“We’d better get ours and go,” I said. “It’s their bedtime soon.”
Christy’s eyes flashed. “Ooh, princess time.”
“What’s this?” Wren asked. Then she bent to Davis and said, “Go check on Emily and your sister.” She prompted him with the eyebrow.
“Missy.”
“Good. And please tell Laurie that her mommy and daddy said it’s time to go.”
He nodded and ran back up the stairs.
“What’s this?” Wren repeated as she stood. “Princess time?”
“You know,” Christy said. “I told you. Remember? The princesses and their tower…?”
“Oh, that’s right! What’s the adventure tonight?” she asked me.
“They moved to a new tower, and the oldest princess misses her friends. She has to make new ones.”
“Good luck with that,” Trip chuckled.
I shrugged. “The old ogre from the library came with them. And the beautiful queen of the water fairies. They’ll help.”
Wren rolled her eyes when she realized who I was talking about.
“You should write this down,” Trip said. “You could sell it as a book.”
“He’s right,” Wren said.
“Nah. It’s just something I tell my girls,” I said. “No one wants to read my silly stories.”
“Whatever,” Trip said, but he’d already moved on. “Leave a little early in the morning? I wanna take our applications by the schools and submit them in person.”
“Mmm. You wanna go to the gym with me after work?”
“Um… no?”
Wren did the eyebrow thing.
He laughed. “I can’t believe that works on me too.”
“Like father, like son,” she said, faux-sweet.
“You won’t beat me up?” he asked me suspiciously.
“Ha! No. They have regular weights and machines. You don’t have to get in the ring if you don’t want to.”
“That’s a relief. I don’t wanna mess up this pretty face.”
“Oh, boy, here we go,” Christy said. Then she flashed a grin at Wren. “C’mon, I’ll help you clean up. I’m sure the girls have everything out again.”
“That’s part of the fun, isn’t it?”
“I suppose,” Christy laughed. “Now we just have to teach them to put it all back!”
* * *
Between the kids, work, and the occasional horny client, Christy was the happiest she’d been in years. So I probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she started hinting about a third baby. I was happy with two, but she wanted more, which made sense—we both wanted what we’d grown up with.
We didn’t exactly argue about it, but the issue never completely went away. My demure and submissive wife didn’t issue ultimatums, but she was too stubborn to concede defeat. She tried subtlety instead. After all, it had worked before, hadn’t it?
She began pointing out other couples with babies. At night she lamented that Laurie and Emily were growing up so fast. She mentioned several times how we might need a bigger house when we moved back to Atlanta.
I had fun teasing her and playing dumb for a while, but then she enlisted her parents’ help when they came to Boston for the holidays.
“Do you ever wish you had a son?” Anne asked on Christmas Eve.
Christy and I had come with the girls to spend the night in Nana C.’s enormous house. They were all safely out of earshot in the living room, counting presents under the Christmas tree. Harold, Anne, and I were relaxing in the dining room with drinks after dinner.
“Of course not,” I said. “I love having daughters.”
“What’s not to love?” Harold agreed. “But… you need someone to carry on your name.”
“Ah,” I said, “so you’re in on it too?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied glibly.
Anne dispensed with pretext altogether. “She’s our daughter. What did you expect?”
“Besides, you know we’d love more grandkids,” Harold said.
“Why?” I laughed. “You already have more than a dozen!”
“But we could use a few more. For the football,” he said with a completely straight face. “At Thanksgiving.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Think about it,” he said.
“We’d love a little Paul Junior,” Anne agreed.
Christy recruited my own parents next. They called to say Happy New Year and to talk to the girls.
“They’re growing up so quickly,” my mother said. “We love them both, but we’d love a grandson too, you know.”
“To carry on the family name,” my father added from the background. It had become a consistent theme.
“Have you thought about it?” Mom asked.
“Why?” I said flippantly. “Everyone else is doing it for me.”
“You can’t blame Christy. She grew up in a large family. Besides, like your dad said, she wants someone to carry on the family name.”
“Mmm.”
“Three kids aren’t any more work than two,” Mom added. “I’m the youngest of three. And the best, if I do say so myself.”
“And you do!” I laughed.
“She is!” my dad agreed from the background.
“You’re biased,” she told him. To me, “Just think about it, honey. And talk to Christy.”
“I already know what she’s going to say.”
“Then maybe you should listen?”
Our friend Renée came to visit at the end of January. She was freshly divorced from Olivier, and she needed to get away from France for a couple of weeks. She’d always been a hedonist at heart, and she simply wanted to enjoy herself with mindless diversions like shopping and sex. So I was a bit surprised when she mentioned children.
We’d gone to church together and eaten brunch at her hotel. At the moment we were strolling across Boston Common. It was a blustery and cold afternoon, and the pale sun did little to warm us.
The girls were bundled in matching pink parkas. They ran ahead. Laurie stopped and looked back, while Emily kept going with a two-year-old’s speed and determination. Christy called out, but she didn’t stop.
“That girl,” Christy muttered. “She’s going to be the death of me.” She called out again and ran after her.
“Your little girls are precious,” Renée said as we watched Christy chase down Emily, who’d finally stopped, although she refused to come back.
“Mmm,” I agreed.
“Why do you not have more children?” Renée asked. “A man like you needs a son.”
I glanced at her sideways and decided to turn the question around.
“Why don’t you have children?” I asked.
“And spoil my figure? Pah! Besides, I am divorced now, and not likely to marry again.”
“You could still have children.”
“Are you volunteering?” she teased. “To be ze father?” She laughed at my expression. “Non, mon cher. I know you are not.” She nodded at Christy and the girls. “But zey need a brother.”
“Why? You’re an only child.”
“But I always wanted one. A little brother. When I was growing up.”
“We’ll see,” I said vaguely.
“Mmm. But do not wait too long. Christy is not patient, not like me.” She looped her arm through mine, and we walked in silence for several moments. “You need a son,” she repeated firmly. “Vraiment. He will be strong and handsome, like his father.”
Perhaps my favorite hint came from Nana C. She asked me to stop by her house on the way home from work one day. She had Valentine’s cards and candy for the girls. She also had a couple of choice observations. One was a subtle hint. The other bordered on risqué.
“You know,” she said, “I always said that Christine was the daughter Anne deserved. She was such a headstrong child.”
“And now the tables are turned,” I agreed. “Emily’s the child Christy deserves?”
Nana C. considered her next words carefully. “I’d never say that Emily was sent by God as a punishment—she’s a blessing, to be sure—but I believe He has a sense of humor about these things.”