For a moment all I could do was sit and drink him in. He looked older—crow’s-feet at the corners of his eyes and a few lines bracketing his mouth. His russet hair was adorably mussed, threaded with a hint of silver, and he was shirtless. Or naked. I couldn’t tell which. My eyes darted to the edge of the sheet bunched around his hips, then rose to the bare upper half of his body. No beer gut. He’d kept remarkably fit. Oh but he looked good. Finally, I settled on his face. He was watching me, eyes crinkled with laughter.
“Morning, gorgeous.” He pillowed his head on one freckled arm and reached for me with the other. He was still so appealing, withcoppery stubble on his square jaw and the same shade of curly chest hair, just a dusting. I wanted to rub my face against his chest and curl up like a kitten. I struggled to remember how to breathe normally. I felt like I was hyperventilating and took a few gulps of air. It was all so... real. So beautifully, amazingly real.
“Quick, before they wake up.” Rory wiggled his eyebrows with exaggerated suggestiveness and opened the sheet invitingly. Keeping my eyes firmly on his upper half, I stifled a high-pitched giggle, both at his expression and the glorious improbability of the situation. I was in bed with Rory Shaw. Who might not be wearing any pants. I was really tempted to peek.
I looked around for a moment, trying to get my bearings. On the side table by the bed lay a pair of glasses with square honey-colored frames. I grabbed them with relief, then surveyed my surroundings. We were in a huge and slightly messy bedroom, in a nest of luxurious gray sheets in a king-size bed. Strong sunlight streamed in through the windows. I could just barely catch a glimpse of what looked like palm trees outside. Where were we? Certainly not the Pacific Northwest. The light was wrong, too direct and bright. There wasn’t much of a decorating scheme going on, and the room was untidy, jeans thrown over a chair, a pile of laundry spilling from a basket on the floor. I looked around for a cell phone on the bedside table to check the time and date but didn’t see one. Hmm, I’d have to search for it later.
“You know what they say, you should seize the... um... carp,” Rory interrupted my assessment of my new surroundings, his hand circling my wrist, tugging me back down into bed. His smile was all invitation. I laughed, torn between scooting back farther on the bed to put a little distance between me and his tempting invitation and leaning forward to kiss him on the mouth. It wasn’t wrong if we were in an alternate universe type of situation, right? Here he wasn’t married toblond, picture-perfect Emily. He was apparently, right now, happily married to me.
I glanced down, discovering to my horror that I was wearing a ratty oversize Mickey Mouse T-shirt and stretched-out cotton panties.Whatin the world had happened to my personal sense of style? In the gap between T-shirt and panties I caught a glimpse of a soft tummy streaked with silvery stretch marks. Well, that was new. Before I could fully digest these changes, there was a thundering of little feet and the door flew open. Two small bodies hurled themselves onto the bed in a shower of giggles and squeals, burrowing into the covers like tiny rodents.
Rory shot me an amused, resigned look. “Damn, missed our chance.”
One of the children, a darling little girl who looked about six years old with long dark curls and freckles on her snub nose, sat up. “Daddy, we don’t say bad words. You have to put a quarter in the bad words jar,” she reprimanded, then looked at me pleadingly. “Can we have sprinkle pancakes for breakfast, Mommy? You promised.”
I froze, my mind going a complete blank.Mommy. She had just called me Mommy. These were my children.
The littler one, also a girl, I guessed to be about three. She had messy copper-colored hair the exact shade of Rory’s. She popped her head out from where she’d burrowed under his armpit. “Spwinkles!” she shouted at full volume, like she was commanding military troops. “I want gween spwinkles, Mommy.”
I stared at my daughters for a moment, trying to comprehend the contours of my new life and suddenly feeling a bit panicky and overwhelmed. I was in bed with Rory Shaw, in what was presumably our home located in some tropical-looking location. I had two children, neither of whose names I knew. And I had to pee like a racehorse.
“Just going potty,” I blurted out, scrambling off the bed. Dodgingtiny splayed arms and legs, I escaped into the hallway. The bathroom was right next door. I locked the door and sank onto the toilet, mind whirring, taking deep gulps of air and trying not to hyperventilate. I stared at a bottle of Strawberry Shortcake bubble bath in the tub opposite me.
“I’m married to Rory. I’m a mom to two little girls. This is my life. This is my life,” I repeated to myself, still stunned. It had worked. It had really worked. I was really here. This was what I had asked for, to see what my life with Rory would have been like if I had not chosen a different path. Granted, I’d somehow never considered that our life together might involve kids.
I had always dreamed of having a family. I loved kids, and I was good with them. I could connect with kids, listening and engaging in an aunty-like way. But there was a big difference between briefly interacting with children for a fun few minutes and being some child’s mother, especially being a mother to two girls I’d just laid eyes on for the first time. It was a little unnerving. How was I going to be a good mother for an entire day when these children were strangers to me? I didn’t even know their names!
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” a chorus of high-pitched voices chanted from outside in the hallway. Someone was rattling the knob back and forth. Thank goodness I’d locked the door. Then a little hand slidunderthe door, the fingers searching for who knows what. I briefly panicked. Just then I noticed a My Little Pony creepily bobbing in a clear container of water next to the bubble bath, wide-eyed and upside down. Its blank, wide stare seemed to echo my own deer-in-the-headlights feeling. “I can sympathize, pal,” I whispered to the pony. I was thrilled to be with Rory. I was terrified to spend a day navigating our domestic bliss.
“Let Mommy have a minute alone, guys. Come on, let’s go get thepancakes started. Last one down’s a stinky rotten egg.” Rory’s voice floated through the door from the hall, followed by cheers and pounding feet moving away from me. I flushed and washed hurriedly, then surveyed myself for a brief second in the mirror over the sink, trying to take stock of the situation. It wasn’t good. I certainly looked the worse for wear. My hair was long, and I still had bangs, although they were desperately in need of a trim. I noticed a few strands of gray showing at the roots. Motherhood must really be taking it out of me. I had yet to find my first gray hair in real life. I did have slightly grown out but still pretty auburn highlights that accented my eyes. My very tired eyes. Since when did I look so... old and worn out? I squinted in the mirror. Was that grape jelly in my left eyebrow?
Hastily digging through the drawers, I found a toothbrush I prayed was mine, a few scattered cosmetics (the lipstick had the cap off and had been used to draw squiggles on the inside of the drawer), and a Tom’s of Maine deodorant. I applied everything I could get my hands on, then tiptoed to the door and listened. No sound. I slipped into the bedroom and, finding my clothes in the walk-in closet, riffled through seemingly endless pairs of yoga pants. How many yoga pants did I own? Did I actually do yoga now? Daphne would cackle with glee if that were true.
I finally located a few sundresses in the back corner and shimmied into a cute yellow cotton one with pockets. A jewelry tree on the dresser opposite the bed held a dozen or so necklaces. A pretty one caught my eye—a delicate silver chain with a glass circle banded in silver hanging from it. Inside the glass circle lay a pressed white five-petaled flower with a yellow center. It was unique, striking in its simplicity. I’d never seen one quite like it. I admired it for a minute, then undid the clasp and quickly slipped it on. It would go perfectly with the sundress. A quick glance in the mirror. Much better. Now I just had tofigure out where I was and what my life was like and then develop a strategy for navigating this beautiful, amazing, potential train wreck of a day.
I was trembling with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, eager for more of Rory and not sure how to act competently with the children I’d just acquired five minutes ago. If nothing else I really, really had to figure out what their names were. It seemed like a low bar, but I had to start somewhere.
On my way out of the bedroom, I peered out one of the windows. I was upstairs in a two-story house in a subdivision of large, almost identical houses. The yards were all being watered by sprinklers at the same time. There were palm trees and blooming vines and flowers in radiant hues. I could just make out a street sign:Palmetto Court. A Lexus SUV and a black BMW sat side by side in the driveway. If I had to guess I’d say I was somewhere far south. Florida maybe?
“Mommy, the pancakes are ready!” the older girl bellowed up the stairs.
“Mommy, the pancakes aw weady!” echoed the younger one.
“Coming!” I squared my shoulders, took a deep, bracing breath, and got ready to face my brand-new family.
28
Rory was standingat the stove in a spacious but nondescript tan-tiled kitchen wearing a low-slung pair of basketball shorts (ah, so perhaps hehadn’tbeen naked in bed). The girls buzzed around him, giggling gleefully as he poured batter onto the hot griddle. “There, one Daniel Tiger pancake and one magical unicorn pancake coming right up,” he announced.
The older girl ran up and hugged me, her arms encircling my leg and squeezing tight. She had my dad’s and Daphne’s build, slender but strong.
“You look pretty, Mommy. And you smell nice.”
“Oh, thank you,” I stammered. She smiled angelically up at me. “You smell like Starburst candies, the yellow ones.”
The littler girl was running in circles around the kitchen island, yelling, “I zap you wif my magical unicorn power. Zap, zap, nowyouare a magical unicorn!”
“Sophia Scout, you get the syrup out. Freya, you help Mommy set the table.” Rory pointed with his pancake turner. For a moment I was elated (yay, finally I knew their names) but then I froze. Freya, mymother’s middle name. My middle name. And had he said SophiaScout? As in Scout fromTo Kill a Mockingbird? The name I’d told him I wanted to use if I ever had a daughter all those years ago sitting at South Beach? All of a sudden this life seemed so much more real.
