THE BABIES WAKE up shortly after Ashley leaves for L.A., and I’m quick to cover up in order to attend to them. After they’ve been fed and dressed for the day, I call Ashley and put him on speaker, so the babies can hear his voice. We don’t talk long before he has to go, and then my sweet little ones enjoy tummy time long enough for me to get some food in me. When it’s time for Brighton and Tomi’s first nap of the day, I manage to squeeze in a shower—and it’s like a sign.
With my hair still dripping wet down my back, and my body wrapped in only a towel, I hurry into the bedroom and find my phone. I don’t even have to search for her number in my list of favorite contacts. Without hesitation, I push a call through, pressing the device to my ear as I begin to pace anxiously in front of the bed.
“Hey, mama,” Jill answers on the second ring. I smile at the sound of her voice.
“Right back at you. How are you? Any plans of going into labor today?”
Laughing, she replies, “Nope. I know I still have a few weeks left, but I get this feeling that my boy is so cozy inside of me, I might have to evict him.”
“Well, as much as Auntie Corie wants to meet him, I’m not disappointed today’s not the day. I was hoping to borrow his mommy for a few hours. Are you free?”
“For you? Of course. What’s up? Is everything okay? I know Ashley left this morning, but—”
“No, no, everything is fine. It’s not even ten o’clock in the morning and I’ve had breakfast and a shower. Call me crazy, but I think it’s a sign.” Sweeping my wet hair to one shoulder, I start to return to the bathroom as I explain, “So, I got this idea the other day for the perfect Christmas gift for Ashley. I wasn’t really sure how I was going to pull it off without him knowing about it—as it requires a trip to the city, and I’m not really comfortable going out with Tomi and Brighton alone—but there’s something about today that feels just right.
“I know it’s still early, but the babies slept really well last night, they’ve been amazing this morning, and with you and Frank, I think I can pull this off. So, what do you say? Will you go to Nashville with me today?”
“Babe, we haven’t had a girls’ day since the twins were born. I know this isn’t exactly a lunch date, but I’m totally down. What’s this gift, anyway?”
“I’ll tell you about it on the ride up there. I think if I can get myself presentable in the next half hour, I should be able to sneak the babies into their car seats and we can make it to you before they wake up hungry.”
“Sounds like a plan to me. See you around noon?”
“Fingers crossed!”
We say our goodbyes, and I don’t waste any time getting ready. I towel dry my hair and pull it up into a messy bun at the nape of my neck. Even though I fully intend on throwing on a baseball cap to help shield my face, I still draw on a little eye liner, sweeping on a quick layer of mascara to finish my look. Hurrying into the closet, I try not to focus on the clothes that still don’t fit me. Instead, I remember the way Ashley looked at me on his birthday. While it felt like an obligatory compliment from my loving husband at the time, the way he worshipped my body last night was a declaration I won’t soon forget.
With that in mind, I decide to duplicate the outfit I had on the other day. I shimmy my way into a pair of black leggings and then pull one of his dark green, flannel button-ups from the shelf. It falls down over the top of my thighs, covering my butt, just as I prefer. Remembering it’s winter time in Tennessee, I search through Ashley’s hanging items until I find the outerwear I’m looking for. The black puffy vest drapes around my entire torso, allowing me a little wiggle room even when I zip it up. While my outfit isn’t exactly all mine, and while I know not one stylist who would approve of my choice—I’m not wearing sweatpants, and I consider that a win.
I slip my feet into my sneakers and grab one of Ashley’s well-worn, non-descript, navy baseball caps, sliding it over my damp hair. Convinced I’ll lose my perfectly timed window of opportunity if I spend another minute worried about what I look like, I whiz around the house gathering what I need for our little day trip. When all I’ve got left to do is load up my babies, I call Frank and inform him we’ll be heading out. He’s at the garage door not even five minutes later.
“Keys to the mom-car and my gear,” I say, handing over my things. It seems ridiculous, the amount of items in my arsenal for a half a day away from the house, but I’ve been a bit cooped up. I haven’t learned the minimalist mom ways. Nevertheless, Frank isn’t concerned about the amount of stuff I’ve packed.
“Corie, we’ve got to get you to stop calling your new ride a mom-car,” he grumbles, shaking his head in disapproval.
“Why? That’s why we got it.”
“First of all, I’m the one driving it. Second, you’re hurting Platinum’s feelings. She’s an Escalade.”
“Platinum? You named my mom-car?”
Frank’s face falls and he glares at me playfully before turning to head toward the Cadillac. “Disrespectful,” he mumbles.
Giggling, I make haste to the nursery—two car seats in tow. I hold my breath as I gingerly unwrap my twins and buckle them into their seats, one at a time. Once the deed is done, I send up a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t wake them. I grab their matching set of fleece blankets to drape one over each of them. Then I zip their car seat covers part way, in an attempt to keep them warm and comfortable as we head out to the chilly garage. With Frank’s help, the three of us are traveling in the backseat toward the Vollucci’s place right on schedule.
It takes us nearly an hour to reach our first destination, the ride working wonders to extend naptime. When Jill waddles her way toward the SUV, I get a little teary. She’s had one hell of a year, packed full of ups and downs that wouldn’t seem like real life had I not been around to witness it. Looking at her, I don’t see the ways in which our pregnancies are different; I’m not envious of how gorgeous she looks at eight months pregnant; rather, I’m so incredibly proud of her. The strength she’s shown, and the resilience she’s managed to grab onto—it’s an honor to know her. Even more, I’m so grateful for the ease of her pregnancy and the healthy glow in her cheeks. She needed the perfect baby experience after what happened to her and Leo. Truly, I couldn’t be happier for my best friend.
“Hi, guys!” she whisper-shouts, climbing into the front seat. “Are they sleeping?”
“Yeah. Hoping they’ll stay knocked out for a little while longer.”
“Well, don’t let me hold things up.” She quickly buckles her seatbelt and then turns back to reach for me. “You look so good, babe! It’s been, like, three weeks. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
I almost scoff at her compliment as I reach for her hand, but then I stop myself. Giving her fingers a squeeze, I allow the honest truth to spill from my mouth instead. “I still don’t feel entirely like myself, but I know I’ll get there eventually.”
“You will. I know you will.” She smiles at me, holding onto my hand for a second longer. When she lets me go, I’m grateful she decides to change the subject. “Okay, tell me about this present. I want to know everything.”
We’re on the interstate by the time I’ve finished filling her in on the details of what I think is the perfect Christmas gift for Ashley. Nearly an hour later, while we’re discussing our plans to get together and celebrate the holiday, Brighton starts to fuss as he wakes in an unexpected place. I unzip his cover so he can see me, trying to comfort him the best I can, without taking him out of his seat. Not long after, Tomi is awake too. She, however, is a little harder to soothe.
Hoping to handle the limitations of our current situations calmly, I pull out the bottles I prepared before our departure and try feeding them both. This satisfies them until we make it to Nashville—though, I know a diaper change for the both of them is in our near future.
Frank finds parking about a block away from our second destination—the busy downtown street buzzing with activity that can only be expected nine days before Christmas. Since our little trip was completely spur of the moment, and I’ve told no one but the people who are with me, I’m feeling confident the short walk will draw no attention our way. Plus, I could use the exercise.
I manage to burp both babies with little trouble and return them to their car seats, Jill and Frank waiting patiently for all of us. Brighton and Tomi are none too happy to be zipped up and covered in their seats, but it’s something on which I refuse to compromise. Then I realize if I wait until we get inside to change their diapers, we’ll have to do it in the public restroom. Except, something tells me this place—specializing in custom guitars—didn’t have mothers in mind when designing their facility.
“You ready?” asks Jill, coaxing me from my thoughts.
I shift my gaze to align with her pretty blue one, but I don’t respond. I’m too busy trying to come up with a quick and reasonable solution to my problem. In all reality, I know this is something mothers are faced with every day—but I really don’t want my babies in a public bathroom. I can hardly stand them for myself. I cringe, thinking of some of the truly atrocious restrooms I’ve encountered as I’ve traveled the world with Ashley.
“Corie? Are you okay?”
“I need to change them. And I know this might be crazy, and maybe you’ll think I sound like the spoiled wife of a guitar legend—but in all honesty, that’s what I am. I don’t want to take them into a public bathroom. They’re too young to be exposed to those kinds of smells and germ infested surfaces.”
Jill laughs so hard, she has to grab hold of her protruding belly as she tries to catch her breath. When she’s calmed down, she peeks back at me from over her shoulder and inquires, “Well, what are you going to do, babe?”
I grimace a little and look to Frank. I then tell him, “I’m going to need you to put the back row of seats down so I can climb into the trunk and change them back there. If you take the stroller out, I should have enough room to move around with the hatch-back closed.”
Raising an eyebrow at me, he asks, “You’re going to climb into the trunk?”
“I’ve done harder things for the sake of my children. Yes, I’m going to climb into the trunk—and you’re going to help me.”
“Better do as she says,” Jill teases, a playful smile dancing across her face. “She’s the wife of a guitar legend.”
In spite of my state of desperation, I can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous I’m being. Even still, I don’t care. That’s why, after Frank folds down the third row of my SUV and unhooks Brighton’s car seat from its cradle beside me—I don’t hesitate to step out of the vehicle in order to climb into the trunk, where I swiftly shut myself inside.
It takes me nearly fifteen minutes to get both babies cleaned and situated, but it’s well worth it. This time, when I zip up the covers around their car seats, they don’t seem to mind so much. After securing their seats into the stroller, we’re on our way. The sidewalks are crowded, but I keep my head down, speaking comfortably to the twins as we walk as fast as Jill’s pregnant belly will allow.
I’m somewhat relieved when we arrive at our destination, and grateful when I look around and notice there’s no more than a handful of people milling about. Knowing exactly what I’m after, I don’t waste any time making my way to the main counter. Except, before we can reach it, we’re stopped by a young woman who appears to work here.
“Hey, y’all. Welcome to Gilley’s Guitars. Is there somethin’ I can help y’all find?”
Smiling politely, I turn to inform her I’m here to see the owner. Though, I don’t even get a word out before I see it in her eyes. She knows who I am—or, at least, she thinks she does. I watch as her gaze flickers toward the stroller and then back at me. I pretend not to notice, hoping my nonchalance will throw her off my scent.
Obviously, in Ashely’s and my relationship, he’s the celebrity, not me. Except, since he and I were engaged, I’ve had my fair share of exposure. It’s definitely not my favorite thing, but there’s some truth to what Jill was laughing about earlier—I am the wife of a guitar legend. And not just any guitar legend, but the Ashley Hicks, with a voice of a dark angel and a heart of gold. The same Ashley Hicks who became a father less than three months ago—a fact the whole world knows.
“I’m actually here to meet with Austin.” I force the words out of my mouth, shoving aside the one and only downside to being married to Ashley—extra attention. While some might think me paranoid for assuming she gives two cents who I am, all I can think to do is pray she doesn’t say a word to anyone. “I spoke with him on the phone a couple days ago,” I continue. “He said I could come in at any time.”
“Oh, sure. Austin’s in the back. Let me grab him right quick.”
It takes her five minutes to grab him right quick, and another ten before he comes out onto the main floor. He’s an older man with a thick white beard to match his long ponytail, grown out below the portion of his head that’s so bald it’s shining. Nonetheless, I don’t hold his chosen hairstyle against him—especially when he greets me with a jovial smile and skips the part where he uses my name.
“Glad you could make it in. Sorry it took me a minute to come out. Heard you were here and started to get things set up for you in the back.” He claps his hands together, holding them in front of him as he goes on to inform me, “Now, I can have this ready to go for you today; but like I told you on the phone, it’ll take about an hour after we get the prints before it’s finished.”
“Ooh, maybe I’ll get my lunch date after all,” chimes in Jill as she bumps her hip against mine.
I chuckle at her and then shift my focus onto Austin once more. “Yes. I understand. If you don’t mind, I brought an extra pair of arms to help me.”
“Course I don’t mind. I imagine it’ll make things a tad bit easier. Follow me.”
It takes no more than fifteen minutes for Jill and I to play our part, and then all that’s left to do is wait. It isn’t until I’ve got the twins settled back into their stroller that I register how hungry I am. Suddenly, Jill’s idea to grab lunch seems not just ideal but necessary.
“If you two are thinkin’ ‘bout lunch, there’s a nice steakhouse about five minutes’ drive from here,” Austin tells us as he escorts us toward the storefront. “Don’t know what you’re in the mood for, but I’m guessin’ a bit of privacy would be important to ya. It’s the kind of place that’d cater to your needs, ma’am.”
“I’ll eat anything at this point,” Jill insists, gliding her hands over her middle.
“Me, too. What’s it called?”
“The Palm. I think it’s just the place.”
“Got it,” says Frank, his focus zeroed in on his phone.
“Y’all don’t rush, now.” Austin waves as we start to take our leave. “I’ll give you a call when the Les Paul is ready.”
“Thank you.”
When we reach the exit and I spot not a hint of commotion outside, I smile a little, knowing I came to just the right place to get Ashley’s gift. Not only is Austin Gilley creating something beautiful for my man—I know he’s to thank for the discretion of his staff. I don’t feel a single eye on me as we return to the SUV, and we’re on our way to lunch in no time.
WHILE NEITHER OF us order steak, lunch is amazing. Upon our arrival, Frank ensured Jill and I were seated in a secluded corner of the restaurant. We’re waited on by one attendant, with Frank sitting at a nearby table—where he could see the television mounted at the bar. As hard as it has been to keep the babies buckled up, they don’t seem to mind nearly as much as me. They’re not used to being cooped up, but I’m not used to being out and about with them, either. Ashley and I agreed to keep them out of any spotlight the best we can. The last thing I need is for someone to walk by with their phone only for Simon to find out and inform Ashley. Even though I’m sure it’s bound to happen, I don’t want it to be today.
“Babe, are you okay?” Jill asks, pushing her half eaten plate away from her. “You seem a little anxious.”
“What? What makes you say that?”
Smiling at me gently, she replies, “You scarfed down your plate of food, like someone might take it from you before you finished; and now, your eyes keep darting around the room, even though there’s no one close enough to hear a word of our conversation.”
A little startled by her observations, I glance down at my plate and a blush rushes to my face. There’s a small voice, tucked away in a hidden part of my mind, whispering what I know to be truth. Jill isn’t judging me for the meal I ate, or holding me accountable for the vegetable to carbohydrate ratio—but that truth is smothered by the louder, irrational thoughts that are screaming like banshees between my ears.
“Breastfeeding just makes me so hungry. I thought my appetite would change after the babies came, but—”
“Corie, stop it,” she demands. She stretches her arm across the table, and I spot her hand open, palm up, waiting for mine. Lifting my gaze, I gingerly place my fingers over hers before she goes on to say, “I’m not worried about how much you eat. In fact, it seems only natural. You are the sole source of food for not just one baby, but two. You need fuel to provide for them. What I’m worried about is how you feel, right now, in this moment. You’re my favorite lunch date, you know this, but you seem so uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Babe, don’t apologize. Tell me how I can help. Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”
This time, when my eyes flit around the room, I’m more aware of the anxiousness that accompanies the action. Squeezing Jill’s fingers, I admit, “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too overprotective, but I feel like it’s hard to let them be themselves today.” I pause, looking over at my babies. “I actually feel guilty as the day goes on, taking them away from their safe place. And, sure, maybe I have nothing to worry about—but the thought of my children being stared at like zoo animals, it terrifies me. They’re just babies. It’s one thing for people to stare at me, wondering if I’m who they think I am—I hate the thought of that for Tomi and Brighton.”
“First of all, you are their safe place.” She tugs on my hand slightly, beckoning my full attention. “You might feel more comfortable at home—but you are their home. And you know what? You’re doing way better than you give yourself credit for. I’ve watched you with them today. You are their mama bear; and quite frankly, I’m in awe of how well you’re doing. Not surprised, of course. I’ve never doubted you’d be a fabulous mother,” she says with a warm smile. “Don’t doubt yourself, okay? Also, I get it. More than anyone, I understand that sometimes your life is like living in a fish bowl. You’ll figure out how to do this with them. You just have to give it time.”
“Thank you. Thank you for saying that.”
“Only speaking the truth.” She winks at me, giving my hand a squeeze before she lets me go. She then shrugs and asks, “Ready to get out of here?”
“Yeah—are you sure you don’t want anymore?” I point at her plate, but she bats her hand as if to wave away my concern.
“There’s not much room inside of me anymore,” she laughs. “I’m really full right now. But I’ll be hungry again by the time I’m home. I’ll have them box it up.”
“Perfect,” I say on a sigh, relieved our little day trip is just about finished. The twins have been far better than I imagined, but I’m ready to take them home. “I’ll probably need to nurse them before we get on the road.”
“Works for me.”
It isn’t until we’ve paid our bill that the manager of the establishment returns to our table with a troubled expression on his face. Instantly, I’m on high alert as I try to prepare for bad news.
“I do apologize, but there’s a bit of a crowd awaiting your departure outside.”
“A crowd?” The man offers me a contrite look, dipping his chin in a nod. “How do they even know I’m here?” I pose the question, knowing it’s not fair of me to ask such a thing. He’s not responsible for anyone who might have posted on any given social media platform about spotting me. Nevertheless, I hold my ground.
“I’m not sure, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
“How long have they been here?”
“They started to arrive twenty minutes after you were seated.”
As if they can sense my unease, the twins begin to give voice to their arising discomfort. Knowing the only way to calm them down will be to get them out of here, I stand to my feet and close their car seat covers. This, of course, only causes them to cry—the sound making my chest ache and my breasts heavy.
“Frank?” I call out, ignoring the manager. As rude as it is, I can’t think about him right now. “Frank, we have to go.”
He simply jerks his chin in acknowledgment, clearly reading between the lines as he stands and begins to lead the way out of the restaurant. Except, when we emerge from our little corner of seclusion, the crowd the manager spoke of makes even Frank halt in his steps. There are paparazzi and bystanders alike, waiting in a mob that fills the sidewalk. The crowd is so dense, there’s no way I’ll be able to push the stroller through it. It’s as if everyone’s Christmas shopping has ceased on account of the chance to spot Ashley Hicks’ twins.
All at once, a wave of emotions crash into me. Fear. Anxiety. Guilt. Helplessness. I’m overwhelmed and outnumbered. I don’t even notice that I’m short of breath until I feel Jill’s hand as she rubs my back.
“Deep breaths, babe. It’s okay. We’re going to figure this out.”
I look over at her and gasp, aware that I need to do as she says—but the second I gulp down a lungful of air, my tears come rushing in. I can’t stop them. I know this is not the time to cry, but it’s uncontrollable.
“How are we going to get out of here? Why did I do this to them? Ashley’s across the damn country. I should have called him. I should have told him our plans. He would have thought of this. God—why didn’t I think of this? Frank can’t get us through that on his own.”
“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Jill stops rubbing my back to dry my tears. As I stare into her eyes, sure and determined, I try to grab hold of some of her strength; but I feel like I’m crumbling. “Don’t panic. We’ll figure this out.”
“Hey, you,” I hear Frank, his voice deeper than usual, beckoning my attention. Only, when I look at him, he’s not talking to me, but to the manager. “You got a back exit?”
“Through the kitchen,” he replies with a nod. “It leads to a back alley. Though, I’m afraid the only thing we use it for is garbage disposal and food deliveries, and we’re unloading an order as we speak.”
As he talks, my mind fills with more worst-case scenarios than good ones. I imagine a hot kitchen obstacle course, with flaming gas stove tops and chefs wielding the biggest knives I’ve ever seen, each dangerous element painting a portrait of my irrational fears. Fortunately, Frank shatters through my trepidatious thoughts as he demands of the manager, “I need three of the biggest guys you’ve got on staff.”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
I watch as the manager hurries for the bar. He instructs one of the bartenders to head our way before he rushes off to gather two other men. When they’re all assembled, I don’t feel much better. They wait tables for a living, and I wouldn’t recommend any of them quit their day jobs to be a part of anyone’s protection detail. It’s the sound of my crying babies that remind me I don’t have much of a choice.
Frank offers them instructions and then looks back at me. In one glance, I understand it’s time to go. I nod and quickly wipe my cheeks dry, hoping I’ll stop crying any second now. When he starts to lead us out, I hold my breath as I push the stroller. I barely get the twins through the door, and the flashes from cameras start to go off like crazy. Questions are being hurled at me left and right, and I’ve never felt more intruded upon in my life.
There are two of the wait staff on one side of the stroller, while the bartender and Jill are on the other side. Though, much to my horror, their bodies are little more than hurdles in the way of what the photographers want. I can barely hear my own thoughts, too consumed by the movement of the crowd, each individual part of an undulating thing, with no regards to the human lives it’s trying to swallow.
A particularly aggressive member of the paparazzi raises his camera over Jill’s head and snaps a photo. Yet, as we continue to walk, the commotion is too much. Someone pushes the man, and he topples into Jill. She cries out as she tries to find her balance, grabbing hold of the handle of Tomi’s car seat. It jostles her, and I know she’s frightened as she begins to wail. I wish I could say I was appalled by the actions of the crowd, but I’m not. Worse even, I don’t feel strong enough to fight my way through the masses.
“Frank!” I shriek as I grab hold of Jill’s hand. I start backing up, pulling us all in reverse. “This is not working.” I don’t wait for him to try and convince me otherwise. I’ll lose it if I don’t get away from the paparazzi. They’re like ruthless vultures, but I will not let my children be their prey. “You,” I call out as soon as we’re back inside, my eyes locked with those of the manager. “Do you have an office?”
“Yes.”
“Take us there.”
I don’t know if the tone of my voice does the trick, or the tears still leaking from my eyes, but he doesn’t question me. The smart man opens the door for us when we reach his small space, not bothering to step inside himself. I don’t waste a moment before I unzip Tomi’s cover and unbuckle her from her seat.
“Mommy’s here, baby. I’m right here.” I cradle her in my arms, swaying my body back and forth as I try calming her down. “Jill, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I promise.”
“Will you get Brighton, please?”
“Of course,” she assures me before she goes to rescue my boy.
“I know, I know—I’m sorry, sweetie,” I murmur as Tomi continues to scream. “This is literally my worse nightmare. Right here, right now. I should have known. Everything was going too perfectly. I need Ashley. God, I need Ashley.”
“Corie—we’ll figure this out, okay? Maybe you should call him. Talk to him. It might help clear your head.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Frank, can you hand me my phone? It’s—”
“I got it,” he interrupts, maneuvering his way through the small office to reach for my purse, stowed underneath the stroller.
As soon as the device is in my hand, I see I’ve missed two calls from Ashley since we’ve been in the city. Another pang of guilt resounds throughout my chest. Forcefully shoving aside my emotions for a second, I swipe my thumb across the notification of his call, in order to dial him right away. My eyes fall closed in defeat when I get his voicemail, and Tomi continues to cry unabashedly in my arms. In this moment, it’s as if I’m failing her. I’m failing both of them. All of them.
“He didn’t answer,” states Jill observantly as she rubs soothing circles around Brighton’s back. “Oh, my god—Frank, reach into my bag and grab my phone?” she insists, turning so he can access it. “Leo had a meeting in the city today. I don’t know if he’s still here, if he’s in the meeting, or if he’s on his way back to the office—but maybe he can help. I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
I watch as she pulls up Leo’s number before cramming the phone between her ear and her shoulder. She shushes Brighton lovingly as she sways, waiting for Leo to answer.
“Lee, hi. Where are you?” Jill pauses and then shakes her head. “Turn around. How fast can you get to my location? Can you pull it up in that locater app? Corie and I are with the twins and there’s an entire mob that’s making it all but impossible for us to get out of here. Frank tried to get some of the guys at the restaurant to—” He interrupts her, but I know she doesn’t mind. The smile on her face as she looks to me makes me breathe a little easier. “Ten minutes? You’re my hero. I love you. See you soon.”
True to his word, Leo’s intimidating frame fills the doorway to The Palm’s back office twelve minutes later. I could weep at the sight of him. Literally. It takes every ounce of will power I have in me not to—but I can’t cry anymore. I won’t. I need to get Tomi and Brighton someplace safe.
“Everybody okay in here?” he asks, a familiar frown tugging at his brow.
I know that look. I’ve seen the expression many times. He’s all business right now, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Glad you called. Been a while since I’ve seen a pack of hungry fuckers like that.”
“Leo!” Jill admonishes. His eyes shift from me to his wife in an instant, and I can hear the smile in her voice when she reminds him, “Baby ears in the room.”
A minute smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he winks at Jill before he turns to address Frank. “Let’s handle this.” Glancing back at me once more, he insists, “Five minutes and we’re out.”
I nod, but he doesn’t see me do it as he and Frank are out the door immediately. Jill and I strap the twins back into their seats, and any and all attempts at calming them down over the course of the last fifteen minutes is immediately eradicated.
“I know you’re hungry, and you’re tired, and mommy is awful—”
“You’re not awful,” Jill states, zipping Brighton’s seat cover closed. “You know who’s awful? The photographers out there who are acting like you’re not a new mom with small babies. Don’t put this on you. It’s not you.”
I try to take her words to heart, but all I can think is how my twins would not be in this situation had I not escorted them into it—like an ignorant woman. I should have been smarter. Three months out of the public eye, and it’s like I’ve forgotten everything I’ve learned over the last three years. Ashley might be in California, but the media has been impatiently waiting for even a glimpse of the twins.
When we got engaged, we couldn’t go anywhere without attracting attention. Even a trip to the market in New York City was an errand that made me apprehensive. Then, after we did our spot on Dylan, every bridal magazine in the world wanted a piece of me. Me! Of course the hype died down a bit and shifted back onto Ashley and his music, but now the media is chasing after his offspring.
I’ve lost track of the journalists who have been hounding Simon to get a feature that’s bound to make the cover of whatever magazine for which they write. They want our first family pictures. They want to come into our home and see the nursery. They want to know all the glowing details of a day in the life with the Hicks, now that we’re a family of four. While none of it is shocking, all of it is far from something I feel comfortable entertaining. So today—today is the nightmare that comes after I say no one too many times.
“Corie, Jill—it’s time. I’ll lead the way,” Leo instructs upon his return. He then stretches out his arm with an open hand and states, “Baby, you’re with me.”
“Okay,” she agrees, hurrying to his side. She wraps both of her hands around his, and he draws her close. Watching them fills me with a longing for my Ashley that’s so strong, I can hardly see straight. Then I hear Frank’s voice, calling me out of the office, and I know I have two little ones on whom I need to focus.
Shaking my head clear, I tighten my grip around the handle to the stroller and follow my entourage through the restaurant. When we reach the exit, as I look through the front windows, I notice the mob is standing back further than they were before, providing ample space for us to get out. Then I notice the chairs that stand between them and the building—every other one occupied by a member of the wait staff.
Tugging Ashley’s ball cap down low, I whisper a silent prayer of thanks before we step outside. The shouting is just as obnoxious as before, the clicking sound of closing camera shutters adding to the cacophony of noise—but we manage to breeze right by them. I inhale a deep breath and blow it out slowly; yet, even still, I don’t feel calm.
Frank runs ahead of me toward the SUV and starts to open the back door, but I’m quick to stop him. “No. We’re getting in the trunk. The seats are still down, I have enough space, I need to nurse them.”
“Are you—”
“I need to feed them. Now.”
“Frank, help her into the trunk,” Jill states, breaking away from Leo as she stares straight at me. “Lee, help with the babies. When she’s closed inside, just keep people away.”
The guys do as they’re told. The second I have my nursing pillow around my waist, I hardly notice as I’m shut into the trunk. It isn’t until I have both babies latched that I’m aware of the silence that comes with my sudden aloneness. I close my eyes and expel a sigh, feeling suddenly exhausted and yet marginally relieved. When I open my eyes and peer down at the twins, they both give me their pretty brown eyes as they feed contentedly.
Gazing at them, I know they won’t remember this day. In a couple of hours, we’ll be home, they’ll be safe, and they’ll still need me just as much there as they do right now. Nonetheless, I will remember. I’m sure I’ll never forget.
I reach for my phone, tucked into the pocket of Ashley’s puffy vest, still draped around my shoulders. I can’t think straight enough to remember when it is he’s scheduled to be on Dylan’s couch or even what time zone he’s in. All I know is I want to hear his voice. I try to stay relaxed when I get his voicemail for a second time; still, I hang up and try him again. The forth time I call, it’s just to hear the sound of his voice on his recorded message.
Knowing he’ll call me back as soon as he can, I set aside my phone and give my full attention to Tomi and Brighton. When they’ve finished eating, I burp one and then the other before buckling them back into their seats. This time, when they start to fuss, I simply kiss them, sure the ride home will lull them to sleep in no time.
I tap on the window, signaling for Frank to let me out, and he does. He and Leo are quick to grab the babies, and they get them locked into the backseat. All the while, Jill informs me, “Leo and I are going to swing by Gilley’s to pick up the guitar. Frank’s going to take you home, and we’ll be right behind you.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
Jill raises her eyebrows, fixing me with an intense stare as she interrupts and reiterates, “Right behind you.”
With not enough energy left in me to argue, I simply nod and climb into the front seat. Before we reach the interstate, the babies are sound asleep.
THERE’S A CERTAIN type of adrenaline that always courses through my veins after being on stage in front of a packed stadium of screaming fans. It’s the kind of rush that’s consistently filled me with fuel when I’m out on tour, performing night after night. The energy it ignites is like a drug, and it never gets old.
Performing in smaller spaces is different. More intimate. I’m not usually hit with a high so much as I’m struck with a slice of the best humble pie a man could eat. It reminds me of where I’ve been, where I started, and all the reasons I have to be grateful. When I come off the stage of Dylan after my performance, I feel both high and humble. It’s been a while since I’ve performed, and it felt good.
It felt real good.
It isn’t until I return to the dressing room and check my phone that I start to sober up. A frown tugs at my brow when I see Corie tried calling me not once—but five times in the last hour. I call her back immediately, staring down at my boots as I wait for her to answer.
“Hi,” she murmurs after three rings.
I don’t move a muscle, concentrating all of my focus on listening for what I cannot see. “Hi, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on?”
She hesitates, and I can hear it when she pulls in a breath, as if to brace herself. “I was stupid. I’m sorry. I thought I could do it, and I was wrong.”
When she sniffles, I lift my free hand and bury my fingers in my hair. I grip the dark strands and close my eyes, feeling farther away from home than I felt five minutes ago. For the last couple of weeks, Corie’s been crying a lot. Sometimes it makes sense; sometimes I understand that she’s overwhelmed. Other times, I don’t get it at all. My woman is strong. She’s prone to get emotional from time to time, but this is different. As far as I know, she’s not suffered from any sort of postpartum depression. I’m not sure if it can kick in this late, but I feel like I’m in the wrong place at the wrong time. Whatever’s happening, it has her crying again, and all I can give her is the sound of my voice.
“What happened, Cor? Talk to me,” I coax patiently.
“The babies were having a really great morning. I just wanted to run an errand. Jill came with me, and we stopped for lunch—Ashley, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Corie,” I mutter. My worry sounds more aggressive than I intended, but the more she speaks, the more afraid I become. “What happened?”
“We were spotted. The paparazzi—it was awful. Tomi got so scared. Frank couldn’t handle them all on his own. Leo had to come get is. I’m sorry, honey. I shouldn’t have gone out. Not without you. I just thought that I could, and—”
“Darlin’, is everyone okay?”
“Yeah. We’re okay. Frank’s driving us home, and Bright and Tomi are sleeping.”
“Corie—Corie, why are you cryin’? Everything’s okay.”
“It’s not. I should have known better. I should have thought of everything. I shouldn’t have exposed them to that—not without you. I was twenty-four years old the first time I was hounded by the media. The only reason I got through it was because you were right there with me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t protect them the way you protected me. It was so awful, Ashley. I swear, I’m not leaving the house again. Not for a long time. Not until I have absolutely no choice.”
I shake my head, my worry gone and replaced with frustration. There’s nothing I can do to get through to her on this side of the phone. I know it. I can hear it—the blame, her fear. Whatever it is that’s made her forget she’s an amazing mother, I can’t kill it so long as I’m in California and she’s in Tennessee. Knowing what I have to do, I try and think of the words to say to at least calm her down before I make the necessary arrangements needed in this moment.
“Sugar?”
“Yeah?”
“Get my babies home safe, and call me when you get there, al’right?”
“Okay. I will. But Ashley—”
“I love you, no matter what. Hear me?”
“Yeah,” she whispers. “I love you, too.”
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got some things to take care of. Call me when you’re home,” I reiterate.
We say our goodbyes, and I’m on another call not even ten seconds later. As the line rings, I turn to Travis and tell him, “Change of plans. We’re going home tonight—soon as it can be arranged. Let Simon and Ericka know?”
He nods as he heads for the door. “On it.”