A Holland and a Fighter, Page 2

  “The worst!” she agrees and laughs as we stand to greet my brother’s fiancée.

  “How are my favorite goddesses?” Coley asks, looking as beautiful as ever with her flowing blonde hair and naturally bronzed skin. As I give her a hug, I can see two patches of freckles on either side of her nose.

  “Fat and happy,” I respond.

  “Times two,” Shea tacks on, embracing her.

  “Do you remember Stella? She was at the engagement party.”

  “Of course, I remember. Good to see you.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” she exclaims, looking between me and Shea hurriedly. “Who’s due first?”

  “I am,” I tell her. “Early September.”

  “Mid-September,” my sister-in-law states.

  “Planned?” Coley’s Maid of Honor asks.

  “The babies? Yes. The timing? Well… we wanted to raise babies together, but we had no idea we’d actually be able to conceive so closely to one another. We both started trying around the same time, and I guess we’re both equally fertile. I kind of knew I was,” I admit. “It was super easy with the girls, too.”

  “Sorry we’re so late,” Coley says, finally settling into the booth with us. “Believe it or not, it was my fault. Joel has a catering event and needed some extra serving bowls, so I went and picked up some for him. We got caught in traffic because I apparently got some cab driver who just moved to the States last week or something.”

  “You took a cab?”

  She nods her head.

  “Does Trey know you took a cab?”

  “Your brother is not the boss of me,” she says, waving me off.

  “Don’t you literally call him ‘boss?’” Shea asks her.

  I laugh as my brother’s fiancée rolls her eyes. “Habit from college. It’s just cute now.”

  “You can’t take cabs, Coles,” I tell her. “You just can’t.”

  “We’re not getting into that right now. My day,” she pronounces. I smile and agree with her. “I’ve decided on what you all are wearing to our wedding, and that’s why we’re all here!”

  “You’re both going to love it,” Stella says.

  “I hope it’s stretchy fabric, because Lord knows what this body is going to look like in December,” Shea says. “I know Liv has no trouble losing baby weight, but… I’ve already got curves she doesn’t have.”

  “I had no trouble losing it eight years ago,” I correct her. “I’m in my mid-thirties now. The game has changed.”

  “Let me show you Stella’s first,” Coley says. “Everyone has a different color.” She opens up her bridal notebook that she started last summer and turns to a section toward the middle. Shifting the book, she points to a gorgeous formal gown.

  “Red?” I ask her.

  “Red, yes. But just hers.” She flips the page to swatches of fabric in six different colors. “You two get first choice of your colors. Everything will be custom made. And all the décor will match. Bouquets, flowers in your hair, jewels, shoes.”

  “It’s beautiful. So colorful.”

  “Looks very Coleyesque,” Shea says.

  “What is Trey wearing?”

  “They’ll all wear dark-dark gray suits, and if I can get Trey to wear a tie,” Coley begins, “it’ll be white, like my dress. The rest of the groomsmen will wear the pepper green color–their ties and vests, too. Doesn’t it complement the other colors well?”

  My stomach does a little flip of excitement for her, knowing she’s going to have the wedding of her dreams. They’ve been engaged for nearly four years, and it took about three of those years for my brother to convince her to let our family pay for the ceremony and reception. It’s the only thing that makes sense, but she never wanted it to seem like she was taking advantage of our wealth.

  Anyone who’s known Coley for more than ten minutes would know that she’s just not that type of person. She’s the type of person who deserves wonderful things in her life. And people. I couldn’t be happier that my brother fell in love with her.

  “So? Where are our dresses?” I ask her.

  She has this funny look of self-satisfaction on her face. I turn the page in her book, only to find it blank.

  “We just have to go see them?” Shea asks.

  Coley shakes her head. “I’m going to let you pick. We’re going to try on all styles of dresses today–anything you like, anything that’s flattering, and it has to make you feel beautiful. That’s all.”

  My jaw drops. My sister-in-law looks at me in confusion, as if she heard Coley wrong. “What’s the rub here, Sister Holland?”

  “What? I just want you both to have a fabulous time at my wedding. Stella picked out hers. We want you to do the same… and then we have something else planned for you.”

  “There is a rub,” I say skeptically.

  “Ha!” Coley says. “Like, literally,” she giggles. “You know that spa a few blocks away from your apartments? We’re all going there for massages. They apparently do the best prenatal massages in the Flatiron District, and I thought you two would love that.”

  “You’re doing this wrong, you know, Coles? We’re supposed to do stuff for the bride,” I tell her.

  “Well, when we set the date, we didn’t expect to have two preggo bridesmaids in the mix… and you’re family, so I can’t very well make you guys work and do shit for me in your fragile states,” she jokes.

  “Fragile, my ass,” Shea says.

  “Right?” I laugh. “I swear we will pull our weight, regardless of the fact that we have two little boys tagging along everywhere.”

  “And we’ll have three months post-pregnancy before your wedding. Your bachelorette party will be legendary,” Shea says. “All I’m going to say is you’ve never been there before.”

  “Do I need my passport?” Coley asks, her eyes wide. Stella looks away, as if she may tell our secret by continuing to engage in the conversation.

  “Don’t know, Coles,” Shea says. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Chapter 2

  Wondering what my second daughter is doing, I look back from her closet to find her lying on her stomach on the floor, propped up on her elbows, reading one of the twenty books she had sprawled out around her when I’d walked in five minutes ago.

  “Wils, I told you to choose three books to take with you tonight, not to start reading one.”

  “I have to read them to see if I want to take them, Mama.”

  “You look at the cover and the back to see what they’re about. That’s how you pick what to take. Otherwise you’re just… reading it now.”

  “I’m not hurting anyone,” she says softly.

  “No, but Daddy and I have somewhere to be later, and we don’t want to be late. Did you want to help me pick out your clothes for this weekend?”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I don’t care,” I mimic quietly to myself, plucking a few pairs of cute leggings and some non-coordinating tops. Willow has a style of her own. I’ve learned it by now. Just as long as things don’t look like they go together, she’ll wear them. It’s not today’s fashion, but I like to think my youngest daughter is just ahead of her time. She’s beautiful in anything she wears.

  Edie, on the other hand, will likely be a clothing designer when she grows up. She has an eye for trends and can spot the latest styles before I even see them coming. The tabloids love to feature her for what she’s wearing, and at this age, she loves it. Jon and I hate it, and we’re hoping she grows out of it soon. Edie used to tease Willow relentlessly about her clothes until the younger sister showed no sign of caring about the teasing, and Edie lost interest. Now, if anyone messes with Willow, Edie puts an end to it right away.

  Jon says both girls take after me: Edie with her sense of style and Willow with her self-confidence. I like the thought of that.

  “What shoes are we wearing? Did your uncles tell you what they had planned for you this weekend?”

  “Who knows, with those two?” sh
e says. I laugh at her seven-year-old wisdom, which isn’t off the mark at all. Max and Callen are very fly-by-the-seats-of-their-pants kinds of guys. It’s all Max, really. I think Callen has general plans for things, but it’s up to Max whether they follow any of them.

  “I’m going to pack some sneakers since you’re wearing those.” She doesn’t look back but acknowledges me by wiggling her Mary Jane-laden feet. “Preference on socks?”

  “The ones with the smiling rainbows.” Her response was immediate. “Since I’m going to see them.”

  “Umm… I think they know you’re okay with their relationship, sweetie,” I tell her, looking at her strangely.

  “Oh, I know. But every time I wear them, they buy me something cool. It’s sort of a deal we have.”

  “What?”

  “Edie, too. I bet she’s taking hers. They tucked a note in the socks when they gave them to us.”

  I drop the socks in her suitcase and go next door to Edie’s room where Jon is helping her pack. It’s strategic, because he’s a much better negotiator than I am when it comes to her. “Is Edie taking any socks?”

  “Yeah. She wants to take these,” he says, holding up her pair of rainbow-striped knee highs. I huff and turn to my oldest child. “Edie, hon, please show me the outfit you’re wearing with those.”

  “I don’t think we’ve packed it yet.”

  “We’ve packed all of your outfits, bunny,” Jon says. “We agreed on them all, remember?”

  “Why are you taking these socks, little miss?”

  “Because they buy us presents when we wear them,” she says meekly.

  “Did you know about this?” I ask Jon, laughing. He starts chuckling, too.

  “It doesn’t surprise me, but no. It’s anything goes with those two. He knows our kids are influencers, I guess.”

  “Max and Callen are influencers,” I counter.

  “Not to tweens.”

  “You know what? I’m changing,” I tell Jon.

  “What?”

  “I’m changing. You know that ugly rainbow Christmas cardigan I bought two years ago for that party? I’m putting that on and I’m letting those boys buy me a present. Mama wants a diamond bracelet.”

  “I’ll buy you a diamond bracelet,” he laughs.

  “It’s the principle!” I say, walking away.

  “We’re gonna be late!” he shouts after me as I go to our room down the hall.

  “Principle!”

  “Is Willow packed?”

  “Yes. She just needs some undies and she has to decide on her books!” I holler.

  After pulling on the oversized sweater and checking my hair and makeup once more, I return to Willow’s bedroom, where the rest of my family is gathered with all their things.

  “Nice, baby,” Jon says, nodding. “That’ll photograph great on the red carpet.”

  “Right?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll take it off before we get there.” He quirks his brow and smiles, lifting only one side of his lip. “Don’t get any ideas. It’s just a cardigan,” I say, patting the bump that’s hidden from view by the monstrous rainbow addition to my outfit.

  He nods and rolls his eyes. “The tabloids are gonna love this.”

  “I know,” I giggle. “They’ll be wondering about this for weeks.”

  “Can I tell them why, Mama?” Edie asks.

  “No,” Jon and I both say sternly, in unison.

  “We don’t talk to them, Edie,” he says. “Ever. You don’t stop for them. You don’t pose for them. You don’t take things from them. You don’t go anywhere with them. And you do not ever talk to them. Understood?”

  “Oh my god, Daddy, yes!” she says, exasperated. She’s heard it a million times. “I was kidding.”

  “Then ha ha, bunny… but still, no,” he says, tugging on a strand of her hair. “Are you girls ready? Wils?” he says, kicking her foot to get her attention.

  “Two more sentences.”

  “Nope,” he says, bending over, picking her up and swinging her around three times.

  “Daddy! I lost my place!” she squeals through her laughter.

  “You’ll find it again,” he says. “These three?” He plucks three random books out of the pile–not even the one she’d been reading.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she answers, taking the handle of her luggage.

  I love how they love their daddy.

  Like they always do, Max and Callen greet us just as we arrive. Our families have made a habit of sharing our locations, so we always know where everyone is, to make sure everyone’s safe. It’s a precaution we feel we need to take, and none of us have ever abused anyone’s privacy.

  “What the fuck, Liv,” Max says quietly in my ear when he hugs me, and it’s not so much a question as it is a murmur of disgust at my outfit.

  “What, this old thing?” I ask, ushering the girls into the lobby of the building on 5th Avenue while Jon and Callen get the girls’ luggage and pillows.

  “Why in the world are you wearing that?”

  “I heard from two little birdies that you guys give presents for rainbow accessories…”

  “Little yappy birdies, huh?” he says as he glares at my daughters, who are both giggling next to him. “I have never heard of such an arrangement. Callen, Liv thinks we give presents to our guests when they wear rainbows.”

  “I’m offended by that suggestion,” Callen deadpans. “Livvy want an Altoid?” He produces a tin from his pocket and pops it open.

  “You jerk,” I say, pushing his arm away. “What sorts of things do you get them?”

  “Nothing,” Max answers, shaking his head vigorously. “Never. I’ve never seen a rainbow in my life. I’m colorblind, in fact. Are you wearing colors?”

  The girls are in stitches now.

  “Books,” Willow finally says.

  “Lip gloss,” Edie answers. “But just the shiny kind. And barrettes.”

  “And here I was blaming my mother for those,” I admit. “As long as it’s not candy or some shit like that.”

  Both of my daughters immediately hold out their hands, palms up. “Jon?”

  “I didn’t say it,” he says.

  “My handbag is in the car.”

  He hands them each a dollar. “Mama’s sorry,” he says.

  “Sorry, girls. Don’t say words like Mama says.”

  “At least we reward them for, you know, doing something good… and not for your bad behavior,” Max says. “What kind of mother are you?”

  “Shut up before I have to pay them more, okay, Uncle Max?” I take off the sweater under the cover of their lobby. “Can you hang on to that for me?” I ask Callen. “I don’t want to have to worry about that all night.”

  “I cannot promise we will hang on to it. We may burn it in some sort of cleansing ritual. We had about an hour to fill in our busy weekend schedge, right, Max?”

  “It’s the perfect activity. We’ll do it on the roof.”

  “Yay!” both of the girls exclaim.

  “No fire, guys,” Jon says. “I can never tell when your crazy ideas may take a turn for reality, buddy,” he says to his brother. “And don’t let them climb on the edge of the roof, okay? Don’t make me worry about that.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Callen says. “I’ve got that fear. They won’t even get near it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You guys have fun at the premiere. Make sure you record the movie on your phone for me,” Max says.

  “Nope,” Jon responds, not missing a beat. “Thanks for watching them this weekend. You know how to reach us if there are any problems.”

  “We know, we know. Matty’s across the hall, and Jack and Emi are on standby. We know the drill.”

  “Jack and Emi will be available after seven,” Jon says.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  “They said they were going to dinner.”

  “I don’t remember that,” I tell him. He shrugs.

 
“You be good boys,” I say to Max and Callen. Turning my attention to my daughters, I smile. “Be sweet, girls.” I lean over and exchange kisses with them both. Jon follows me and tells them goodbye, getting big hugs from each of them. “We’ll call you in the morning.”

  “Good bye, you two!” Max shouts, waving as if we’re leaving forever. The girls are laughing again at his antics. “And Liv, check your hair.”

  “Aurgh,” I grumble, wanting to give him the bird but catching myself before I do. “Bye.”

  “Good thing you love him,” Jon says as we climb into the awaiting car.

  “I know. If he wasn’t so damn loveable, I would hate that little asshole. You know, it’s funny. When I look at my brother, I see a full-grown man. He’s a Columbia grad. He’s going to Harvard Law. He’s, like, eight feet taller than me,” I exaggerate. “And when I look at yours, he’s still that mouthy, six-year-old kid. Why is that? They’re the same age.”

  “Technically, Max is older,” Jon corrects me. I glare at him. “He’s just always going to be a kid at heart. And that’s why we love him.”

  I lean into my husband, letting him put his arm around me. “I know. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Are you excited about this movie? They say it’s Philip Winthrop’s breakout role.”

  “They do,” I say. “And he’s going to be there.”

  “On the red carpet.”

  “Maybe right behind us… who knows?”

  “What if he asks, ‘Mrs. Scott, will you come home with me?’”

  “You already know he’s on my list, Jon.”

  “Don’t break my heart, Liv.”

  “Don’t ask me those questions! Plus, maybe he’ll bring CiCi Chapman. She’s on your list, so…”

  “I would never,” he says.

  “I would never, either,” I tell him. “You’re crazy to think otherwise. Philip’s just, you know… super-hot. So what?”

  Jon removes his arm from my shoulder to make his hands into a heart, which he then proceeds to break into two halves.

  “Uhhh… that doesn’t mean you’re not, Mr. Sensitive! You’re the sexiest man I know.”

  “Because you don’t actually know Philip yet. Semantics.”

  “No. Not semantics. You’re being ridiculous. Is my hair messed up?” I ask him.