“Midnight? I thought Ellie went to bed at seven.”
“BED!” Ellie screams, taking part in the conversation, then puts a Cheerio in her mouth. Amanda has poured some on her tray.
“She does. But sometimes she gets up. And I thought we could watch movies together.”
“You did?”
Instant regret floods me, because even I cringe at my tone. Damn. I had no idea Amanda had this all planned out.
“I did,” she says tightly. “If you didn't come here to be a true babysitter, Andrew, why don't you just go home and work and I'll take care of Ellie.”
“That's not what I want.”
Bzzz
“I know you want to answer it.”
I pick up the phone, stand up, walk over to the refrigerator, and put the phone in the butter compartment on the door.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“Putting it where we won't hear it.”
“Do Not Disturb mode isn't good enough?”
“I want it out of sight.”
Her shoulders drop, corners of her mouth turning up. “Thank you.”
“I should have done it sooner.”
Now her body melts, tension gone.
Sure, I'm desperate to do what I need to do. Decisions come from the top down at Anterdec, and even an hour out of touch can make a huge difference. I just spent all that time at the gym ignoring my phone, and my behavior is catching up with me. The unknown of texts and emails and decisions I should be weeding through grows as time passes and I don't check in.
But a slow dawning is happening as I take a bite of my noodles and watch Ellie carefully picking up her Cheerios, one at a time.
This is life.
It's boring because it's life. Dinner with your wife and kids should be boring. Watching a toddler for a few hours should be mundane. Chilling on the sofa while the kids are asleep should be a waste of time.
Productivity isn't the measure of a good life.
I might not know what is, but answering texts and emails sure as hell isn't it.
Amanda carefully picks out all the orange foods and eats them first, slowly moving on to the chicken and the noodles in her pad Thai. The bizarre orange-and-white-food thing has diminished, but this pregnancy is going to leave all kinds of marks on her body and her eating habits.
“BAF!” Ellie shrieks, looking toward the hallway. “WAN BAF!”
“She's really good at talking,” I marvel.
“You're right. She's way ahead of where Tyler was at this age.”
“Tyler?”
“Carol's son. You know.”
“Right. Weird little kid, but he's happy. What about him?”
“Remember his language disorder?”
I frown. “I guess so. I don't know much about it.”
“He spoke a little until he was almost two. Then he lost a lot of language. Came back when he was older. But he was never as expressive as Ellie at this age.” She tilts her head as she looks at our niece. “Tyler's the last baby I spent major time with until her.”
“You're going to get all the baby time you could possibly want in a few months,” I say, reaching for her hand and giving it an affectionate squeeze, then moving to her belly.
“BAF! UNCADOO BAF!”
Our queen has issued her command.
“Does she have a special bath?” I ask, unsure what to do next.
“You mean, like, holy water? I know Declan worships her, but I doubt they've gone that far.”
I ignore that. “How does a little kid take a bath?”
“She doesn't take a bath. You give her one. You have to turn on the water, plug the tub, pull out all the toys, and watch her like a hawk.”
“Le Hawk,” I joke, which makes Amanda smile. It's been years since she saved a Chihuahua from a random hawk attack at a park. It was good work but it wasn’t pretty. And it took a lot of effort for the reputation management company I hired to get that video off the internet.
“AWK!” Ellie shouts, looking at us both to see if we respond.
“You really don't know how to give a child a bath?” Amanda asks, something in her voice making me pause.
“No. Why would I?”
Her brow knits as she thinks, then she shrugs. “Good point. I only know about taking care of little kids because of Carol and her two boys. You don't have any small children in your life.”
Ellie bangs her fist on the high chair tray as if to protest.
I smile at her. “I do now.”
Amanda's hands go to her belly. “And you’ll have more soon,” she adds.
“Let me learn this,” I say, standing and walking into the bathroom off the hall.
Amanda's voice is muted as she calls out, “I think they bathe her in the master bath.”
Which makes sense. I follow her lead and go into Shannon and Declan's bedroom, a sprawling affair with a huge window looking over the city. Unlike my condo in the Seaport District, they’re not right on the water. This is the same place he's had forever, though I know he and Shannon are looking for a home in the suburbs. Amanda's pushing Shannon hard to move to Weston, near us.
When I reach the bathroom, I see Amanda is right.
It looks like an aquatic toy store exploded all over my brother's bathtub.
There's a plastic elephant over the bathtub spout. It looks like the elephant has the worst runny nose ever as water pours out of it, the color of the plastic changing over time. Amanda appears, carrying a very sticky Ellie, who looks at the bath and shrieks, “WAN BUBBAS!”
“That tone is subatomic,” I say, rubbing my ear.
“Get used to it. It's all we're going to know for a few years,” Amanda says, hand to her belly again. This time, I join her, her other hand reaching for a shampoo bottle that turns out to be bubble bath solution. As she pours, the room fills with the scent of fresh apple.
And bubbles explode over the surface of the water.
Ellie lifts one leg and starts to climb in, monkey toes curled under.
“Wait! We have to take your clothes off,” Amanda says patiently as Ellie looks at her, then holds her little arms up.
My wife takes the hem of her shirt and pulls north, Ellie's face disappearing for a moment until she's shirtless. Within seconds, Ellie is bath-ready, in the water, and squealing with delight.
“Here.” Amanda hands me the dirty clothes and a rolled-up wet diaper. “Can you take care of those?”
“Take care of?”
“You know.”
I stare at the pile in my hands. “No. I don't.”
She snorts. “You sound just like James when you say it that way.”
“What do I do with this?”
“What do you think, Andrew? It's laundry and a dirty diaper.”
Uncertain and hating that feeling, I walk to the laundry area and throw it all in the hamper, then return to find Amanda using a washcloth and soap to wash Ellie. She's a natural at it, knowing exactly what to do, and then out comes a visor.
“Is she going to play tennis in there?”
“Hah. No. It's for washing her hair. I've seen Shannon use it.” Narrowing eyes meet mine. “You threw the dirty clothes in the hamper?”
“Of course.”