TWELVE
the natives
ansley
The girls had been gone one day, but as I looked around my kitchen, it was hard to believe it hadn’t been longer. Mail was stacked on the island. Peanut-butter-and-jelly crusts, along with sippy cups and a jug of chocolate milk, were still at the boys’ spots from lunch. The paper towels AJ had dropped had unrolled and made a trail from the sink to the fridge. In short, there was stuff everywhere. And that was just in the kitchen.
The back door opened and James walked in, Preston strapped to his chest. “Whoa,” he said, looking around the kitchen. “Ans, the natives are winning.”
I smiled at him tiredly.
“What can I do to help?”
I sighed. “Taking them to breakfast was a huge help, James. Thank you so much.”
I glanced longingly at my design bag in the corner of the room, wondering how I would have any sketches or mood boards for Jack by the end of the week.
“Well, I’m at your service,” he said. Then he paused. “When do they go to Linda’s again?”
We both laughed. I was still angry with James, of course, but today had cemented us as partners in crime. We only had each other. He might look a little too pristine in his collared shirt and pressed shorts, but no matter what I could say about James, there was no denying he was a great dad—and uncle.
He walked into the den. “How’s Doc McStuffins, AJ?” I heard him ask.
“It’s the one where the fire truck gets dedydrated.”
“Oh yeah?” James asked, laughing at his mispronunciation. “Hey, where’s your brother?”
My ears perked.
When AJ didn’t respond, I ran into the den. “Where’s Taylor?
“Taylor!” I called.
“Taylor!” James also called, running upstairs.
I checked the front door. It was still locked.
“Taylor!” I heard James call again.
Mom walked out of her bedroom.
“Good land of the living! What is all this commotion?”
Before I could answer, I heard a gasp and I went running.
When I reached Emerson’s room, I gasped too. There were thick, black smears all over the wallpaper, bamboo coverlet, windowsills, and doors. “Taylor, no!” I said, lunging at him. I grabbed the tool of destruction out of his hand as he screamed.
“What is that?” I asked, as if he were going to respond.
I looked up at James. “Ah,” I said. “Eyeliner.”
Mom appeared in the doorway. “That’s going to be tough to get out.”
Emerson would be thrilled to hear her nephew destroyed her favorite eyeliner, but that was nothing compared to the havoc he’d wreaked on my favorite guest room.
“No, Gwansley. No!” Taylor was still screaming.
James scooped him up in one arm, Preston still strapped to his chest, and said, “All right, you little monkey. Let’s get you downstairs into the holding area.” He tickled his belly with his other hand, and Taylor giggled. “Do we need to take you to the zoo?” James asked, making a funny face at Taylor. “Because we only draw on paper, not the house.”
He trotted down the stairs, and I stripped the coverlet and shams off the bed to take to the cleaners.
“Noooooo!” AJ shrieked. Biscuit started barking, adding to the chorus of obnoxious noises.
OK. Wall eyeliner would have to wait.
I ran downstairs. “Buddy,” James was saying, “we can only play with Play-Doh in the kitchen.”
“But I want Play-Doh while I watch Doc!”
I closed my eyes and slowly looked down to see Play-Doh ground into the gorgeous loose weave of my Stark Natura rug. I leaned over and grabbed the mound off the carpet, cringing at the orange residue jammed well into the fibers.
There was no doubt about it: the kids were winning.
James grimaced.
“It’s OK, it’s OK,” I said. “You know what? I say we pack it up and drive over to the beach.”
James nodded. “Excellent plan, Gransley.”
“I want to go,” Mom chimed in.
“Beach, beach!” Taylor said.
“Yay, beach!” AJ agreed.
“Gransley, I need to tinkle!” AJ exclaimed.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” I said.
I smelled it before he said, “Uh-oh.”
James attempted to cover his laughter with his hand as a puddle of golden liquid formed at AJ’s feet. Well, at least it was on the hardwoods.
“Come on, Taylor,” he said. “We’re going to go out to the guesthouse while Gransley handles this situation.”
Before he could even take his nephew’s hand, I heard a loud burp, and as I turned, a stream of spit-up shot out of Preston’s mouth.
“Oh my God!” James yelled, unstrapping the Baby Björn and holding Preston away from him, the baby’s little legs dangling in the air. James looked down at the spit-up covering his clean, pressed shirt. And the poor guy couldn’t even see the rivulets running down his back.
“Nope. That’s not coming out,” Mom said. Now it was my turn to laugh.
James cocked his head to the side and looked at Preston, “Really, buddy? I keep you clean and fed all weekend and this is how you repay me?”
Mom and I shared a glance. This was a make-or-break moment. Would James get mad, hand us the kid, and run off?
But he just laughed and said, “Let’s go get you cleaned up, big guy.”
“Wow,” Mom said. “I’m impressed.”
James shrugged. “He’s my kid, Grammy. I even love his spit-up.”
THAT EVENING, WHEN EVERYONE was clean, changed, and blowing bubbles on the front porch, James looked over at me and said, “I have a surprise for you.”
I should have bit my tongue, but I couldn’t. “I’ve had about enough of your surprises for one year.”
“Ouch,” he said, wincing. “OK, I deserved that. But I promise you’ll like this one. I met a preschool teacher last week—”
I raised my eyebrow.
He laughed. “Come on, Ans. A sixty-five-year-old preschool teacher. She’s coming to watch the kids and put them to bed while we go out for dinner.”
I gasped. “You’re kidding.”
He looked at me seriously. “I would never kid about something as serious as bath time.”
TWO HOURS LATER, SHOWERED and mercifully childless, we were sitting on the patio at Azure, one of my favorite restaurants, sharing a bottle of Opus One. James ordered it and he was paying, so I figured, why not?
“You impressed me today,” I admitted.
“I did?” he said, taking a sip of the decadent wine.
“Yeah. I honestly thought you’d leave Preston with me, claiming some work emergency or something.”
He laughed. “I know I have flaws, Ansley, but I take my kids seriously.”
I wanted to roll my eyes and ask if that’s why he abandoned them earlier this year for a supermodel.
“Plus,” he said, “I promised Caroline I would do this for her.” He looked at me intently. “I know I screwed our life up royally. But Caroline is my world. I would do anything for her. I will do anything to get back in her good graces.”
The waitress filled my wineglass again and placed our tuna tartare between us. The wine had made me a little loose lipped, so I asked, “Are you shocked she’s giving you another chance?”
“Honestly?”
I nodded.
“Beyond.”
James motioned for me to help myself first. Despite his unfortunate Yankee upbringing, he did have good manners.
I served myself two slices of tuna, a few of the soba noodles, and a bit of the seaweed alongside it, and said, “I know she’s a lot, James. I know she is. I still blame you, but I think even Caroline knows marriages fall apart because of two people.”
He smiled. “She’s a handful, that woman. But her complexity is what makes her so beautiful.” I noticed tears in his eyes as he said, “She is everything, Ansley. She is my life. I will fight to win back her trust until the day I die if that’s what it takes.”
I could feel my heart shift just the tiniest bit. I thought maybe he was sincere, maybe I should be on his team. “That’s good to hear,” I said. “It really is.” Then, trying to lighten the mood, I said, “And the day you die may be really soon if you ever cross her again.”
We both laughed. I took another sip of wine and felt myself relax—until I saw Jack walk through the front door of the restaurant. With Georgia.
James followed my concerned gaze and shook his head.
Maybe it was the wine, maybe because he had been such good company, but for some reason I found it all spilling out to James. The breakup, how I missed Jack, how awful it was to see him with someone else.
He paused for a few seconds, long enough for me to feel like a totally irrational, middle-aged fool of a woman. I was about to formulate some excuse, blame the wine. But then James said, “She’s just some woman, Ansley. For Jack, you’re . . .” He paused. “You’re the moon.”
I smiled and took a sip of wine. As I swallowed, I hoped against hope that James was right. I hoped that someday, somehow, Jack would find his way back to me. That he could find it in his heart to choose me again. That despite what I had put him through, he would take the moon over Georgia.