19. Foster
FOSTER
Scrolling through my phone, I've been puzzled for the last five minutes. Do babies really need all this stuff? I keep going over the list Elodie sent Sutton as we try to figure out what we need for the baby. Sutton and I have been weaving our way in and out of stores, looking at items.
“Is this not kind of addictive?” She glances over her shoulder with a bright smile, her summer dress clinging to every curve. A light sweater is tied over her shoulders, as some places have the AC cranked up high.
We walk through the entrance of a toy store, and I follow her lead.
“I mean, maybe.” I’m carrying a few bags with tissue paper sticking out, as we both fell down the clothes hole at a little boutique a few blocks back.
I’m lucky that she's ordered furniture and other things for the baby’s room.
Hiring someone to help her with that has been one of my greatest investments.
I have too much business travel, and Sutton needs help, Sutton can go wild with what she wants, and I won’t even need to build any furniture.
The only thing to come out of that arrangement is that Sutton doesn’t want me to look inside the room when they set it up. Something about it being a surprise.
Alas, the baby still needs an entire list of smaller items, and here we are spending our evening shopping since we finally have time for it.
Savannah and Julian had their wedding of the century, and that was the most tiring yet fun wedding weekend I’ve been to in a long time.
The guest list was long, every detail immaculate.
Lola was a cute little flower girl. It was a joke amongst our group that Sutton and I were always supposed to go down the aisle together as members of the wedding party; it’s just that we beat them all to the marriage part.
There was no longer a need for her to try to catch the bouquet, which made Olivia from HR happy, as she won the flower battle.
It took a solid week to recover from the exhaustion, and I’m surprised Sutton held up so well.
But with that out of the way, Elodie and Hayes are having a small wedding in early October, and now everyone's focus is on us. We can get things done.
No signs needed, we follow the path to the baby section, and I begin to roam around with Sutton.
I spot a box that shows a baby lying on a blanket, kicking their feet to reach things hanging above them. “This seems like something he would need. It has a mirror, a rattle, a pulley thing, and it makes noise, sings songs,” I read off the box. “Let’s get this one.”
Sutton rolls her eyes and gives me a knowing look. “Someone here is having a lot of fun.”
“These things are important for him,” I say, defending myself.
“And that blue polo shirt?” She nods toward the bag in my hand.
“For formal occasions.”
“The little onesie with a smiling shark in a suit on it?”
I snicker. “It’s not like I can wear a shirt that says ‘Board meeting at 3am.’”
Okay, I’m loving every second of our shopping excursion.
“The version of you that I’m getting tonight is really hot,” she says offhandedly, stepping forward to study a box on the shelf with sensory toys.
“I think Savannah is getting us something like this. I managed to stave them off from arranging a baby shower by explaining what things the baby might need.”
“Still don’t want a baby shower?” Sutton can sometimes be difficult to crack.
One moment, she is completely in mom-to-be overdrive and invested in what needs to be arranged for the baby.
On the other hand, she doesn’t want extra fuss or to experience things you can only do when you are expecting a baby.
It’s a little fear inside of me that maybe she’s still struggling with the unexpected pregnancy, or maybe she really wanted a girl, or it’s just physical changes. Either way, it causes a blip of concern until her excitement blooms into full swing again.
Abandoning the box with the baby gym, she rushes to the end of the aisle where she spots an activity table. “This is perfect. He won’t be able to use it for a while, but it’s on my list of extras.”
“Extras?” I ask as I trail behind her, watching her have her moment.
“I have my list of what the baby actually needs, and my list for things that are, you know, extras. Things that aren’t a must, but I kind of want to have.”
Instantly, I reach out to clasp her arm, forcing her to bring her attention to me. “Babe, you can have all of the extras you want. The sky is the limit. Money isn’t an issue. Please, go crazy.”
She smirks and chuckles in the back of her throat. "But where is the fun in that? Plus, he will need to learn that it isn’t always so easy. I’ll get maybe one or two extra things for him, and if we happen to receive something as a gift or later on, then great."
She’s stubborn but amazing, wanting to have a plan to instill values in our child.
When I walk around my upscale neighborhood sometimes, it’s blatantly obvious how everyone parents differently.
I’ve noticed it more lately. Also, how some women enjoy using their husband’s credit card and spoiling a child with every expensive item they could possibly want.
“You’re keeping us in check,” I tell her with a smile.
We continue and both stop in the baby book section, which is displayed under a big fake tree with a slide running through the trunk. A set of parents is watching their little girl play.
Perusing the shelves, Sutton and I both begin to pick up books.
“Damn, I remember some of these,” I say. “Kind of figured they would’ve been replaced by something else by now.”
“A classic is a classic.” She holds a book up for me to approve. It’s something about a moon, but the title rings a bell, and I nod.
There are a few books that make noise, and I’m curious, so I press a couple buttons. A little annoying snippet of a song begins to sound, followed by an overly cheery voice counting a number when you turn the page.
Ah, okay. Seems logical. I keep it in hand. “I'll grab it for the register later. He needs to learn numbers,” I justify.
Sutton laughs. “He does.” Her lips purse as she examines more options, sliding another book off the shelf and not putting it back. “Shouldn’t we talk about the serious topic that we seem to keep flying past?”
Stalling, I’m thrown off guard because I’m not sure what she means. “Okay. What is it?”
She playfully pinches my arm. “His name, silly. We haven’t discussed names.”
“True. It’s one of the major points on the checklist.”
“Well, do you have any ideas?”
I shake my head. “No. You?”
“Nada. And your father mentioned that your mother wasn’t a fan of naming after a family member, so Foster Junior is out of the question. I also don’t particularly want to name him after someone in the family.”
Leaning against the bookcase, I consider for a second, but I come up blank. “We’ll both make a list of five names, and then we put them together. I’ll find some naming app or something, and we can do our research this week.”
“That’s a plan. Now, can we get out of here? I’m starving.” She grins.
“Yes, ma’am, we need to get you fed. You’re eating for two and need your energy for my dad’s birthday party tomorrow.” I guide us back to the checkout.
“You sound half-thrilled, but that’s better than zero thrilled,” she points out, highlighting the obvious.
I crack a grin. “Nah, it’ll be fine. He’s having a few of his friends over, my brother, a simple afternoon party with food. We cruise in, say hello, stay for a little bit, then cruise on out.”
Sutton narrows her eyes, and her lips quirk to the side as she doubts my theory. “Hmm, okay. I’ll follow your lead. We need to get him a gift.”
I sputter a laugh. “Trust me, having his grandchild is the gift that keeps on giving.” At first, I say this because he is genuinely excited to become a grandfather. But then, my perspective shifts: another truth keeps casting its shadow, the truth where, by chance, the baby just saved a company.
“Still, we should go gift shopping after lunch. We should try that place back two blocks that we saw, Greek food sounds yummy right now.”
“Sure. I’ll have the driver pick up the bags first.”
After paying for the items, I add the bag to the rest I’m carrying. The swoosh of warm air hits us as soon as we leave the air-conditioned store. The weather is perfect, with crystal-blue skies and low humidity, and you would have no clue that the end of summer is approaching.
Except it is.
And with summer ending, the day we'll meet our son grows nearer.
I’m very curious what Sutton is talking to my father about in the corner of his library, as people flow in and out of the rooms on the main floor.
My father’s idea of a small party must have been misinterpreted somewhere because this is by no means small.
Someone is playing a piano in the living room, and waiters weave between guests to offer hors d’oeuvres.
With a club soda in my hand, I observe as Sutton smiles and he laughs.
Anyone can see that she’s pregnant because her blush-pink summer dress clings to her form, and the sparkling ring on her finger highlights that she’s married.
I’ve handled the crowd with precision. We came in half an hour ago for appearances' sake, talked a bit with my dad. Sutton asked for a moment with him, and I’ve been saying thank-yous to whoever congratulated me, careful to stave off any in-depth conversations.
Taking a sip, I sense my brother approaching. In the corner of my eye, I can already see his sly smirk.
The last few weeks, I have avoided Patrick, plain and simple. Some siblings never grow up close. That’s us. I sure as hell don’t want to hear him make a snide remark. Any congratulations he offers will not be sincere.
He slows his pace before he stops and stands by my side, a strong scotch in his hand.
That’s the tough spot that my moral conscience sometimes gets thrown into.
He’s here in a blazer, a crisp button-up shirt, and he works the room talking to people, always with a smile and talking points for both personal and business-related conversations.
Part of me actually believes sometimes that he enjoys working for the family company and actually wants to succeed in his role.
Then I feel bad when I think less of him.
“I’ll be damned,” he voices more to himself than us, awe laced in his tone. “Dad said you had news to share in your own time.”
I turn to see that his gaze is zoned in on my wife and our dad across the room. Patrick’s cunning smirk turns into satisfaction.
“Sutton and I are married, and we’re having a baby. We eloped just the two of us,” I state the obvious.
“I can see that.” He slaps his hand on my shoulder. “You really went for it. I should go welcome her to the family.”
“Another time. We’re going once she and Dad are done talking.” My sight returns to them, and they are still in a hushed animated conversation.
“This is big news, little brother. Very big news. What came first, the baby or the marriage?” he jokes unnecessarily.
My face hardens, and my eyes arrow into my brother, unsure of what he’ll say next. He’s not exactly going to be uncle-of-the-year material.
“Whatever is in your fucking head, get it out. This is unexpected, but we’re happy.” My tolerance is already up.
“Touchy,” he replies. “Good thing Uncle David isn’t here yet. I want to be around when he realizes his business plans just died behind a fucking barn.”
I bring my fingers to pinch the bridge of my nose, tolerance level zapping away. “Can we not have a normal birthday for Dad?”
Patrick sighs and seems to gather understanding. “Fine.”
Our attention is brought to Sutton who walks toward us, her smile polite and her radiance more beautiful by the day. Pregnancy suits her.
She arrives and allows me to wrap my arm around her from the side. “All okay with my dad?”
“Perfect,” she replies proudly as though she accomplished a secret mission.
“Congratulations,” my brother says with a smile.
She touches her belly with her smile growing. “Thank you. We’re excited.”
He takes a sip from his glass. “You should be, carrying special family goods and all.” As much as that should have felt like a jab, I surprisingly didn’t hear any venom in his voice.
“You’re giving my dad the gift of the century on his birthday.
” That one was a little more unreadable in tone, especially as he winks at me.
I’m going to question religion more if suddenly a baby in the family changes everyone’s interactions in some way.
But today, I want to avoid him.
I clear my throat. “Anyhow, let’s quickly say goodbye.”
“Only if you want to leave. Otherwise, I can grab a cab. I need a nap. I’m more tired than I thought.”
All of my focus returns to her. “Then a nap is what you shall get.”
“Clearly, my brother is taking care of you. We should go for lunch soon, all three of us. I barely know you,” my brother suggests.
Sutton smiles sweetly at him. “True. Sure, we can do lunch. I’m sure we will see you soon. Enjoy your afternoon.”
“You too,” he replies, his eyes pinned on her peculiarly.
“Take care,” I add without emotion before I usher Sutton away.
Sutton and I enter the foyer, and she nudges my shoulder. “Because that wasn’t odd. You and he really have an interesting way of interacting.”
Snickering a sound, I couldn’t agree more. “Who knows. Maybe becoming a dad will soften my patience level.”
“Hopefully. I’m sure he will come around. It must be hard for him to see that you’re getting all the things that he doesn’t yet have.” Sutton is understanding, and she could be right.
Even with my mood suddenly uplifted again, the pit of guilt remains.