Chapter Seven
I brought Marcie home from the rehab facility the next day, once she and her mother had Daniel safely ensconced with the experts. The second she got home, Samantha took her into a room alone, and not a one of us was allowed to hear the words my babygirl told her.
I’d offered to be there. So had Yukiko. Samantha gently turned us down—like she’d said, this was something she needed to do herself. She owed it to Marcie to make sure this was less traumatic than the news she’d gotten about her father.
I agreed. Which was why I kept the rest of the group downstairs and did my best to keep them on an even keel while Samantha did what she needed to do.
They wound up staying up there for the better part of an hour.
When the pair came back downstairs, I could see the way it had affected Marcie.
Her eyes were red and swollen, her makeup smudged, the remains of tears drying on her cheeks in messy smears.
But she walked down the stairs hand in hand with her fellow wife, she managed a smile for the group, and (after taking a long shower and washing away the remnants of a nearly week-long stay in the hospital) jumped back into her role in our lives with a ferocity that shocked me.
It wasn’t what I’d expected. I think part of me had braced for the version of Marcie who fell apart—the one I’d held a week ago while she let out all her frustrations about baking cakes and being oh-so-warm while fighting against becoming the wife who was falling behind.
That Marcie would’ve needed me to carry her through a shock like this.
This Marcie? This Marcie made Samantha a cup of tea, tucked them both beneath a blanket on the couch, found the dumbest rom-com she could pull up on a streaming service and laughed at it with my babygirl for two hours, pulling Heather, Eva and even Caroline into the viewing party.
Yukiko had been right. She’ll be better with this than any of us, she’d told Samantha with a smirk back in the bedroom, and like so many times before, my princess’s judgment was unerring.
I don’t know if it was the way I’d reassured her after her breakdown, the week she’d spent at her father’s bedside, or just the way that recent events had pushed us all to learn that sometimes life got fucked up and there was nothing you could do about it except be as supportive as possible.
But the Marcie I saw that first night after she went directly from her father’s crisis into Samantha’s made me so proud of her I could burst.
When the movie ended, Marcie switched the TV over to Clueless. “I’ve seen this movie, like, a thousand times,” Samantha murmured, sipping her tea with a smile.
“I know,” Marcie said. “It’s total comfort cinema.”
The rest of the group headed off to do other things. I went to the couch and settled in next to them, smirking a bit when Marcie pretended she wasn’t going to give me a corner of the blanket before letting me snuggle in underneath it.
“Daddy would probably rather watch Dune again,” Samantha said, smirking over the rim of her mug. “Hi there.”
“Oh, I would never interrupt a cinematic classic like this,” I said, nodding at Paul Rudd on the screen before turning my attention back to my wives. “You two doing okay?”
“We’re just catching up,” Marcie said.
Samantha narrowed her eyes. “Have you finished your errand already, Daddy?”
I blinked. Errand?
Marcie made a face. “Sam, it’s okay—”
“You’re taking Marcie to the doctor,” Samantha said, setting down her mug. “ASAP. Tomorrow, if possible.”
“With everything that’s going on—”
“Marcie, stop.” Samantha was smiling, but there was more than a bit of the Delta Rho sorority president about her.
“What’s going on with me does not change anything going on with you.
” She glanced from her fellow wife to me.
“I will be fine here tomorrow with Kiki and the others. They’ll do a perfectly fine job pampering me.
” She paused. “Although there’s no way I’m letting a woman who’s six months pregnant wait on me. ”
I was already nodding. “Already done.”
I’d made the call myself, just like I promised Marcie I would. I didn’t let Mona do it, because I swore to the other wife I called babygirl that I’d handle it personally, and I’m not the kind of man who weasels his way out of a promise.
I did take Mona’s recommendation on the ‘who’, though.
I wasn’t a total idiot.
Marcie’s face lit up. “You did?” she asked, sitting up straighter. “We’ve got an appointment?”
“Tomorrow morning, with Dr. Fatima Kothary,” I said.
I didn’t tell her how much of a deposit I’d had to make to get us to the front of the line that quickly.
“A reproductive endocrinologist with Boston Fertility Partners. Comes highly recommended. One of the best in the business.” I paused.
“Apparently very good at discretion, as well, which is almost as important as her credentials—”
I couldn’t get any more out before Marcie threw herself into my arms and hugged me tight. “Oh, thank you, Uncle Jack!” she said, her eyes shining like Christmas morning. “I’m… I’m so glad we’re finally moving forward on this.”
Samantha leaned in with a smile. “You’re going to be just fine,” she assured her bestie. “You’re going to be spending your mornings trying not to throw up before you know it.”
“I’d take throwing up every morning for the rest of my life if it gets me this,” Marcie said. I felt her take Samantha’s hand under the blanket. “Thank you for being so understanding, Sam…”
“Pssh,” my babygirl said. “Please. You getting a positive pregnancy test would be the best medicine for me right now.” She glanced at the TV. “That and the tea. And the company.”
I wasn’t about to argue.
That night, once everyone else went to bed, Samantha, Yukiko and I welcomed Marcie back into the fold with all the fanfare she deserved.
And then some. The next morning, while most of the house was still asleep (save for Mona, who I’d begun to worry was taking the whole I’ll sleep when I’m dead thing literally), I poured some coffee into a couple of thermoses, packed Marcie into the McLaren and headed across town to Dr. Kothary’s office.
Marcie was quiet on the drive over. Not in a bad way, just… thinking. This was a big moment for her. I knew how badly she wanted to take her place beside my other two wives in the “carrying a Jack junior” club.
“You okay over there, babygirl?” I asked.
Marcie smiled. “Samantha told me Fiona Hall asked her about the babygirl thing. Wanted to know how Samantha and I managed to share it without killing each other.” A chuckle. “She really told the story about you timing us with your watch?”
“That wasn’t even the dirtiest story she told,” I fired back. “Honestly, maybe we should talk Samantha into keeping that podcast interview unfinished. There are several extended members of this family who might have a conniption if they have to listen to all that…”
“Oh hell no,” Marcie said, with a firmness that shocked me. “She’s got to go back!”
“I was just joking, babygirl,” I assured her. “I know how much the Call Your Daddy thing means to her.”
Not to mention how important it is to Mona’s strategy, I thought but didn’t say.
Marcie got quiet. “I tried to tell her that maybe we should push this back,” she said, her jaw setting in a way that reminded me of Daniel. “That I felt guilty worrying about a baby that doesn’t even exist yet when she might—when there’s a real thing that might be happening to a real baby.”
That sounds like you, babygirl, I thought.
“She would never want you to put your life on hold for her,” I told Marcie. “Nobody does, babygirl. Least of all me.”
“Oh, I know,” Marcie said, smirking at the memory. “She about took my freaking head off. She said it’s even more important now. She said ‘Marcie, you’ve waited long enough. Don’t you dare make my bad news into your excuse!’”
And THAT sure sounds like Samantha, I told myself.
“That’s the whole thing about your sister wife,” I said, keeping my gaze on the road ahead.
“She loves you. And she is constitutionally incapable of sitting by when the people she loves need something.” I paused, remembering.
“You should’ve seen her the night you caught me, her and Kiki together the first time.
When you stormed out of my condo and she realized how angry you were.
How bad she’d hurt you. I thought she was going to combust on the spot from the guilt. ”
“I was so mad at her because I had a crush on her,” Marcie admitted. “And on you, obviously.”
“I figured that out eventually, babygirl.”
Marcie smiled, then put her hand on top of mine. “She wants me to come with her,” she said.
“To her appointment?” I guessed.
Marcie was already shaking her head. “To Call Your Daddy,” she said. “She wants me to be the second half of the interview. Not Dawn.”
My jaw hung open for a moment. “I think that’s a hell of an idea,” I said, running it behind my eyes. “If you’re comfortable with it, that is.”
“A couple of weeks ago, I might not have been,” Marcie told me. “But right now… yeah. I’m ready to go on the offensive, Uncle Jack. I’ve seen what’s happened to my parents since this all started.”
I nodded.
“I want to help,” she said, giving my hand a squeeze. “I don’t want to be on the outside anymore. I want to be in the trenches with Kiki and Sam, and all the rest of the girls.”
My chest felt warm. “Then you will be, babygirl,” I promised. A laugh spilled from me. “Hell. I’m sure Mona will put you to work.”
Marcie leaned over and put her head against my shoulder. “But first, Dr. Kothary.”
“Agreed.”
The two of us lapsed back into silence the rest of the drive. The calm, peaceful silence of a husband and wife who understood each other perfectly.
Boston Fertility Partners had the nicest waiting room I’d ever sat in.