88 - Shaken, Not Stirred

The following Saturday found Jon and Sheridan bound for Indianapolis and the Super Bowl on a private, chartered plane.   Bouncing his knee restlessly and staring out the window as if he could will the miles away, Jon found himself as excited as one of his kids at Christmas-time.  A Giants/Patriots Super Bowl  was enough to pump adrenaline through any true-blooded Jersey/New Yorker.  In the end, it would be a win no matter who came out hoisting the trophy, but his social and business ties had him rooting for the Patriots. 

Drawing his imagination away from confetti and Gatorade celebrations, he turned to his wife, who had her head buried in her iPad. 

“Today’s produce day, isn’t it?  What’s the poppy seed up to this week?”

She was obsessed with some website that related the baby’s growth to the size of fruits and vegetables, and had gotten Desiree hooked on the same site.  They called one another a couple times a week about one thing or another on that stupid site.  Matt had texted him when Desiree had gone from carrying a peach to a lemon, saying, “Can’t you find your wife another hobby?” 

Their poppy seed had become an apple seed, then a sweet pea, blueberry and raspberry with Sheridan complaining all the time she didn’t feel anything but annoyed when her favorite pants got uncomfortably snug and she couldn’t wear them anymore.  Thinking back to an unborn Romeo, since it was the freshest one in his memory, he didn’t think she looked any bigger than Dorothea had at a couple months.

The left side of her mouth curled slightly.  “You realize we’re going to end up calling this kid Poppy?  It won’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“Like hell we will,” he snorted.  “If you’d quit referring to it as ‘the poppy seed’, then I wouldn’t automatically do the same thing.  Regardless, there will be no calling my boy Poppy.  Not happenin’.  ”

“Boy?  You think it’s a boy, huh?”

He crossed his legs and shrugged at her piqued curiosity.  “I’ve got three of ‘em already.  That means I have manly sperm.”

“What…ever,”  she scoffed with a shake of her head, flicking her finger over the iPad several times in rapid succession.  “This week you can call the poppy seed James if you want.  James Bond.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because, darling…”  She adopted a silly smirk.  “It’s green olive week, as Mr. Bond would have in his martini.  ‘Shaken, not stirred’ and all that.”

“Wow.  A woman who likes football and makes James Bond references.  This might work out after all Mrs. Bongiovi.  Can you quote any of the Godfather movies?”

“Not really, although ‘I’m gonna make you an offa ya can’t refuse’.”

Jon laughed and gave her a slow round of applause.  “Your accent is terrible, but at least you got the line right.”

“Hey, cut me some slack.  I bet you can’t quote Mary Poppins with Julie Andrews’s accent either.”

Jon shuddered.  He hated that movie.  Stephanie had been obsessed with it as a little girl.  His taste had gone more toward Jesse’s favorite, The Lion King.  “And I don’t want to.  So what’s the offer, Godmother?”

“Well, there’s really no ‘offer’.  It was just the most creative way I could find to use the line.”  She pushed the big button the iPad, sending its screen black.  “But I did have something on my mind.”

There was no two ways about it.  She was a beautiful woman.  Even with only light makeup darkening her eyelashes and cheeks and dressed in nothing but yoga pants and a zippered hoodie, she remained one of the classiest women he knew.  The diamond studs in her ears and the matching pendant that hung from a simple gold chain completely counterbalanced the gently scuffed Nikes and ponytail.  Yes, even when she went casual, there was something a little formal about her.

In fact her regal air almost made him feel substandard at times, but he loved having her at his side.  She made him step it up a notch, keeping the blue-collar Jersey boy on the back burner when the occasion called for it. 

He picked up her hand, dropping a kiss on the back of it before worming his fingers in between hers.  “Then by all means… get it off your mind.  What’s up?”

“Baby names,” was her matter-of-fact statement.  “Traditionally children are used as namesakes.  Mandi has my middle name and Ashley has Riley’s.  Mitch’s twins carry his and Dad’s names as their middle names.  I guess I wondered whose name you’d like your next child to carry.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.”

She took a deep breath and expelled it sharply, not satisfied with that answer.  “Okay, then, let me try a different question.  It’s a little embarrassing, but, since I don’t know your children’s middle names, I have to ask… are any of them named after you?”

It was times like this when he realized how quickly their lives had changed.  It was also times like this that, while he may have married someone with a “box full of Bon Jovi t-shirts in the closet”, she wasn’t one of those obsessive fans who knew every time he went to take a shit.  He did think it funny that she didn’t resort to Google to find out the kids’ names like she did everything else. 

“Romeo’s middle name is Jon,” he said simply, being a nice guy and tamping down his amusement so as not to make her any more embarrassed.

“Okay,” she nodded succinctly. “You’re a junior, right?  Do you have any desire to have a John…  Francis?”  When he nodded, she finished up with, “The third?”

“Nope.  Contrary to popular belief, my ego isn’t that big.  And I see I have you on board with the boy thing.”

She rolled her eyes with a put-upon sigh.  “I’m just trying to decide if you want another namesake.  That kind of lends itself to a boy.”

“If that’s your story, stick to it, but we don’t have to name the baby after anybody if you don’t want to.  Have you come up with any names in your research?”  He grinned knowingly.  “Because I know you’ve been researching.”

“Yes, since you asked, smartass.  In looking at the calendar and knowing what happened, I’m thinking he/she was probably conceived within a day or so of Christmas.  I was thinking of Nicholas or Noelle.”

“And your middle name is Nicole, isn’t it?”  He’d seen it a time or twelve on the various forms she’d filled out to have her last name changed – Social Security, driver’s license and the like.  “Both could be considered versions of that, if it’s what you’re going for.”

“I hadn’t really considered that, but I suppose.  What are your thoughts?”

“My thoughts are that it’s a little early to be stressing over names,” he said gently.  “Everything doesn’t have to be figured out right now, Kitten.  It’s the first of February and the baby isn’t due until September.  We’ve got time.”

Quirking his eyebrow suspiciously, he added, “And that includes the nursery.  It doesn’t have to be finished when we move next weekend.  I’d bet anything you’ve thrown that on top of all of the other things you want done to the house before the move.”

Her mouth tipped down in a delicate frown.  “It only makes sense to have it done when we do everything else.  Why would you call back the painters and floor guys a second time?”

“Alright, have it painted and new carpet, if that’s what you want.  But that’s all.  You can decorate it later.  I’m telling ya, if you do it now, you’re going to make yourself crazy sitting around for seven months with nothing to do.”

“I don’t want carpet in the nursery,” she informed him, completely ignoring his decree.  “I’ve read it’s better to have hardwood floors to reduce the allergens that are trapped in the room – in case the baby has allergies.”

His wife could be a bit single-minded when it suited her.  Jon had no problem respecting that trait, or recognizing it as one of his own, too, but damn if it wasn’t annoying when he was trying to make a point.  “Fine, then have the hardwood done.  I don’t give a fuck what’s on the floor.  Get the floors and walls done, but do not get obsessed with a full-blown nursery being ready by next weekend.”

“The baby has to have someplace to sleep.”

This time he laughed in her face.  “In September!  Dial back the OCD, Sheridan.  Focus on something more immediate – like getting a trapeze in our bedroom.”

If looks could kill, he could finally get that sleep he’d been singing about for fifteen years, because he would be dead.  “Stop being an idiot.”

He lifted a careless shoulder, not even slightly offended by the snapped words.  She could bitch at him all she wanted as long as it distracted her from baby preparations.  Her fanaticism was starting to worry him.  She still didn’t show any emotion toward the kid, but she was over the top about doing everything she was ‘supposed’ to.  “At my age that’s not gonna happen.  It’s an ingrained personality trait.”

His flippancy earned a rarely seen green-eyed glare.  “Just FYI, I’m very aware of the things that are immediate – like my doctor’s appointment on Tuesday – and am trying to distract myself from it.  I’ve been researching what to expect on a first appointment and…”

“Baby,” he interrupted.  “You’re starting to freak me out with all the fuckin’ research.  You realize this is a human being living inside of you and not a poppy seed or a damn olive?  Why can’t you focus on that for a minute instead of looking for instruction manuals and reading through them like a robot?  ‘Cause I’m here to tell you, there ain’t no instruction manuals.  Show some love and roll with the punches is the best you can hope for.”

“You think I’m not aware that I don’t ooze maternal love?” she asked with a lifted brow.   “I’m painfully conscious of it, but this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black, in my opinion.  You haven’t shown any affection for this thing either.”

“See?  You’re still calling it a thing.”  He really wasn’t trying to piss her off and, to that end, kept his voice soft and non-confrontational. 

She took a deep breath and Jon saw a quick glimpse of pain fleet across her features.  “Guilty, but don’t change the subject.   You haven’t engaged in this adventure either – not on any kind of emotional or personal level.”

What the fuck?  I’ve jumped through a hundred hoops so we could get where we are right now.  How is that NOT being engaged?

He grumbled under his breath and paused in an effort to take the bite out of his answer.  “I’ve been a little busy busting my ass to get things in order.  Wedding, media, family, house…  All of that sound familiar?”

“It does,” she readily admitted, pacifying him with a soft palm against his cheek.  “And I appreciate every bit of it – and you.  What I’m saying is that you can’t call me out for doing the same thing you are, which is focusing on the legwork.”

Jon stared at her for the longest time, in a vain effort to mentally justify his actions – or lack thereof.  

There were man duties and woman duties, in his somewhat antiquated point of view.  Yes, he was a liberal kind of guy, but there were some basics that you just couldn’t get away from.   The basest of those basics was that women were nurturers and men were problem solvers.  It’s the way it was and the way it always had been.  In his mind, he’d been doing exactly what a man should do to show love for his family.  He was solving their problems.

“You’re the one who – from the very first moment – has been talking about responsibility and obligation to this baby.  You’ve talked about doing what’s right and manning-up to show your other kids how to make the best of a bad situation.  All of those things are very admirable, but they aren’t an emotional connection with your unborn child.  They’re not love.”

No.  They weren’t love.  Not in the way she was talking.  Not in the way she expected and wanted to feel. 

Would it kill you to be the anti-man for just a little while and get in touch with your emotions?  To help her find her heart in this?  If she can do that, everything is going to be better for all of us.

“You’re right.  They’re not love and I haven’t consciously tried to make a connection with the baby, but that stops now.” 

He reached his left arm over the armrest between them, worming his hand under the hem of her hoodie.  Focusing his gaze there, he splayed his fingers wide, covering her entire lower abdomen while his thumb slid back and forth over the soft material of her pants.  There was barely any swell, but he found what he thought to be the beginnings of a bump.  

“Hey, kid, it’s your dad.  We’re goin’ to see your first Super Bowl tomorrow.  You know your brothers are going to be all kinds of jealous.  Your sister, too, for that matter, if she ever decides to speak to me again.”

Sheridan’s hand covered his and he lifted his eyes to hers.

“Thank you.  For trying.”