56 Days (Black) (23 page)

30 Days Later

I stood in the full-length mirror, frantically brushing my hair, trying to pull it into the tightest, most professional knot I could muster.  Smoothing the ridges, spritzing with finishing spray.  Mascara: check.  Cherry lip gloss: check.  Industrial looking charcoal drawstring pants: check.  Awful fucking black rubber shoes: disgusting, but check.

I folded my black double-breasted chef’s coat and placed it neatly in my backpack.  Jack walked in and gave me a low wolf-whistle.

I turned and shot him a look of death.  “Don’t even.”

“What?  You look hot.  And super chef-y.  Is that a word?”

My insides were a kinked mess.  “Can you go for me?  I can’t do it.”

He wound his hand around my waist and gently massaged my
stomach.  Our Paris trip had been fruitful; we were expecting a baby in late July.  Jack was beyond thrilled.  So was my mother, oddly enough.  She’d been calling a lot lately… trying to make amends.

The best part?  We had just found out that Rachel was carrying as well, due just a few weeks before us.  Our children would grow up together.  Double cousins. 

How fucking weird was that?

Jack and I had
decided that as soon as I finished school and had the baby, we would start to look for houses near them in Indianapolis.  Vince and Rachel were both ecstatic about the idea of us being nearby.  Rachel had already started sending me real estate listings… on the same street.

I was elated about our venture.  A new city.  A new baby. 

A new life.

“You’re gonna be great.  You and my little peanut in there.”

“Yeah,” I sighed.

He turned me around to face him, placing his hands at my hips.  “Elsa.  You know the first night we spent together at your old apartment?”

“Yeah.” 

How could I forget?

“You made those oatmeal chocolate chunk cookies for me and we ate them on the pink couch, remember?”

“Yeah.”

Where was he going with this?

“Those were the best cookies I’ve ever had.  Hands down.”  He cupped the sides of my face.  “Don’t ever tell my mother.”

“Those were cookies, Jack.  This is confectionery and sculpture and…”

“And things you already know how to do.  You’ve been working in a bakery for five years, babe.  Half of these people are just starting out. 
So, you can’t tell me that you can’t do this.  This is just learning more of what you already know.  You’re smart and sexy and funny and talented.  You’ve got this, okay?”

I nodded and kissed him on the cheek.  “Thanks.”

*****

Jack rode the
L with me that morning all the way from Edgewater to the Quincy/Wells station, dropping us off just a few blocks from the school.

I was nervous, biting my nails the entire commute.  Jack tried to distract me, talking about his boxing session later that day.

He knew my weak spot.  Him.  Shirtless.  Sweating. 

Dear God.

“Come by the gym when you’re done.  I should be wrapping up around the same time.”

“Okay,” I replied, rubbing his fingers in mine.

We stood together by the glass doors.

“Now or never, Conti,” he whispered in my ear.  “Go.”

I pulled my coat out of my bag and took my time with each button.  He leaned in and placed a short kiss to my lips.

“See you later?” I asked, checking my hair again.

He gave me a soft swat on my backside and started his walk back to the train station.

I straightened my coat and walked through the doors.

Nervous? 
Yes.
  Eager? 
Oh, yeah.

In twenty-four weeks,
I would have this. 

This
thing
.  This experience would be mine alone.  I wouldn’t have to work in the back anymore.  Soon, I would be a wife, a mother, and a motherfucking bona fide pastry chef.

Front and center.

Jack

I sat on the couch with Vince, mindlessly watching the Bears while the girls cooked in the kitchen.  I liked this new tradition.  We ate together once a week
, every Sunday.  My nephew was curled up in my brother’s lap.  Vince brushed Abe’s hair lightly with his fingertips.

“Where’s Ramona?” I asked, looking around for my niece.

“Probably trying to fit your daughter’s clothes on Buster again.  They can’t leave that poor dog alone for five seconds.  That’s why he hides the second he hears her voice.  I don’t see Clara either, actually.  They’re probably off together figuring out how to manipulate us into a slumber party or something.”

I laughed, peering into the kitchen.  Elsa was bent over
our oven, ass in the air.  She was the only woman I knew that cooked in five-inch heels and skin-tight jeans.  She pulled out a roast and set it on the counter, brushing her bangs from her eyes with her oven mitts.

After Clara, we had taken a break from
trying to have another baby.  The pregnancy had been hard on Elsa; she was ready again now and we had been “practicing” a few times a day.

We had found the perfect spot
for her bakery in Irvington, just ten minutes from our house in Lockerbie.  I had leased a work studio there as well, just a few blocks away.  Her shop was the first daily stop I made each morning.  It was an upscale French bakery, specializing in small pastry and wedding cakes.  I’d never eaten so much cake in my life than during the six months after the opening.  After a bit of a rough start, it was now thriving, thanks to a write-up in a local magazine.

The shop was
all
Elsa.  Pink and punk at the same time.  She had named it “Petit Gateau,” a nod to Gemma and our life in Chicago.  She missed the city, but she adapted quickly to Indianapolis.  She fell in love with the area that we lived in; taking full advantage of everything downtown had to offer.

Vince and Rachel had stayed in
Broad Ripple since her job was on the north end.  We were still only a few miles from them and saw them almost daily.  They were expecting (again) and wanted to stay put.

Clara and Ramona went to the same magnet
preschool downtown, right near the fire station.  I walked Clara in the mornings, seeing Ramona off the bus every weekday.

“Bab
e?” Elsa called.

She probably wanted something from a cabinet.  That was my main purpose at our house
: to reach tall things.

I
made my way in, letting out a sigh.

“What?” she asked.  “You too busy to help me?”

I smiled and wrapped my arms around her waist.  “Never.  What do you need?”

“Pink bowl, top shelf.”

As I reached for it, she ran her nails under my shirt, scratching along my stomach.  If she wanted to keep this outing family friendly, I would have to remind her later that belly scratching was a direct connection to my manhood.

I placed the bowl
on the counter and took her into my arms, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to her lips.  She responded by licking my tongue with hers in a slow caress. 

Jesus Christ.

“God, you guys,” Rachel barked, rubbing at her round stomach.  “You’d think you just met last night.”

It had been
just over five years since Elsa and I had married, but it did
seem new.  She
always
seemed new.  Confident, happy… sexy.

Elsa pulled away laughing, but kept her arms around my waist
, resting her thumbs inside the band of my jeans.  “Ray, you’re one to talk.  Last week, I literally saw you put your hand in Vince’s pants… in front of the baby.”

She pointed a terse finger at Elsa.  “Shut up!  I most certainly did not do that.”

“Oh yeah, you did.  It’s possible that you were even
holding
Abe at the time.”

“Come on,” Rachel responded.  “My baby is right there!” she whispered, pointing at the couch.

They laughed and Elsa pushed at my waist, freeing herself.  “God, Ray, have you seen my man lately?”  She lifted my shirt and smacked me hard in the gut.  “This is
sick
.  He’s been working extra hard at the gym.”

Rachel rolled her eyes
and turned towards the stove, stirring a pot.  “Uh huh.”

“Behave,” I told her, returning to the couch.

Vince carefully handed a sleeping Abe to me and stood.  “Gotta pee.  Pause it.”

I hit the remote and
carefully shuffled Abe in my lap.  Just then, Clara and Ramona rounded the corner, nearly knocking our only wedding photo off of the shelf.

“
Daddy?” Clara screamed. 

My daughter
had one volume.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” she replied.

“Okay.  Yes,
Clara?”

“Can
we see the dreel?”

“The drill?” I asked h
er.  Elsa shook her head at me.  “Not right now, bambina.  Later, okay?  Drills are dangerous and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

“I’m not gonna get hurt
.  I don’t even wanna see it.  Ramona did.”

“Did not!” Ramona screamed.

“Hey, you two.  Zip it.  You love each other.  Act like it.  Come here.”  I gathered both of the girls and sat them on either side of me.  “Can you shake hands?”

They both pouted,
making the same face.

“I mean, it, ladies.  Shake on it.”

The two girls casually stuck their little arms out and linked fingers.  “I’m still pretty mad,” Clara said.

“Clara,
do you want a time out?”

“I’m not mad anymore, Daddy,” she said, lifting up to drop a kiss on my cheek.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought.”

The two scurried off as Vince walked back up.  “What’s up with those two?”

“Fighting.  The usual.  Hey, are Mom and Dad coming next weekend?  Elsa said she talked to Mom.”

“Yeah, I think so.  Ray says that they may even be looking for a condo while they’re here.  I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Well, you never know,” I said. “Sarah did.” 

Our mother-in-law moved just outside of town the year before, taking the kids often and spending a lot more time with her daughters
… and us.

Vince rolled his eyes.  “She’s lucky our kids fucking love her
.  Seriously.  The last time she was over, she asked me if I was ever planning to cut my hair.”

“Dinner!” Rachel called.  “Girls, wash your hands.”

We all situated around the table.  Rachel had developed another tradition.  Each time we had a meal together, we had to say one thing we were thankful for.  Most of the time, for the girls, it was candy or Barbies, but every once in a while, they came up with a good one.

Today was one of those days.

Rachel started.  “Today, I’m thankful for my family.  All of you being here.”

Abe sat on Rachel’s lap, cuddling against her chest while she rocked him softly.

“Hmm, I’m thankful for the Bears…” Vince responded.

“Go Bears,”
I interjected.

“And… for my rock star wife who helped make this food.
  And my babies, of course.”

Elsa was up.
 
Jesus, she looked beautiful.
  She was wearing some sort of confusing wrap top, but it was barely decent.  She caught me staring (yet again) and smiled.

“I’m thankful for my
husband who provides us with so much love.  I don’t deserve you.”  She placed her hand in mine.  “I’m also thankful for my daughter, the funniest girl on the planet.”

I squeezed
her hand.  “Well, I’m thankful for Rachel, honestly.  If I wouldn’t have met her, I wouldn’t have you… and we wouldn’t have Clara.”

The girls were always the last to go.  They needed to “really think” about what they were thankful for.  Sometimes this could take seconds. 
Other times, we sat there for fifteen minutes while they pondered their answers.

“Well,” Ramona said, “I guess I’m thankful for Abe.  He’s stupid, but he’s my brother, so I have to like him.”

“Ramona… seriously?” Rachel asked.

“I said I
liked
him!” Ramona retorted, banging her fist once on the table.

Drama queen.

“And I,” Clara whispered, “am thankful for my Mommy and my Daddy and the little baby that’s growing inside her belly.”  She patted Elsa’s stomach and smiled at me.

Elsa turned to me and gave a short nod.

“Yeah?” I asked quietly.

“Yep.”

I turned towards our family, my throat suddenly tight.

“Can I change my answer?”