Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Feb 29, 2008 13:29:57 GMT -5
Title: A Love Fulfilled
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Emma Squalor; Cora Squalor; Andrew Squalor.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. The characters of Emma Squalor, Andrew Squalor, and Cora Squalor belong to me.
Rating: PG (for brief nudity)
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: After Esmé and Jerome bring baby Emma home from the hospital, much romance and tears ensue.
Author’s Note: My half of a fan-fic trade with my fabulous friend, Jenny. I hope you like it!
He knew that asking his wife to wear a blindfold would be like pouring gasoline onto an open flame, no matter how noble his intentions may have been.
With his hands covering her eyes, Jerome guided Esmé passed three sitting rooms, six kitchens, four bathrooms, and two standing rooms before coming to a standstill in front of the thirtieth bedroom.
“May I open my eyes yet?” she asked.
“In a second,” Jerome said, his heart beating in anticipation of the moment at hand. With one hand still covering Esmé’s eyes, he pushed open the door of the bedroom and flicked a switch on the wall by the door.
The room flooded with light, revealing the spare room that Jerome had worked all week long to transform into a suitable nursery for baby Emma. The walls had been carefully painted with pink and white pinstripes on which hung pictures of baby animals. In the center of the room was the shell-white crib that Jerome had stayed up half the night putting together where Emma was sleeping soundly inside. Around her were the stuffed animals he had purchased for Sunny Baudelaire, though he hoped that Emma would be able to get more use out of them considering she wasn’t much of a biter. By the window Jerome had placed a matching rocking chair for Esmé to sit in while she nursed her newborn child.
“Okay, darling,” he said, and at last drew his hand away from her face. “You can open your eyes now.”
As Esmé’s sky-blue eyes fluttered open and her face lit up with the loveliest smile Jerome had seen since her release from the hospital, he thought for sure he would cry. Clasping her hands to her chest, she looked around the room as if no one had ever done anything like this for her before.
“Do you like it?” Jerome asked, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I asked the salesgirl, and she said that whites and pinks go very well together. And this month’s issue of In and Out Magazine said that shell-white baby furniture is very in, so…” He was rambling now, and so he stepped back and waited nervously for Esmé to say something.
When she just stood there observing, Jerome took her gently by the hand and led her over to the rocking chair. As he was helping her into it, a soft whimper emanated from the crib.
“She’s hungry,” Esmé said. “Would you bring her to me, honey?”
With a smile Jerome nodded, having still not gotten used to all the pet names Esmé had for him. He couldn’t say he didn’t like them— they were just an odd contrast to that cold and spiteful tone she’d had once upon a time, something he hoped she had gotten rid of for good.
Jerome got up and scooped Emma out of her crib, being especially gentle with the little newborn as he made his way back across the room. He couldn’t help blushing brightly at the way Esmé had already begun unbuttoning her blouse. As he placed his goddaughter in the arms of her mother, he purposely turned his head away just to avoid looking at his wife’s exposed breast.
“What’s wrong, Jerome?” Esmé asked as Emma began to suckle.
“Nothing,” he replied, rubbing awkwardly at his face as he turned it towards the window.
“There isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, you know. This is something that all women with children must do.”
“I know that, Esmé. You don’t have to remind me.”
Jerome was concentrating hard on the row of orange juice factories below when he felt Esmé’s soft hand reach for his, and he turned around. She was so devastatingly beautiful that it made his heart ache, and he suddenly felt very lightheaded. Looking at her for extended periods of time always did that to him.
But the sincerity in her smile was enough to drive all of his discomfort out of him, and he collapsed on his knees by her chair, ready and willing to submit to any request she could possibly make of him.
“You did a fabulous job with the nursery,” Esmé said, running one long-nailed hand through his hair while the other held Emma close to her.
“Thank you,” Jerome replied.
“Jerome?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
Esmé blinked her eyes, and as she did two tears rolled down her cheeks. “For rescuing Carmelita and me from that fire,” she said. “Without you, I don’t believe either of us would have survived.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jerome said, and reached over to caress Esmé’s cheek. As he did, he noticed for the first time her long-faded freckles, which she had apparently been concealing beneath all that silly makeup. Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed one located on the tip of her nose. “I didn’t know you used to have freckles.”
“There were a lot of things about me you didn’t know before,” Esmé said. “But I hope that from now on, things between us can be different.”
The answer she required was not something that was vocalized, but rather expressed to her in her husband’s gentle smile as she handed their daughter to him. As Esmé buttoned her blouse back up, she watched Jerome stand over the crib and gently pat Emma on the back before laying her back down. He was already warming up to her prospect of what the perfect father should be, and for the first time in her life, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor was actually satisfied.
It was very early in the morning before most of the city had even woken up when Emma’s cries sounded through the hallway of the penthouse.
Esmé sat up in bed and was reaching for her robe when she felt her husband’s hand close over hers. “No,” he whispered gently. “You’re exhausted, darling. Let me take care of her this time.”
“You’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” she asked.
Jerome smiled at her in the pale moonlight seeping into their bedroom. “Never. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll be back shortly.”
Nodding her head, Esmé lay back down, draping her arm over the spot where Jerome had been sleeping. It was warm, and lingered faintly with the scent of his cologne.
“Don’t be too long,” Esmé said as she heard him slip out the door.
After stopping by the nursery to check on Emma, Jerome headed to the kitchen (the one with the blue stove) and opened the refrigerator where he had placed three bottles containing breast milk before going to bed. After selecting one, he carried it over to the counter and rummaged through the lower cabinets until he found a small metal pot. Placing the bottle inside it, he set everything down on the burner of the stove and turned the dial. Then he sat down at the table to wait.
He was so exhausted from a night of feedings and changings that at first he didn’t feel the pair of arms as they slipped around his neck and the velvety lips as they pressed themselves against the back of his ear. Goosebumps broke out all over his shoulders and the back of his neck, and with trembling hands he reached up to cover the second pair, which was resting on his collar bone.
“I couldn’t sleep,” the voice of his wife echoed in his ear.
“I’m just heating up a bottle for Emma,” Jerome said. “Won’t you sit and wait with me?”
Without a word, Esmé sat down at the table beside her husband and reached for his hands. To his surprise, she lifted them to her lips and kissed them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Jerome smiled through the blush that had already materialized on his face. “Whatever for, sweetheart?”
“For all of the injustices I’ve committed, and for being a terrible wife on top of everything else.”
“I forgive you,” Jerome said. He was surprised not only by how easy these words came, but by how sincere he felt as he said them.
“Do you?” Esmé asked.
“Yes, Esmé.” He slowly lowered his hands away from her mouth, clutching hers all the while. “The past doesn’t matter anymore… only you, me, and our family. I love you, and that, my dear, is what matters.”
Emma was a little fussy when they returned, probably from waiting so long. Esmé stood quietly in the doorway as Jerome sat down in the rocking chair with Emma and began to feed her the bottle. She didn’t seem to mind where the milk came from as long as it was her mother’s.
“Esmé, what are you doing just standing there in the doorway?” Jerome asked. “Won’t you come over here?”
Esmé nodded and went to stand beside her husband and daughter.
“Would you like to feed her?” Jerome offered, not wanting Esmé to feel as though he was competing with her for the place of Emma’s Favorite Parent.
Esmé, who was thinking the same thing, shook her head. “That’s alright,” she replied. “You’ve already started. You might as well finish.”
Jerome nodded. “Hopefully after this she’ll sleep through the rest of the night.”
Smiling, Esmé wrapped her arm around her husband and leaned against the rocking chair. “You know, you really are turning out to be one smashing father, if you want to know the truth.”
“Do you really think so?” Jerome asked just as Emma finished with her bottle.
“Would I have said it if I didn’t think it was true?”
Jerome wasn’t sure how to answer this question, and so he just chose to smile instead.
“Here,” he said, and handed his goddaughter to her mother. “Why don’t you tuck her in?”
Aside from all the feedings she had given Emma, this was the first time where Esmé had actually held her daughter. She had never been good with children, and had even considered abortion within the weeks following the discovery that she was pregnant. But as cold and cruel as she had been at one point in her life, she had not been able to bring herself to follow through with such a decision. She knew it had something to do with Emma being the last gift Olaf had ever given her, and it made Esmé sad to think that this was what had saved her daughter.
As they stood there over the crib together, Esmé patting Emma on the back with all of the tenderness no one would ever think a woman like Esmé Squalor could possibly possess unless she was getting ready to push three helpless children down an elevator shaft, she began to weep. Her mind flooded with all of the horrible things she had assisted Olaf with following their escape from Veblen Hall— such as the murder of Jacques Snicket in the Village of Fowl Devotees and the fire at Heimlich Hospital that had killed one of Olaf’s henchmen. Looking back on these events (as well as other things), she wondered how she could be expected to raise the child she now held in her arms into a noble person. It would be an act of kindness for Esmé to award custody of Emma and Carmelita to Jerome and then leave 667 Dark Avenue forever.
Esmé leaned down and kissed her daughter on top of the head, leaving behind a few remnants of her tears. “I love you, my darling little one,” Esmé said in a choked voice as she lay Emma back down in her crib, forgetting briefly that Jerome was sitting right behind them in the rocking chair, watching.
“Esmé?” he asked. He rose from the chair and went over to see what the matter was.
With her back to her husband, Esmé walked to a corner of the room and stood there, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was freezing. Soon enough, her shoulders began to tremble and her soft weeping subsided into harsh sobbing.
Immediately, she felt Jerome’s strong arms wrap around her and he spun her around. Unable to look him in the eyes, she buried her face in his chest and clung to him as she had never clung to Olaf.
“What, darling?” Jerome asked, desperate. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
Esmé didn’t answer, and instead allowed another sob escaped her.
“Come on.” Jerome’s voice was far from being angry or annoyed, and was instead filled with genuine concern. “You’re just tired. I’ll take you back to bed.”
Esmé felt one of Jerome’s arms slip from around her and take her by the hand, while his other arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder. She could barely see through her tears as he led her out of the nursery and back across the hallway to their bedroom.
Jerome rocked Esmé gently back and forth in his arms, listening to the sobs as they ravaged her entire body and caused her to shudder. Tightening his grip on her, he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, anywhere his lips could touch. He had no idea what on Earth had brought about this ambush of hysterical crying. He was hesitant to ask her, afraid that doing so would only make things worse. And so, he simply went on rocking her, hoping that his gesture would be enough.
As Esmé shook violently, Jerome tugged the blankets up around her. That seemed to relax her, and he pulled her down into the bed with him. He smiled a little at the way she tucked her head underneath his chin and how her hand was resting on his shoulder.
Jerome seriously could not remember a time where they had been this close, and he inhaled the sweet lavender and cream scent lingering in Esmé’s hair and on her skin. She felt so warm and soft curled up beside him like this, and he would have gotten down on his knees and thanked God had he not been forced to give up his warm spot beside her in bed, even for just a moment.
“I love you, Jerome,” Esmé said softly.
He sighed in absolute ecstasy. It was the first time she had ever told him that she loved him where the words had not been followed by a cruel laugh or a demand such as “Now give me your credit card.”
This time, both her words and her tone were nothing short of sincere.
“I love you, too, Esmé,” Jerome replied, and kissed her on top of her head. “Now, just try and get some sleep.”
Shortly thereafter, they drifted off in the comfort and safety of each other’s arms.
Jerome woke early the next morning and tended to Emma, giving his wife a few extra hours to catch up on the sleep she had missed the night before. Now that Esmé had a new baby to care for, she was going to need all the rest she could get, and Jerome was more than willing to help her in any way he could.
After he had changed Emma and given her a bottle, he lay her back down in her crib and returned to the master bedroom. He peeked inside to see that Esmé was still fast asleep, and he smiled at just how sweet and peaceful she looked. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago she had been sobbing hysterically in his arms.
“Esmé,” Jerome said softly, and stepped quietly into the room. “Darling, are you awake?”
When she didn’t answer, he took a step closer to the bed and crouched down. He hated to wake her, but she couldn’t very well sleep all day now, could she? Smiling a little, he reached over and gently stroked her nose before leaning down to kiss the tip of it.
She has the most adorable nose, Jerome thought to himself, and it was true. With its center slope and little upturned tip, Esmé’s nose was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen.
Realizing that he was feeling particularly daring, he leaned forward once more and nuzzled his wife’s nose with his. This time she did stir, and he managed to pull back just as her hand brushed across her face. His smile deepening, he said softly, “Sweetheart, it’s morning. It’s time to get up and greet the new day.” He shook her lightly by the shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t remember any of what had happened the night before.
Jerome watched Esmé as her eyes opened and she blinked a few times, giving her vision a moment or two to adjust to the morning light. She smiled when she saw him kneeling there before her, and sat up a little on her elbow.
“Good morning, darling,” Jerome said. “How are you feeling?”
“Where’s Emma?” was the first question out of Esmé’s mouth.
“In the nursery. I—”
“I should go check on her.” Esmé swung one leg over the side of the bed, followed by the other, and would have gotten up had Jerome not pushed her back down again.”Jerome, really. What are you—”
“She’s fine,” he said gently. “I just went to check on her a few minutes ago. I changed her diaper and gave her breakfast. She’s sleeping now. Why not leave her like that for a little while?”
Smiling softly, Esmé leaned back against the pillows. “Oh?” she asked. “And do what?”
“I don’t know,” Jerome admitted. “I was thinking I could just lie here and cuddle you for a while. Then we can go into the kitchen and I’ll make you breakfast… anything you want. We can even order something from the Veritable French Diner. They deliver, you know.”
“Do they? I didn’t know that.”
But Jerome barely heard her as his hand slipped up her nightgown and found its way to her stomach, the firmness that had been there during her pregnancy having been replaced by a tender softness that he found to be unbelievably sweet. It hadn’t been there when he had first met her more than a year ago, but it was there now. Like her soft temperament, this new softness of her post-baby belly was also something that he hoped she would never lose.
As his hand rested on the spot just below her belly button, he heard her chirp softly but happily, and when he looked up he saw that there were tears brimming at the corners of her pretty blue eyes.
“Why are you crying, darling?” he asked, his hand still resting on her stomach.
“Because I’m happy,” Esmé whispered. “Because you are the sweetest, most affectionate man I have ever met, and I’m glad that you’re my husband.” Just as she said this, a tear slipped from her eye, and Jerome leaned forward to kiss it away.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Her words touched him so much that for a moment he could not move. All he could do was stare at her, waiting for the first sign of a cruel smile or laugh to take over. But neither ever did. Instead, she reached out and began to curl the edge of his tie around her finger, tears pouring down her cheeks in the process. What he found amazing was that she was smiling in spite of her emotional state.
She really did look beautiful when she cried.
“Here, Esmé,” Jerome said, taking the tie from her and using it to dry the tears streaming down her cheeks. He really didn’t mind, especially if the tears he was wiping away happened to be hers.
After he had finished, they settled back down into the bed together where he continued to trace his fingertips across her stomach. She didn’t seem to mind, and giggled every now and then when the tip of his finger touched a particularly sensitive spot. He loved it, this new soft belly she had acquired, and he leaned down to kiss it as tenderly and as lovingly as he could.
Jerome could have stayed there in bed all day, just stroking Esmé’s belly and lavishing upon her all of the love and attention that he had while she’d been pregnant.
Neither of them counted on the high-pitched cry as it broke through the air.
“Let me take care of her this time,” Esmé said.
“I’ll go with you,” Jerome said, right before the telephone rang.
Esmé retrieved her robe from a hook on the door and put it on. “As much as I would like you to, I think you’d be more help if you went and answered the telephone.”
Jerome nodded and ran into the nearest room (which just so happened to be the library) to answer the telephone.
“Hello,” he said as he snatched it off the receiver and flopped down into a chair, “Squalor residence.”
“Jerome?” came a voice on the other line that Jerome recognized immediately. “I’ll give you three chances to guess who this is.”
“Hello, Andrew.”
“I apologize for calling you so early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a few hours now, and Esmé just woke up.”
There was a long pause on the other line before Andrew Squalor finally responded. “I guess you’re wondering why I called you,” he said.
“These days there’s only one reason why people call me,” Jerome admitted. “Though it’s not something I’d expect from you.”
“Jerome, I didn’t call to tell you how much I disapprove of your living arrangement with a woman who came crawling back to you after her relationship with her criminal boyfriend turned sour. I called because I care about you— the both of you —and I wanted to invite you to my place for a visit.”
“That’s very kind of you, Andrew, but Esmé’s just had the baby and—”
“She did?” Andrew exclaimed. “When?”
“Tuesday at 7:42 in the evening.”
“What did she have?”
“A daughter,” replied Jerome. “A beautiful little girl named Emma Esmélita Squalor.”
“That’s wonderful,” Andrew said. “Congratulations to the both of you. Maybe someday I’ll get to meet her.”
Jerome thought a moment. “Maybe you can. Are you free this afternoon?”
“I could get someone to cover for me down at the office.”
“Then why don’t you come by the penthouse?” Jerome suggested. “Just make sure you have the doorman buzz me first. Ever since that incident with Father last Thanksgiving, Esmé and I have decided we can’t afford to take such things for granted.”
“I understand,” Andrew assured his brother. “How does two o’ clock sound?”
“It sounds perfect… so I’ll see you then?”
“You can count on it.”
The two brothers hung up, and Jerome ran to tell Esmé the fabulous news.
Cast: Esmé Squalor; Jerome Squalor; Emma Squalor; Cora Squalor; Andrew Squalor.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own any of the A Series of Unfortunate Events characters or places mentioned herein. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. The characters of Emma Squalor, Andrew Squalor, and Cora Squalor belong to me.
Rating: PG (for brief nudity)
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Status: Complete
Summery: After Esmé and Jerome bring baby Emma home from the hospital, much romance and tears ensue.
Author’s Note: My half of a fan-fic trade with my fabulous friend, Jenny. I hope you like it!
************************************************************************************************************************
Part One
He knew that asking his wife to wear a blindfold would be like pouring gasoline onto an open flame, no matter how noble his intentions may have been.
With his hands covering her eyes, Jerome guided Esmé passed three sitting rooms, six kitchens, four bathrooms, and two standing rooms before coming to a standstill in front of the thirtieth bedroom.
“May I open my eyes yet?” she asked.
“In a second,” Jerome said, his heart beating in anticipation of the moment at hand. With one hand still covering Esmé’s eyes, he pushed open the door of the bedroom and flicked a switch on the wall by the door.
The room flooded with light, revealing the spare room that Jerome had worked all week long to transform into a suitable nursery for baby Emma. The walls had been carefully painted with pink and white pinstripes on which hung pictures of baby animals. In the center of the room was the shell-white crib that Jerome had stayed up half the night putting together where Emma was sleeping soundly inside. Around her were the stuffed animals he had purchased for Sunny Baudelaire, though he hoped that Emma would be able to get more use out of them considering she wasn’t much of a biter. By the window Jerome had placed a matching rocking chair for Esmé to sit in while she nursed her newborn child.
“Okay, darling,” he said, and at last drew his hand away from her face. “You can open your eyes now.”
As Esmé’s sky-blue eyes fluttered open and her face lit up with the loveliest smile Jerome had seen since her release from the hospital, he thought for sure he would cry. Clasping her hands to her chest, she looked around the room as if no one had ever done anything like this for her before.
“Do you like it?” Jerome asked, his voice trembling as he spoke. “I asked the salesgirl, and she said that whites and pinks go very well together. And this month’s issue of In and Out Magazine said that shell-white baby furniture is very in, so…” He was rambling now, and so he stepped back and waited nervously for Esmé to say something.
When she just stood there observing, Jerome took her gently by the hand and led her over to the rocking chair. As he was helping her into it, a soft whimper emanated from the crib.
“She’s hungry,” Esmé said. “Would you bring her to me, honey?”
With a smile Jerome nodded, having still not gotten used to all the pet names Esmé had for him. He couldn’t say he didn’t like them— they were just an odd contrast to that cold and spiteful tone she’d had once upon a time, something he hoped she had gotten rid of for good.
Jerome got up and scooped Emma out of her crib, being especially gentle with the little newborn as he made his way back across the room. He couldn’t help blushing brightly at the way Esmé had already begun unbuttoning her blouse. As he placed his goddaughter in the arms of her mother, he purposely turned his head away just to avoid looking at his wife’s exposed breast.
“What’s wrong, Jerome?” Esmé asked as Emma began to suckle.
“Nothing,” he replied, rubbing awkwardly at his face as he turned it towards the window.
“There isn’t anything to be embarrassed about, you know. This is something that all women with children must do.”
“I know that, Esmé. You don’t have to remind me.”
Jerome was concentrating hard on the row of orange juice factories below when he felt Esmé’s soft hand reach for his, and he turned around. She was so devastatingly beautiful that it made his heart ache, and he suddenly felt very lightheaded. Looking at her for extended periods of time always did that to him.
But the sincerity in her smile was enough to drive all of his discomfort out of him, and he collapsed on his knees by her chair, ready and willing to submit to any request she could possibly make of him.
“You did a fabulous job with the nursery,” Esmé said, running one long-nailed hand through his hair while the other held Emma close to her.
“Thank you,” Jerome replied.
“Jerome?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
Esmé blinked her eyes, and as she did two tears rolled down her cheeks. “For rescuing Carmelita and me from that fire,” she said. “Without you, I don’t believe either of us would have survived.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jerome said, and reached over to caress Esmé’s cheek. As he did, he noticed for the first time her long-faded freckles, which she had apparently been concealing beneath all that silly makeup. Smiling, he leaned forward and kissed one located on the tip of her nose. “I didn’t know you used to have freckles.”
“There were a lot of things about me you didn’t know before,” Esmé said. “But I hope that from now on, things between us can be different.”
The answer she required was not something that was vocalized, but rather expressed to her in her husband’s gentle smile as she handed their daughter to him. As Esmé buttoned her blouse back up, she watched Jerome stand over the crib and gently pat Emma on the back before laying her back down. He was already warming up to her prospect of what the perfect father should be, and for the first time in her life, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor was actually satisfied.
***
It was very early in the morning before most of the city had even woken up when Emma’s cries sounded through the hallway of the penthouse.
Esmé sat up in bed and was reaching for her robe when she felt her husband’s hand close over hers. “No,” he whispered gently. “You’re exhausted, darling. Let me take care of her this time.”
“You’re sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” she asked.
Jerome smiled at her in the pale moonlight seeping into their bedroom. “Never. Now, go back to sleep. I’ll be back shortly.”
Nodding her head, Esmé lay back down, draping her arm over the spot where Jerome had been sleeping. It was warm, and lingered faintly with the scent of his cologne.
“Don’t be too long,” Esmé said as she heard him slip out the door.
***
After stopping by the nursery to check on Emma, Jerome headed to the kitchen (the one with the blue stove) and opened the refrigerator where he had placed three bottles containing breast milk before going to bed. After selecting one, he carried it over to the counter and rummaged through the lower cabinets until he found a small metal pot. Placing the bottle inside it, he set everything down on the burner of the stove and turned the dial. Then he sat down at the table to wait.
He was so exhausted from a night of feedings and changings that at first he didn’t feel the pair of arms as they slipped around his neck and the velvety lips as they pressed themselves against the back of his ear. Goosebumps broke out all over his shoulders and the back of his neck, and with trembling hands he reached up to cover the second pair, which was resting on his collar bone.
“I couldn’t sleep,” the voice of his wife echoed in his ear.
“I’m just heating up a bottle for Emma,” Jerome said. “Won’t you sit and wait with me?”
Without a word, Esmé sat down at the table beside her husband and reached for his hands. To his surprise, she lifted them to her lips and kissed them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Jerome smiled through the blush that had already materialized on his face. “Whatever for, sweetheart?”
“For all of the injustices I’ve committed, and for being a terrible wife on top of everything else.”
“I forgive you,” Jerome said. He was surprised not only by how easy these words came, but by how sincere he felt as he said them.
“Do you?” Esmé asked.
“Yes, Esmé.” He slowly lowered his hands away from her mouth, clutching hers all the while. “The past doesn’t matter anymore… only you, me, and our family. I love you, and that, my dear, is what matters.”
***
Emma was a little fussy when they returned, probably from waiting so long. Esmé stood quietly in the doorway as Jerome sat down in the rocking chair with Emma and began to feed her the bottle. She didn’t seem to mind where the milk came from as long as it was her mother’s.
“Esmé, what are you doing just standing there in the doorway?” Jerome asked. “Won’t you come over here?”
Esmé nodded and went to stand beside her husband and daughter.
“Would you like to feed her?” Jerome offered, not wanting Esmé to feel as though he was competing with her for the place of Emma’s Favorite Parent.
Esmé, who was thinking the same thing, shook her head. “That’s alright,” she replied. “You’ve already started. You might as well finish.”
Jerome nodded. “Hopefully after this she’ll sleep through the rest of the night.”
Smiling, Esmé wrapped her arm around her husband and leaned against the rocking chair. “You know, you really are turning out to be one smashing father, if you want to know the truth.”
“Do you really think so?” Jerome asked just as Emma finished with her bottle.
“Would I have said it if I didn’t think it was true?”
Jerome wasn’t sure how to answer this question, and so he just chose to smile instead.
“Here,” he said, and handed his goddaughter to her mother. “Why don’t you tuck her in?”
Aside from all the feedings she had given Emma, this was the first time where Esmé had actually held her daughter. She had never been good with children, and had even considered abortion within the weeks following the discovery that she was pregnant. But as cold and cruel as she had been at one point in her life, she had not been able to bring herself to follow through with such a decision. She knew it had something to do with Emma being the last gift Olaf had ever given her, and it made Esmé sad to think that this was what had saved her daughter.
As they stood there over the crib together, Esmé patting Emma on the back with all of the tenderness no one would ever think a woman like Esmé Squalor could possibly possess unless she was getting ready to push three helpless children down an elevator shaft, she began to weep. Her mind flooded with all of the horrible things she had assisted Olaf with following their escape from Veblen Hall— such as the murder of Jacques Snicket in the Village of Fowl Devotees and the fire at Heimlich Hospital that had killed one of Olaf’s henchmen. Looking back on these events (as well as other things), she wondered how she could be expected to raise the child she now held in her arms into a noble person. It would be an act of kindness for Esmé to award custody of Emma and Carmelita to Jerome and then leave 667 Dark Avenue forever.
Esmé leaned down and kissed her daughter on top of the head, leaving behind a few remnants of her tears. “I love you, my darling little one,” Esmé said in a choked voice as she lay Emma back down in her crib, forgetting briefly that Jerome was sitting right behind them in the rocking chair, watching.
“Esmé?” he asked. He rose from the chair and went over to see what the matter was.
With her back to her husband, Esmé walked to a corner of the room and stood there, wrapping her arms around herself as if she was freezing. Soon enough, her shoulders began to tremble and her soft weeping subsided into harsh sobbing.
Immediately, she felt Jerome’s strong arms wrap around her and he spun her around. Unable to look him in the eyes, she buried her face in his chest and clung to him as she had never clung to Olaf.
“What, darling?” Jerome asked, desperate. “What is it? Why are you crying?”
Esmé didn’t answer, and instead allowed another sob escaped her.
“Come on.” Jerome’s voice was far from being angry or annoyed, and was instead filled with genuine concern. “You’re just tired. I’ll take you back to bed.”
Esmé felt one of Jerome’s arms slip from around her and take her by the hand, while his other arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder. She could barely see through her tears as he led her out of the nursery and back across the hallway to their bedroom.
***
Jerome rocked Esmé gently back and forth in his arms, listening to the sobs as they ravaged her entire body and caused her to shudder. Tightening his grip on her, he kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, anywhere his lips could touch. He had no idea what on Earth had brought about this ambush of hysterical crying. He was hesitant to ask her, afraid that doing so would only make things worse. And so, he simply went on rocking her, hoping that his gesture would be enough.
As Esmé shook violently, Jerome tugged the blankets up around her. That seemed to relax her, and he pulled her down into the bed with him. He smiled a little at the way she tucked her head underneath his chin and how her hand was resting on his shoulder.
Jerome seriously could not remember a time where they had been this close, and he inhaled the sweet lavender and cream scent lingering in Esmé’s hair and on her skin. She felt so warm and soft curled up beside him like this, and he would have gotten down on his knees and thanked God had he not been forced to give up his warm spot beside her in bed, even for just a moment.
“I love you, Jerome,” Esmé said softly.
He sighed in absolute ecstasy. It was the first time she had ever told him that she loved him where the words had not been followed by a cruel laugh or a demand such as “Now give me your credit card.”
This time, both her words and her tone were nothing short of sincere.
“I love you, too, Esmé,” Jerome replied, and kissed her on top of her head. “Now, just try and get some sleep.”
Shortly thereafter, they drifted off in the comfort and safety of each other’s arms.
***
Jerome woke early the next morning and tended to Emma, giving his wife a few extra hours to catch up on the sleep she had missed the night before. Now that Esmé had a new baby to care for, she was going to need all the rest she could get, and Jerome was more than willing to help her in any way he could.
After he had changed Emma and given her a bottle, he lay her back down in her crib and returned to the master bedroom. He peeked inside to see that Esmé was still fast asleep, and he smiled at just how sweet and peaceful she looked. It was hard to believe that just a few hours ago she had been sobbing hysterically in his arms.
“Esmé,” Jerome said softly, and stepped quietly into the room. “Darling, are you awake?”
When she didn’t answer, he took a step closer to the bed and crouched down. He hated to wake her, but she couldn’t very well sleep all day now, could she? Smiling a little, he reached over and gently stroked her nose before leaning down to kiss the tip of it.
She has the most adorable nose, Jerome thought to himself, and it was true. With its center slope and little upturned tip, Esmé’s nose was just about the cutest thing he had ever seen.
Realizing that he was feeling particularly daring, he leaned forward once more and nuzzled his wife’s nose with his. This time she did stir, and he managed to pull back just as her hand brushed across her face. His smile deepening, he said softly, “Sweetheart, it’s morning. It’s time to get up and greet the new day.” He shook her lightly by the shoulder, hoping she wouldn’t remember any of what had happened the night before.
Jerome watched Esmé as her eyes opened and she blinked a few times, giving her vision a moment or two to adjust to the morning light. She smiled when she saw him kneeling there before her, and sat up a little on her elbow.
“Good morning, darling,” Jerome said. “How are you feeling?”
“Where’s Emma?” was the first question out of Esmé’s mouth.
“In the nursery. I—”
“I should go check on her.” Esmé swung one leg over the side of the bed, followed by the other, and would have gotten up had Jerome not pushed her back down again.”Jerome, really. What are you—”
“She’s fine,” he said gently. “I just went to check on her a few minutes ago. I changed her diaper and gave her breakfast. She’s sleeping now. Why not leave her like that for a little while?”
Smiling softly, Esmé leaned back against the pillows. “Oh?” she asked. “And do what?”
“I don’t know,” Jerome admitted. “I was thinking I could just lie here and cuddle you for a while. Then we can go into the kitchen and I’ll make you breakfast… anything you want. We can even order something from the Veritable French Diner. They deliver, you know.”
“Do they? I didn’t know that.”
But Jerome barely heard her as his hand slipped up her nightgown and found its way to her stomach, the firmness that had been there during her pregnancy having been replaced by a tender softness that he found to be unbelievably sweet. It hadn’t been there when he had first met her more than a year ago, but it was there now. Like her soft temperament, this new softness of her post-baby belly was also something that he hoped she would never lose.
As his hand rested on the spot just below her belly button, he heard her chirp softly but happily, and when he looked up he saw that there were tears brimming at the corners of her pretty blue eyes.
“Why are you crying, darling?” he asked, his hand still resting on her stomach.
“Because I’m happy,” Esmé whispered. “Because you are the sweetest, most affectionate man I have ever met, and I’m glad that you’re my husband.” Just as she said this, a tear slipped from her eye, and Jerome leaned forward to kiss it away.
“Oh, sweetheart…”
Her words touched him so much that for a moment he could not move. All he could do was stare at her, waiting for the first sign of a cruel smile or laugh to take over. But neither ever did. Instead, she reached out and began to curl the edge of his tie around her finger, tears pouring down her cheeks in the process. What he found amazing was that she was smiling in spite of her emotional state.
She really did look beautiful when she cried.
“Here, Esmé,” Jerome said, taking the tie from her and using it to dry the tears streaming down her cheeks. He really didn’t mind, especially if the tears he was wiping away happened to be hers.
After he had finished, they settled back down into the bed together where he continued to trace his fingertips across her stomach. She didn’t seem to mind, and giggled every now and then when the tip of his finger touched a particularly sensitive spot. He loved it, this new soft belly she had acquired, and he leaned down to kiss it as tenderly and as lovingly as he could.
Jerome could have stayed there in bed all day, just stroking Esmé’s belly and lavishing upon her all of the love and attention that he had while she’d been pregnant.
Neither of them counted on the high-pitched cry as it broke through the air.
“Let me take care of her this time,” Esmé said.
“I’ll go with you,” Jerome said, right before the telephone rang.
Esmé retrieved her robe from a hook on the door and put it on. “As much as I would like you to, I think you’d be more help if you went and answered the telephone.”
Jerome nodded and ran into the nearest room (which just so happened to be the library) to answer the telephone.
“Hello,” he said as he snatched it off the receiver and flopped down into a chair, “Squalor residence.”
“Jerome?” came a voice on the other line that Jerome recognized immediately. “I’ll give you three chances to guess who this is.”
“Hello, Andrew.”
“I apologize for calling you so early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“You didn’t. I’ve been awake for a few hours now, and Esmé just woke up.”
There was a long pause on the other line before Andrew Squalor finally responded. “I guess you’re wondering why I called you,” he said.
“These days there’s only one reason why people call me,” Jerome admitted. “Though it’s not something I’d expect from you.”
“Jerome, I didn’t call to tell you how much I disapprove of your living arrangement with a woman who came crawling back to you after her relationship with her criminal boyfriend turned sour. I called because I care about you— the both of you —and I wanted to invite you to my place for a visit.”
“That’s very kind of you, Andrew, but Esmé’s just had the baby and—”
“She did?” Andrew exclaimed. “When?”
“Tuesday at 7:42 in the evening.”
“What did she have?”
“A daughter,” replied Jerome. “A beautiful little girl named Emma Esmélita Squalor.”
“That’s wonderful,” Andrew said. “Congratulations to the both of you. Maybe someday I’ll get to meet her.”
Jerome thought a moment. “Maybe you can. Are you free this afternoon?”
“I could get someone to cover for me down at the office.”
“Then why don’t you come by the penthouse?” Jerome suggested. “Just make sure you have the doorman buzz me first. Ever since that incident with Father last Thanksgiving, Esmé and I have decided we can’t afford to take such things for granted.”
“I understand,” Andrew assured his brother. “How does two o’ clock sound?”
“It sounds perfect… so I’ll see you then?”
“You can count on it.”
The two brothers hung up, and Jerome ran to tell Esmé the fabulous news.