“What’s up, my brother?” A arm slings around my shoulders and I shove it off.
“We’re not actually brothers-in-law,” I remind Marc.
“I know. But you still consider Elizabeth your sister-in-law, which means I’m your brother-in-law.” He’s the only one she allows to call her by her full first name. Everyone calls her Lizzy, but him.
“What do you want?” I’m extra grouchy toward him because even though Lizzy said he wasn’t the reason she was upset this morning, I’m not convinced. What else could upset her if not him? Lizzy is like a sister to me and I’ve been extra overprotective over her since my brother died. She needed someone to look after her, so I did. Sylvia did as well. I won’t stand for someone hurting her, even her husband and my teammate.
Marc’s expression sobers. “Have you talked to Elizabeth lately?”
Clue number one that he doesn’t know she was coming to the house today. “Why?” I’m certain Marc would rather I stay out of their relationship, so it’s surprising that he’s asking and sounding hopeful that I have.
He shrugs. “She’s seemed jumpy lately and I didn’t know if maybe she’s talked to you or Sylvia.”
“She hasn’t talked to me.” Which is true. I don’t know what happened after I left the house earlier.
Marc missed what I didn’t say and nods. “She’s been sick, so maybe that’s all it is.”
“She’s been sick?” She looked fine when she was at the house.
“Yeah. I’ve been doing nothing but disinfecting the house after her because hell if I want to get whatever she has. Last time she was sick, she gave me the worst flu in history.” He pauses, thinking about something. “Maybe she’s stressed. She has four cakes to do this weekend.”
Lizzy loves to bake and decorate cakes. She could totally be on Cake Masters or something. (I only know about this show because of Sylvia.) She started baking cakes for wives of my teammates for a kid’s birthday and word of mouth has spread. She’s been taking orders ever since. If she keeps on, she might be able to do it full-time. Begrudgingly, I have Marc to thank for pushing her to return to following her dream.
We’ve reached the point in the parking lot where we need to go our separate ways to our vehicles. Marc turns to me. “Have you been working on your wife to make her stop being mad at mine?”
I laugh. Marc has been trying harder than Lizzy to get Sylvia to get over her grudge about not knowing about their eloping business. All that does is tell me it’s bothering Lizzy more than she lets on, but there are some areas where not even I can budge Sylvia. “Haven’t you been listening to me? There is no working my wife. Sylvia will stop being mad when she decides she’s done. I’m sure things will be back to normal soon.” Hopefully, since they talked after I left, things ended well and Sylvia is over it. If it weren’t for Lizzy being upset, I doubt Sylvia would’ve sucked it up.
“Hope so. See you later, Scotty.”
“Later, Marco.”
I check my phone one last time to see a text.
Sylvia: I need milk!!!!!
Me: On my way.
At least once a week, I have to stop on the way home from work for something. It might be whatever it is that she forgot to buy while grocery shopping, like in this case, or something sweet that she’s craving since she tries not to have a lot of junk food in the house, or whatever else we don’t have that she decides we need that very day. I don’t mind. I can’t do things like that for her when I’m on the road, so hell yeah I’m going to do it when I’m home.
That reminds me of our conversation from earlier today. Sylvia has been acting very strange lately. Not that she isn’t an affectionate person, but she doesn’t ask for it. Never has. She doesn’t ask to be held. She doesn’t ask to stay in bed a little longer. She doesn’t ask for more time together. She’s also not a worrier. She’s very much an it is what it is type of person. For her to be worried, and for no apparent reason, it’s very concerning.
All seems well when I get home. Stella and Stephanie are at the table doing homework and Sylvia is waiting for the milk, so she can resume cooking. She’s also grinning.
“I have news! And I’m the first to know!” I can’t ever tell what makes her happier. Having news to share or being the first one to know it.
“What is it?”
Her eyes flick to our girls, which means their little ears probably shouldn’t hear it. “Why don’t y’all take a break from your worksheets and go play? Daddy will help you finish them after we eat.”
They don’t hesitate to bolt from the table.
“What is it? How’d it go with Lizzy? Do you need help?”
“No, sit.” She focuses on her task at the stove. “At this very moment, Marc is finding a cake with a jersey decorated on it that says Daddy on the back.” Sylvia glances over her shoulder. “Lizzy’s pregnant.”
Before I can ask, she rehashes what happened after I left this morning. I have trouble processing what she tells me. Roger didn’t want those girls? What the hell? She’s saying he put Lizzy through hell with their arguing? I don’t even know how to feel about this. No wonder she was so distraught when he died. Man, I wish he was alive just so I could kick his ass like I used to do when we were growing up.
“Scott?”
I blink and find Sylvia kneeling in front of me, her hands on my knees. “So much makes sense now, but I just...feel bad for her.”
“We didn’t know them as well as we thought we did.”
Obviously.
“Are you okay? She didn’t want me to tell you.”
“I’m fine. This is good news. The pregnancy, I mean. Also means Marc will figure out why she’s been sick and he can stop worrying about catching what she has.” Sylvia laughs at that. “He said she’s been jumpy. He was worried about her.”
She smirks as she stands and returns to the stove. “Maybe I should try to set someone else up. I clearly did great when I put those two together.”
“You’re in everyone’s business enough as it is.”
“Which is a positive! I know enough about everyone to set them up with someone.”
The last thing I need is for her to start meddling with my teammates’s lives. “No, Sylvie. Forget about it.”
She glares at me. “Are you ordering me not to do something?”
Aw, hell. “It was a suggestion,” I lie. “The guys are more than capable of finding their own women, if they even want one. You should let them worry about it.”
“I’ll think about it.” Which means she’s going to do what I said and listen to me. She isn’t giving in because I said so is all.
“First game is next Monday. It’s a road game.”
Normally, this is no big deal. Normally, I wouldn’t say a thing because Sylvia knows my schedule as well as I do. There’s even a copy of it on the fridge. That’s for the girls, though, as they like to look and see who I’m playing. But seeing her shoulders tense is the exact reason I decided to test it out. Something is bothering my wife and I want to know what the hell it is. Presumably before preseason is over. It’d be even better if I can find out before Monday.
“Sylvie,” I whisper.
“I don’t want to discuss it,” she interrupts. “Why don’t you play with our girls until dinner is ready?”
This is one of those situations where there will be no persuading Sylvia. So, I stand, walk over to kiss her cheek, and find Stella and Stephanie who are playing with dolls in their room. We have another bedroom, but they’ve been in the same bedroom all their lives. When they want space from one another, I’m assuming they’ll be older and that they’ll ask for it.
“Can we dress up?” Stella asks as I take a seat on the edge of her bed.
“Yeah. Go ahead.”
They run over to their closet and find their yellow dresses. Their favorite movie is Beauty and the Beast, so it’s no surprise that they each have a dress like the one in the movie. I’m sure the next question will be if we can watch it tonight. My answer will be yes because I rarely say no to them. I help them change into the dresses and then we have pretend tea. For about fifteen minutes, there’s easygoing conversation.
“Daddy?” Stephanie looks nervous as she gathers my attention.
“Yeah?”
“Is Momma mad at us?” I don’t know what caused the change, but Sylvia went from Mommy to Momma over the summer.
“What? No. Why would you think that?”
“She yelled at us,” Stella answers.
Sylvia yelled at them? That’s unusual, too. She can be stern and discipline them, of course, but she swears there’s a fine line between raising your voice to get their attention and yelling at them. “What happened?” I ask.
Stella shrugs, which either means she was the instigator or she honestly doesn’t know. Stephanie puts down her teacup, folds her hands to sit in her lap, and says, “We were just singing, Daddy.”
“Really loud,” Stella adds.
“She told us to stop, but Stella didn’t want to.”
Stella frowns as her sister rats her out. “Momma was mean.” Stephanie nods in agreement.
There are many times as a parent where I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or what I’m supposed to say and this is one of those moments. “How about we do better to listen to Momma next time, and let’s remember that she still loves you.”
“Dinner!” Sylvia shouts from the kitchen.
“Let’s eat, girls.”
“Can we sleep over at Aunt Lizzy’s this weekend?” Stella asks.
“Ah, I don’t think so. She’s busy, but I’ll be sure to find out when y’all can go over, okay?”
She nods with satisfaction. When we get into the dining room, I frown when I see there are only three plates full of food set at the table. Sylvia is sitting down, but there’s no plate in front of her. However, there is a paper towel with some saltine crackers laid out on top.
“Where’s your food?” I ask as I pull a chair out for Stella and then Stephanie.
“I’m not feeling well, so I’m not eating.” As I sit down myself, she must see my distaste with her answer and my mouth opening to object because she adds, “I’ll eat later if I’m up for it. I did grab something,” she holds up a cracker, “just for you, so save it, Scott.”
I let it go for now because I know how to pick my battles and she’s right. At least she’s nibbling on something rather than not eating anything at all. Before a single piece of silverware is lifted, we thank Sylvia for fixing our dinner. Before we got the kids, I thanked her in the same manner. I never want Sylvia to think I don’t appreciate her or what she does for me and my girls. I want to show it and I want to say it. The girls started out saying it as a way of copying me, but they eventually caught on and they say it now, even if I’m not here. It’s worth doing, too. Makes my wife smile every damn time.
Sylvia reaches over to the seat next to her and grabs a box. I don’t know why it makes me suspicious, but it does.
“What’d you do, Sylvia?”
She flashes me a quick glare. “I took a little initiative.” Oh, boy. She opens the small, rectangular box. It looks like it’s holding business cards. She plucks one out and hands it to me. “I did them myself.”
“These look good.” They are professional, but fun. Before Sylvia quit her job, she worked with a company in the marketing department, but she also dabbled in graphic design. “Lizzy ask you to do these? I didn’t know she came up with a name. Or that she had social media pages.”
Sylvia purposely looks away from me. “Well...”
“Sylvie,” I sigh.
“I warned you that I took a little initiative. The name is one that she tossed around, so I don’t think she’ll be mad about that. But she’s so busy making the cakes, she needs someone to do this part of it, or at least set it up. I did it for her.” She grins. “It was really fun.”
Maybe that’s what’s been missing. Maybe she’s restless now that the girls are in school? I think it’d be difficult for her to find a job after not working for six years, though. She’s had absolutely no work experience in that time span and she quit her last job with no notice because she was so concerned about Lizzy.
“You didn’t show these to her when she stopped by?” I ask. I’ll bring up the rest of my thoughts later when the girls aren’t around.
“They came after. Do you really think they look good?”
“Yeah, they’re perfect. I’m sure she’ll like them.” Her smile turns into a beam, which quickly disappears when I waft my fork her way. “Not even a bite?”
She jumps up from the table and rushes to the bathroom.
“Is Momma okay?” Stephanie asks.
“I think she’s sick. Y’all keep eating.” I stand to go check on her. She’s in one of our half-baths, hacking up her stomach. “Fuck, Sylvie.” I rub her back, knowing better than to do more than that.
“This is your fault,” she mumbles. “Trying to get me to eat. I already said I didn’t feel well and you had to tempt fate.”
“Sorry.” Another round comes, but there’s nothing left in her stomach, so she’s dry heaving. Once she seems to be done, I direct her out of the bathroom and straight to our room. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’ll bring you a glass of water and you can rest for a bit.”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
The fact that she gave into what was basically a demand proves just how bad she feels. She’s pale, too. I get her into a pair of pajamas and into bed with a glass of water on the nightstand and a small trash can next to the bed—all without any complaints or grumbling under her breath. Then, I rejoin my girls for dinner. I don’t feel great about having Sylvia sick on top of her anxiety about the upcoming season. At least I work well under pressure.