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Darting across the room, I kneel at her feet, opening the blankets to place a kiss on my baby’s sweet, velvety head. He's sleeping and wriggles peacefully when he feels my touch. Before looking up at her again, I inhale deeply, hungrily absorbing more of that sweet, sweet scent.
“Well, hello there, baby Earl,” I whisper. “Did you meet your grandma? Isn't she the best?”
Mom looks at me with tears in her eyes, her lips pressed together in a wordless smile.
“We wanted to name him after dad,” I explain, though I realize she's figured it out. “I'm so happy you're here to meet him!”
“This one is pretty special too,” my dad coos softly from next to the fireplace. I stand and walk over to him, aching to take the baby in my arms but forcing myself to let him hold her. It's good for them to hold their grandbabies, though I miss them terribly when they're even just a few feet away from me.
“Bella can be a little fussy,” I shrug.
He gazes down at the infant in his arms, rocking her slowly from side to side.
“Oh, you're not fussy are you?” he says to the baby. “You just need a grandpa to hold you, right? You can stay here all day, baby Bella.”
Automatically, I hold out my arms, and then let them drop. Dad winks at me and pivots away, indicating clearly that he is not ready to give Bella up just yet.
The fire crackles in the hearth, a constant presence in our lives now. It’s like something out of a picture book. Two love-struck grandparents cradling two well-loved babes.
“Vanessa?” comes a voice from the kitchen. It's Hannah, the housekeeper. She gestures to me, beckoning me over.
“I’ll be back,” I explain to my parents, though they don't seem to be paying any attention to me at all. I guess they'll be just fine, cuddling with their grandbabies in our cozy living room.
“Hi, Hannah. You have everything you need?”
She nods with her hands on those wide, plush hips, looking around the kitchen. She appraises the stacks of bowls and platters, the mounds of food that spill over every counter.
“Thank you for the sausages,” she says in a thick accent. A few strands of gray hair have escaped from her normally super-tight bun, and I see she's really outdone herself.
“I think everything looks amazing,” I nod. “You really know how to make a beautiful buffet.”
“Danke, danke,” she mutters. She glances over at the rustic table, where there is a towering cake smothered in ivory buttercream. Despite her usually cranky demeanor, I see she's very proud of herself.
“The cake is especially amazing,” I praise her. She sniffs in response, pretending not to care what I think. This is just how we deal with each other, I guess.
“Well… I want everything for to be perfect for you, Frau Vanessa. Everything in the world,” she says stiffly.
I’m not sure if I can handle this embarrassing avalanche of emotion from her.
But just drive the point home, I give her a hug from behind. I feel her stiffen in my arms, but I don't let go anyway. She's just going to have to suffer through it, because I really am grateful.
“All right then. I'll be right back,” I tell her, steeling myself mentally. “Ask the boys to help you with this, okay? I don't want you to have to take all this out onto the veranda by yourself.”
“I don't need help!” she huffs. “I can do it myself!”
Carefully I back away and out of the kitchen, hustling back to our room. I've embarrassed her enough for one morning.
But I understand where she's coming from. She's proud and stubborn. She likes to do things on her own, just like me. It's taken a long time for me to allow other people to help me with anything. A very long time. I constantly have to remind myself that it's not a sign of weakness, it's merely sharing the burden with these generous, loving men who would rather help me than do anything else in the world.
I close the rustic door behind me, breathing in and out as calmly as I'm able. All I have to do is put on the dress. Just put on the dress.
“Put on the dress, Vanessa,” I tell myself out loud.
It is spread out on the bed in front of me, a beautiful handmade like lace gown in cream with a row of pearls at the bodice. Handmade Irish lace falls in a cascade of flowers dotted with tiny crystals. In the sunlight, it seems to glitter. It's a perfect fairytale gown.
“Would you like some help with that?” comes a voice.
Hank steps into the room from the sitting room at the far corner. We converted that to a nursery, but this room is ours. It’s a large chamber with an enormous bed in the middle, a king and a half. A custom made bed where we can all enjoy each other's company, every night. Usually we sleep in one giant pile, arms and legs tangled, completely satisfied and safe as long as we are all together.
