Lily tuts her lips, shaking her head solemnly. “Think of the children, father.”
The three of them explode into riotous laughter. Not bothering to resist, I join in almost immediately. Ethan gives my seat a few more kicks as if adding his own brand of hilarious punctuation.
Archer scrunches up his face, trying to stifle his laughter. “I love how your filter still hasn’t repaired itself after three years of wedded bliss.”
“At least I’m consistent,” I chirp.
We exit, quickly gathering at the back of the SUV.Like they always do when we’re walking through a parking lot, the twins lock hands. Emma reaches for Daddy’s hand on one side, and Ethan grabs mine on the other. As we stroll toward the hospital, my heart soars like a dolphin cresting the waves in front of a ship’s bow.
I quirk my head and toss a wide grin at Lily when she comes up beside me. For once, her face isn’t buried in her phone. She’s fully present in the moment with us, eager to become a big sister again. Before we stop under the awning at the hospital’s entrance to wait for all the other Amos-holes to congregate, she takes my free hand. A tiny puff of air gets caught in my throat.
Lily is holding my hand.
Oh my heart.
She’s been warm to me since the beginning, and sure, we’re affectionate. Yet she hasn’t held my hand in public for a while. What sixteen-year-old would be caught dead doing that?
She’s doing it now, though.
My lungs fill with a big wave of oxygen as I beam back at her.Slowly, my eyes leave hers, and I look at Ethan and Emma before locking on Archer. His gaze sweeps down the line too.
All five of us are joined as one, ready to welcome number six.
Footsteps approach as our congregation grows, Amos-holes as far as the eye can see. Archer’s brother and Helen are here as well. His dad and Ms. Rhonda just parked.
We’re all here.
Perhaps the new baby isn’t just number six. More like twenty-six.