PART 10: EPILOGUES
MONROE
Ass backward is how I usually fumble my way into success. That’s how I started my life in Elko, and I’m not changing now. This is why I decide to try for a baby as our house is in the beginning stages. Of course, we hit the jackpot on our first try. Then, I find myself setting up a makeshift nursery in Barbie’s house for a baby I probably should have waited a bit longer to make.
But I wanted a little Conor so badly that I can’t help myself. And Amity’s pregnancy made the timing seem perfect. Plus, Conor mentioned how my baby and my newest sibling will be almost the same age. That’s the kind of wacky shit I love. Yeah, not the best reasons to make a kid, but I have no regrets.
Long before we conceive the little guy, Conor and I decide on our son’s name. While stoned and listening to “Chinese Democracy” in his mom’s barely lit basement, he says he wants the name Willie. I assume he’s fucking around and start throwing out names that’ll honor my parents.
“Leedy,” he suggests, snickering as his hands feel me up in the dark room.
I sound out names while Conor wiggles his way between my legs and blows on my bare pussy. I’ll never tell my son how we came up with his name while his father licked me into submission.
My first pregnancy is easy. I’m shooting hoops with Dunning up until delivery. I feel as if the entire pregnancy is too laidback. Except for my boy kicking me, my little belly, and a lack of a period, I’m exactly like I was before. So, I assume delivery is where I’ll suffer payback from the universe.
Screaming and begging for pain medicine is how I imagine my birthing experience. Instead, my water breaks, I walk around for a while, the mild contractions speed up, we go to the hospital, I push once, and Noel Billy Jessup slides out while screaming his head off.
Yeah, that’s where the universe’s revenge comes in. My firstborn—a handsome child who looks like Conor mated with himself—never seems to stop crying when awake.
“He’s a whiner,” Barbie says, carrying him around the family room to give us a break. “That’s why God made him beautiful. No one’s putting up with this shit for an ugly kid.”
Pixie offers another theory. “They say if you’re angry during pregnancy, your baby will be born with rage imprinted on its heart.”
“But I wasn’t angry during pregnancy. I didn’t even care when Ballerina Barbie called me fat.”
“You called me Little Miss Cunt Barbie.”
“Well, we were both right,” I reply, making her smile. “But, no, I was rarely angry.”
Pixie sighs. “Then, I don’t know why he cries so much.”
And neither does the doctor. There’s nothing wrong with Noel, who is always fussy. I don’t know what Conor and I would do if we were alone. Noel’s crying haunts me. I even hear it in my dreams.
Needy plays nanny at night. Topanga and Lowell are always giving us a hand, despite their new baby. Bronco and Lana take Noel often for a few hours. Pixie and Anders babysit at other times. And not only our closest friends help out. The Woodlands community organizes a schedule, so someone comes by every day. Even the bunnies volunteer to watch him.
I love my son so much, but he’s always unhappy. We rarely share quiet moments between us unless he’s asleep. I’ve seen videos from right after my birth when Needy would hold me in her arms. We’d stare quietly at each other for the longest time. I rarely get those moments with Noel. If he’s awake, he’s crying or whining or preparing to do one or the other.
“He hates me,” I cry to Conor more than once.
“I think maybe he hates everyone,” he always whispers, more exhausted from our parenting failures than a lack of sleep. “Or maybe he liked the world inside you better than the one out here.”
“I don’t want more,” I say a million times a day. “I’m no good at making one baby happy. How will I handle two miserable children?”
Then, on his third month, second week, and fourth day of life, Noel Billy Jessup shuts the fuck up and smiles at me. I don’t know what switch flipped in his little head, but he settles down.
“His smile is like magic,” I tell Conor after a few days with a more chill baby.
“I guess he finally got over missing his home inside you.”
“Or he learned to hide his misery like you do,” I say, suddenly worried that my sad child is faking shit for our benefit.
“I say this with all the love in my heart,” Conor whispers against my cheek. “But our tiny baby’s brain is too dumb to pull off that move.”
Conor is right, of course. I’ve spent months playing detective, trying to figure out why my baby is miserable. Conor remained cool, waiting for our son to realize the world wasn’t ending just because he was out in it.
Motherhood is easy after his switch flips. Sure, Noel still cries, and he throws tantrums as a toddler. My boy isn’t perfect. Yet, after such a stressful beginning to our relationship, I appreciate his smiles and laughter more.
“Jessup men make you work for it,” Conor says one night while we’re outside in the backyard of our gorgeous new home. “That’s why you still have to buy me dinner occasionally to keep the spark alive.”
We’re comfortable people, falling into a groove quickly. But he never lets our relationship get boring. When we irritate each other, we drive to Cincinnati to vent our frustrations by crashing bumper cars.
Conor never takes me for granted. I’m still the safe place he craved all his life. I even suspect this is why his relationship with his mom has improved. They can butt heads and drive each other crazy. Then, he’ll return to me where he’s safe to lower his guard.
Though I don’t know if time heals all wounds, it sure does calm old grudges. Taryn, DeAnna, and I will never be friends. Yet, life smooths out our relationship’s many sharp edges. They even offer to help when Noel goes through his crying phase, and I’m actually willing to let them by then. Everyone can change, not much in some cases, but enough to make a difference.
After her daughter’s birth, attention-hog DeAnna fulfills her need to feel special by doting on what she believes is the cutest child on the planet. This delusion distracts her from being a cunt most days. Taryn finally lowers herself to hooking up with Farts. Some women need a man to find their purpose, and she’s one of them. Her devil son isn’t so bad once he has a parent who doesn’t think his bad behavior is funny.
People change, and they learn to live together. And that was what I had to do with the Woodlands community. Conor is a package deal. His mom and his family and his club and their families. I couldn’t just get the great man and ignore the rest. These are my people now. Fortunately, I’m good at melting into not-always-warm family situations.
By the time Bardot comes along, I’m the president’s wife. Shy Lana couldn’t ignore them when Bronco was running the club. She mostly smiled and played nice while Topanga, Barbie, and Bambi did the heavy lifting keeping the other old ladies in order. After all, women who marry bikers don’t tend to be on the timid side and will butt heads with the best of them.
Once I’m the Woodlands queen, I don’t start wagging my tits around. However, I’m more willing to shove the other three women aside if I feel they’re wrong. Over the next few years, Barbie and I become quite the ballbusting duo. She plays bad cop. I play the jaded cop who lets the bad cop go too far before finally stepping in and acting semi-rational. Then, if we need a good cop, we’ll pull Topanga into our madness. Not only does this system work, but the old ladies also find it entertaining.