Chapter 5 #3
She was realizing, though, that there was still a lot unspoken, at least on Hallie’s side, when it came to her family. Which was making it hard for her to enjoy the time she was spending here.
And, even though it may have seemed silly, she’d been sort of looking forward to framing her completed crossword puzzle in the spirit of better celebrating her accomplishments.
Tucked in between an older brother who’d just gotten a promotion to VP of engineering at his tech start-up, a sister-in-law who, even six months back from maternity leave, made it seem like she’d never left the partner track at her law firm, and two fifteen-month-old babies that could both run and say five words in addition to “mama” and “dada,” and there wasn’t much celebration to be had for a crossword puzzle. Done in pen or not.
She shimmied out of her shorts and tank top—apparently babies and retirees alike could only exist in what bordered on sweltering heat while somehow also being dry because it was, after all, the middle of winter—and turned on the shower.
Sometimes, the twins would get baths downstairs if they were especially messy, so she made sure to remove any of the toys from the shower basin that could likely impale her foot, as she’d learned was a possibility on day two of her visit.
She stepped under the spray and took a deep, cleansing breath, wondering how loudly she could scream without anyone hearing her. But she wouldn’t do that. Part of her wondered if that was because she was convinced that they wouldn’t come running anyway.
Instead, she focused on the water running down her body, trying to bask in the few moments of quiet before the chaos of the house descended on her.
She’d also learned, by day three—which happened to be Christmas—that it was very important that the twins were fifteen months old.
Every adult in the home had referenced this on numerous occasions.
Not a little over a year. Not about a year and three months.
In the world of baby milestones, every day counted.
How could she possibly understand how advanced they were for their ages if she believed they were behind on the key metrics that proved they were better than any other baby?
As if the world would melt down if Mason and Claire hadn’t produced the most prodigious offspring known to man.
She’d always remember that Elliot had tried to stick a Cheerio up his own nose, too, even if they wouldn’t.
Her suggestion that she start referring to them in age by their total number of days alive was vetoed. Apparently, an accomplishment by a four-hundred-and-forty-five-day-old didn’t have quite the same ring.
By day four (of her trip, that is) and onward, she’d relented to her new reality and began to plan accordingly. Maybe, more accurately, it qualified as disassociation, but that was between her and her mental health.
Hallie had known, coming into this trip, that it wasn’t entrenched in excitement for her, but she still hadn’t anticipated that it would be so bad.
Or that it would make her feel so… badly.
Maybe, on some level, it was why she’d had a sinking feeling whenever she’d thought about spending Christmas here.
She winced with the grim acceptance of her reality while she lathered baby shampoo into her hair.
The truth was, for most of her life, she’d felt like an afterthought in her family.
Mason was five years older, but it was like by the time she’d come along, they’d already decided that all of their energy would be poured into him, along with the inn, and that didn’t leave much time for anyone else. Hallie included.
Tears prickled behind her eyes. This baby shampoo was definitely not as advertised.
Over the years, Hallie had found a way to make herself okay with the disparity in her family. What other option did she have?
Mason was gifted. Intelligent. Athletic.
Of course their parents should sink their focus into a winning horse.
Why wouldn’t they over-index on his sports practices and away games and extracurriculars?
It wasn’t like they were resting on their laurels otherwise.
Her parents worked nonstop at the inn when they weren’t managing his schedule, and Hallie had understood it. Appreciated it, even.
So much so that she’d wanted to do whatever she could to help make things run more smoothly. As a kid, that hadn’t really panned out. Too little structure and too much free time for someone like her had left many instances of imaginative playtime gone awry.
Mason had gone to college by the time she’d become a teenager, and she’d thought that maybe then, there would be more time.
For her parents’ attention. For her to try new things.
But the inn had gone through its first—well, only—renovation the year before, and it had finally started to pay off with increased bookings from word of mouth.
Then, her parents had expanded into offering lunch on the weekends, along with taking more time for themselves, though it was still in short supply.
Hallie turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. She sighed, realizing that she’d forgotten to get more adult-sized towels from the upstairs bathroom. Instead, all she could find was a plush robe that looked like a dinosaur.
She held it up by a hood with soft spikes sticking out. It would actually be pretty cool if it fit her. But, tragically, it wasn’t a possible milestone for a three-hundred-and-forty-two-month-old.
She dabbed herself off and used the robe to fashion a head wrap for her wet hair and started to put on—you guessed it—baby lotion. Maybe if she smelled like a baby, it would trick her family into thinking she should be included like the twins; she definitely wasn’t treated like one of the adults.
This was especially wild to her because, by age thirteen, she’d been working at the inn after school most days and on the weekends.
It was simple things at first, like restocking cabinets or vacuuming when someone called out.
Her parents had never expressly told her to do it, but in her mind, it was just what family did for one another.
Over time, she started planting herself at the front desk, waiting for guests to stop by so that she could attend to their needs and chat with them about their day.
Conversation wasn’t exactly rife in her family’s apartment, and once Sydney had left their high school to train full-time, she was antsy for companionship.
Her presence at the desk had started to become so constant that, eventually, her parents just expected her to be there, and they started to plan their schedules accordingly.
And now, fifteen years after she’d first started sitting at the front desk, waiting for someone to come into her sphere and make her feel less alone, she was still there.
Waiting.
A frustrated groan worked its way out of her, though it did nothing to quell the uncomfortable churning in her stomach.
At the same time she wondered if she could sneak out of the house and take a few hours to explore the city, she heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet running down the hallway, heading toward the living room.
Being in a house filled with people had never made her feel so alone.
Hallie sat in Mason and Claire’s living room, waiting for dinner to be ready. Her day had been spent traipsing around the great outdoors—not her favorite activity—with four surprisingly athletic adults and two babies strapped to their parents’ chests.
She flexed her thawing fingers; she was just thankful she was finally starting to be able to feel her extremities again.
It made it easier to turn the pages in the book she was trying to read, even if disappearing into a story wasn’t her first choice of activity.
She’d desperately wanted to lie down once they’d gotten home from their obscenely long winter hike before another busy night of inane small talk.
But her de facto bedroom for the last week was currently a giant playpen-slash-football-arena.
There was a Monday night game on, which she wasn’t interested in watching. Mason and her dad, though, were in their element while Claire and her mom made dinner.
Gender roles at their finest, with the exception of the twins being in the living room with her and the menfolk.
And, really, she’d tried to join Claire and her mom in the kitchen and make herself useful, but they’d literally bumped into her multiple times, no matter how hard she tried to either help or simply stay out of the way.
So she’d retreated to the living room, where she’d tried to find something to occupy herself.
Hanging out with the twins wouldn’t have been a problem for her except that every time she tried to open her book, it was like Henry and Elliot, a tag team of terror, had some type of sixth sense to interrupt.
She could sit there and do nothing without a single look from them as they toyed with their blocks, but the moment she lifted the paperback, suddenly, she’d committed a personal grievance against them.
Apparently, the twins were just as used to being the focal point of the Thatcher family attention as their father had always been.
For the last fifteen minutes, she’d been testing this theory out. It wasn’t the most fun she’d ever had, by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it was something to keep herself occupied outside of the nonstop football commentary from her dad and brother.
Rob Thatcher, like his son, had played football through college, but neither of them had gone pro. Though it was never mentioned, her dad had only played for a Division II school whereas Mason had played for one of the best football programs in the country.
Her dad wore it like a badge of pride that he himself had sired an even more gifted collegiate athlete. How magnanimous of him.