Authors: Cristiane Serruya
“The house looks wonderful. This room is great,” Tavish said, looking around.
The renamed Family Room had been refurbished by Carolina and Valentina in rich tones of brown and caramel, with bright-red and mat dark-gold silk cushions. They extended it a bit more and created a full separate office for Alistair and Sophia and had kept the French desks. Everything else had been replaced.
“Everything set for the christening?” Tavish asked.
“Oh, man.” Alistair sighed. “Such a mess is a mixed christening.”
“Why?”
“The rabbi and Father Bruce both agree that since Sophia is Jewish so would be the baby. They also agree there is no harm in having the brit-milah and after Father Bruce gives him a blessing, but the rabbi disagreed with the Catholic christening. She pushed until Father Bruce prepared a light blessing which was approved by the rabbi. Father Bruce is rather accommodating, you know. She wouldn’t have it otherwise.”
“Of course everyone, including you, said yes,” stated Tavish. When Alistair raised his eyebrows at Tavish, he explained, with a smile, “It’s all you have been doing.”
“If that’s what it takes to give her happiness, that’s what I’ll give her. She’s asked for so little. We’ll just have to teach him to respect our family’s tradition as Gabriela does. And it will give the baby a chance to choose in the future.”
“You’re right, Brother,” Tavish nodded. “I guess that it’s what Sophia has always said: ‘
Toleration’
. It’s what society is missing; understanding the spirit of welcoming God’s love and practicing His way is what is important. Then it would be a traditional Jewish circumcision?”
Fuck. The circumcision.
Alistair grimaced and his brother laughed again.
I don’t even want to think about it.
Not answering the question, Alistair said, “Don’t tell me it doesn’t hurt. Dr. Ben said if it’s done after the baby is a few months old or later, he’ll need general anesthesia, it will take longer to heal and is much more painful. He says I shouldn’t worry, that it’s just a
small
snip and when he did mine I didn’t even cry. Ugh! How can you doctors be so… cold?”
“We are not cold. It’s a good, healthy procedure. It
is
a small snip for newborns. It barely takes five minutes. But it hurts. I’ve seen it done without any anesthetic and babies do cry at the top of their lungs. I don’t know who cries more: the mother or the baby. Just for your information, I’m not partial to pain. On the opposite, I think that if it can be curbed, it should.”
Christ.
Alistair raked his hand in his long hair, nervously. “The rabbi that blessed our marriage is an MD and a mohel and he’s agreed to do it as she wants.”
“As she wants?” Tavish’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He shook his head, smiling even more. “Only Sophia. Do tell me her…
procedure
.”
“He’s considered a modernist. So, he uses an anesthetic cream and a sterile sponge to draw the blood.” Alistair sighed and looked at his brother. “But she also demanded local anesthesia. And said
you
and John are supervising everything before she lets the rabbi touches our son; that she won’t stay in the other room; that no one is going to be performing long honorary roles with the baby, that she will give our son to Davidoff and Gabriela and take him back as soon as the milah is done. After Father Bruce blesses the baby, she’ll be taking him immediately back into the nursery to be breastfed and to sleep.”
Tavish’s smile grew into a grin. “It’s when I’ll give my godson a heathen Scottish christening.”
“And what is that?” Alistair asked, between curious and concerned.
“A pacifier dipped in whisky,” he joked and winked at his brother. “Don’t be so concerned, Alistair Connor. I’ll help with the first diapers. And I’ll teach you how to change the bandage.”
Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
“Don’t talk about it.”
“Have you decided on a name?”
“Aye and nae. It’s going to be Peter something.” He shook his head at Tavish’s laughter. “This is the only thing I know. Peter was her father’s name, Pedro in Portuguese. And she asked if she could surprise me with the second one, from the five we have finally chosen.”
With a big smile on his face, Tavish looked at Sophia, as her hand rubbed her round and big belly again. “She looks peaceful and happy.”
“We spent the morning lounging on the pool. She wasn’t hungry and slept from lunch hour until you arrived. Uncharacteristically of her behavior lately, but she said she was tired.” Alistair shrugged and said secretly to his brother, “I even called John. But as she was not feeling any pain, he said it was okay. Has she dragged you to see the nursery?”
“Not yet,” Tavish answered fully amused when Alistair sprang excitedly to his feet, intending to take him upstairs.
“Husband,” Sophia called. “Where do you think you are going with my son’s godfather?”
“Upstairs,” Alistair’s eyes gleamed. “I was going to show him the nursery.”
She stretched her hands to him and wiggled her fingers. “I’m going too. I’m tired of sitting here. Alice, after more than a week of continuous monitoring your brother misdemeanors, I am exhausted.”
“Ungrateful wife,” Alistair pouted, stretching out his arms and gripping her elbows, without pulling her.
“I carry this warrior for more than nine months, and I’m the ungrateful one.” Sophia grabbed his forearms and slowly made her way to a standing position. “Remind me of this, Tavish Uilleam, when he starts asking for another baby.”
“I will,” said Tavish.
Alistair bent his arm and offered it to her, replying, “Not
another
. Twins.”
“Alistair Co—” Sophia halted and gasped, surprised, her arms crossing around her belly.
As she inhaled deeply, she felt Alistair’s arms snaking around her back and his hands flattening over her belly, supporting her. When she looked up, there were a pair of brown eyes and three pairs of green eyes watching her closely.
“Sophia?” Alistair asked when she didn’t say anything.
She flashed him a crooked smile. “I guess we’d better deliver this one into the world before we think about the twins.”
Chapter 38
Atwood House.
Saturday, November 19
th
, 2011.
5 p.m.
“I had always been so sure I would never use this lift,” Alistair said, holding the door open for Sophia.
She smiled placidly at him, exiting with their son cradled in her arms. “Never say never, Husband.”
I can fairly say I would
never
tire of hearing you say this word in such a loving tone.
He placed his arm over her shoulders, the overwhelming awe that had come over him with the birthing of his son still circling in his veins. “Do you think she’ll be jealous?”
“No, because it depends on us to make her jealous.” Sophia looked up at her bewitched husband. “And we won’t let her feel less loved.”
“Aren’t you wise, Wife?”
“No,” she shook her head at him. “I’m just trying to be. We’ll make this journey together.”
Walking next to each other, they entered Gabriela’s room.
An impossibly huge smile opened on Sophia’s face when she saw Valentina painted and dressed as Harlequin, Victoria as Pierrot and Gabriela as Columbine. “Hello, girls.”
Immediately, her daughter slid down from the small sofa and approached them, her blue eyes brimming with impatience and curiosity. “Oh… My baby brother! What’s his name, Mama? Tell me, tell me.”
Alistair picked the baby in his arms and knelt on the floor to show him to their daughter. “Gabriela, this is your baby brother, Peter Liam.”
Gabriela peered down at the big and beautiful baby. He was wrapped in a long silk and wool marine blanket, sleeping, with his small fists framing his chubby rosy cheeks, his head downy with just a fluff of ink-black hair. She tilted her head to one side and then to the other.
Alistair saw the uncertainty in her eyes. “So? What do you think?”
“Your trip took more than one day.” Gabriela looked up at Sophia who was caressing her blonde hair, and then to Alistair. “He… Hmm… He looks like you, Daddy. He is cute.”
“Well, thank you,” he said to Gabriela.
I guess.
When Valentina stepped to pick up her nephew in her arms, he frowned, protectively tightening his arms around Peter. He scolded at her, “You have to properly wash your hands first, you crazy Harlequin.”
Sophia chuckled and bit back a painful groan, putting her hand on her stomach, as Valentina and Victoria rushed to wash their hands in Gabriela’s bathroom.
“So, Fairy, do you want to hold your brother?”
She
is
jealous.
Her eyes lit up and widened. “Can I?”
“Of course,” Sophia answered. “You just have to wash your hands. Ask Victoria to help you.”
“Harlequin, Pierrot and Columbine.”
I hope they weren’t teaching Gabriela the story.
“Aren’t your sisters crazy?”
Yeah, they are.
She chuckled again and groaned this time. She gingerly sat on the small pink sofa under the window and held out her arms to pick up her son. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”
Alistair bit back a smile when Gabriela returned to the room, with her hands stretched out in front of her, reeking of alcohol, followed by her aunts. Gabriela sat next to them on the sofa and Alistair placed a cloth on her shoulder.
Sophia put Peter in her arms, arranging pillows under Gabriela’s arms and waited for her reaction.
“He is heavy. And so, so cute. Much cuter than my dolls.” She sighed longingly. Then, incapable of holding back her childish curiosity, Gabriela asked, “But, Mama, will it take too long for him to grow to play with me?”
“Nae, Fairy. It’ll be sooner than you think,” Alistair smiled, relieved, caressing her blonde hair. “Until then he will only sleep, eat, poop, pee, and cry.”
“Hmm,” Gabriela scrunched her nose. “That doesn’t seem much fun.”
“We’ll make it fun, Fairy,” he stated, in his commanding way and Gabriela smiled adoringly at him.
Sophia grinned, love pouring from her eyes into Alistair’s.
All she wanted to focus on right now was taking care of her family, the rest could wait a few months.
She needed it; she deserved it. She had died a thousand deaths and had to be reborn a thousand times these past months, but in the end it was worth it.
Craigdale Caisteal, The West Wing,
The Duchess of Craigdale Apartments.
Sunday, December 24
th
, 2011.
11.07 p.m.
Alistair closed the book and put it back on the bedside table. Silently, he rose from the chair and kissed Gabriela’s blonde hair. He switched off the table lamp and walked out of the room, closing the door quietly.
He crossed the shadowed corridor, leaned on the doorjamb of the room opposite and let the serene atmosphere take hold of his soul.
He sighed, contented.
Sophia raised her head, put a finger on her lips and motioned him in with a smile on her lips.
She looked younger than ever, with her growing short raven hair leaving her neck half exposed and falling in cropped bangs over her forehead. It made her look like a pixie.
He sat beside her on the sofa and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her and their son to his embrace. There was a look of elation on his face and his eyes glowed at her with adoration. “My private ray of sun. My light, my life, my love. There’s no greater gift than you, Gabriela, and Peter Liam.”
“Perfect, isn’t he?” There was a rasp of deep emotion when she spoke, enthralled by the beautiful baby boy cradled in the crook of her arm, with his small mouth latched to her nipple and a fisted hand resting on the upper swell of her breast. Her long fingers caressed his tiny head and fluff of silky, shiny ink-black hair. “He took after you.”
“After you, you mean,” he breathed, his voice thick with love. Then he pressed his mouth to her ear and said huskily, “I like your breasts like that, bigger.”
“Pervert!” Sophia flushed and he laughed, the deep tone waking up the baby, who opened sleepy forest-green eyes to look at his mother. “Shhh, my love. They are all yours.”
“Oh, nae! They are not.” The baby let go of the nipple, more interested in the deep voice he could already recognize. “Come here, you’ve monopolized your mother for almost an hour. Let’s have a talk, man-to-man.” Alistair lifted their son from Sophia’s arms.
She put a cloth over Alistair’s turtleneck sweater and he carefully rested the baby on his shoulder, delicately patting the little back with his long fingers. Sophia giggled.
“What’s so funny?” he whispered, looking sideways at her.
“You. You are so large you can almost hide Peter Liam with your hands. I’d expect you to be clumsy but I’ve never seen a man more skillful than you. One could guess you have a dozen children.”
The baby burped. Alistair got up, changed his diaper with ease and put him in the crib, tidying everything back in its place.
“You see?” She smiled endeared as she cleaned herself and straightened her clothes. “A dozen children.”
“Wife, you only gave me two so far,” he said, as he sent heavenward a silent prayer for Nathalie. And arched a brow at Sophia. “Where are my twins?”
Keep behaving this way and I’ll give as many children as you want.
“I’ll think about it.” She tied the straps of her long green halter dress behind her neck, flung her red shawl over her shoulders and arms and joined Alistair by the crib, as he marveled at their chubby son and caressed his dark hair with the tip of his index finger. In less than a minute, their son was sleeping.
“You have been born for this,” she breathed, circling his waist.
“Sophia,” he whispered her name lovingly as his arms went around her. “Any fool can change a pre-shaped, pre-glued diaper. Fathering is a subtle combination of love, wisdom, and patience. Fathering is knowing when to talk, to walk, and to rock. It is knowing how to comfort, help and scold. This knowledge comes with time and no short-cuts.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but just turned on the video camera and pulled her by the hand and said, “Come on. You need a few hours’ sleep.”