Post by Emma “Emmz” Squalor on Sept 30, 2008 16:32:20 GMT -5
Title: A Touch of Comfort
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Emma Squalor belongs to me.
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Wanting to cheer up Esmé during her emotional pregnancy, Jerome organizes a special surprise for her.
Author’s Note: I practically put myself into a coma Sunday night while studying for my driver’s permit test. It’s funny how when I started writing this, I woke myself right up. Go figure. Anywoo, this here’s just another one-shot I’ve had floating around in my head for a while. Enjoy.
Esmé had just entered into the fourth month of her second pregnancy, and the process was running anything but smoothly. She was sick every morning and then again in the afternoon, and occasionally in the evening. The bank had insisted that she take her remaining five months and go on maternity leave, since she spent every lunch break sobbing at her desk. She had developed new allergies, including one to the feather pillows in the bedroom, and Jerome had replaced them with ones that had a cotton inlay. To make matters worse, Esmé’s face had begun to swell slightly, giving her all the more reason to cry.
Having a thorough understanding of his wife’s psychiatric history, Jerome was adamant to leave the penthouse for any reason whatsoever. If an errand needed to be run, he would usually send Carmelita so that he could keep a watchful eye on his wife.
“Look at me, Jerome,” Esmé wailed from where she was seated in front of her vanity, pressing her long-nailed fingertips against her cheeks. “I’m positively hideous!”
Jerome was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, silently watching his wife fall apart before his eyes. He was relieved now that he had sent Carmelita and Emma to the park for the afternoon, as he didn’t want them to witness anymore of their mother’s crying spells. How could Esmé say such things? To Jerome, she had never looked more beautiful, and the newly attributed puffiness to her face simply strengthened her already lovely glow.
“Darling, please don’t say such awful things,” Jerome begged, his voice soft and sad as he stepped into the room. “I think you look beautiful.”
“I look like a monster!”
Jerome felt his green eyes fill with tears, and he collapsed on his knees in front of Esmé’s chair. Taking his hand, he gently caressed her cheek, feeling a tear slide in between his fingers. Her bright blue eyes were fraught with sadness, and her lower lip trembled unsteadily. Lowering his hand away from his wife’s face, he gently trailed the tips of his fingers over the curve of her stomach, stopping as he felt the strength of their son’s kick. Jerome smiled, but it faded quickly when he lifted his head to see more tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks.
“I have a present for you,” he said, and cupped her adorable, heart-shaped face in his hands. “Well, it’s for all of us, but mostly it’s for you. I really think it’s going to help make your pregnancy a lot easier to bear.”
“What is it?” Esmé asked with a light sniffle.
Jerome leaned forward to kiss her on the nose before answering. “It’s a surprise,” he told her. “Once Carmy and Emma have returned from the park, then I’ll take you up to the roof to show you.”
“Your surprise is on the roof?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s it doing there?”
“If I tell you, then it will no longer be a surprise.”
Esmé turned toward the mirror once more, and scowled at her reflection. “Revolting,” she said. “I don’t know why I even bother putting on makeup anymore. It’s not as if it makes a difference.”
“Enough,” Jerome said, pressing his large hands against the sides of her face and turning it away from the mirror to face him. “I won’t sit here and listen to you make such defamatory remarks in regard to something so beautiful and adorable.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, come now, Esmé. I gave you a compliment and you just—”
“No, Jerome, I mean it. I’m going to—” Esmé stood up and rushed into the built-on bathroom, Jerome running after her.
He arrived just as she started to vomit, and without a word he knelt down behind her. Very gently, he began to pull back the hair from her face and shoulders, holding it in a ponytail until she had finished. She whimpered, lowering one hand away from the rim of the toilet so that she could clutch her aching stomach. Her husband’s arms wrapped around her from behind, the hair falling back into her eyes and over her shoulders. She smiled as she felt the fingers of both his hands lace together around her full, round belly.
Esmé had just enough strength left to flick the nozzle on the toilet, and groaned a bit as Jerome helped her to rise. She quickly brushed her teeth, and leaned on his shoulder for support as he led her back into the bedroom.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” he suggested, as he pulled back the comforter from the bed. “I’ll wake you when Carmelita and Emma return.”
Esmé crawled into bed, and leaned her aching back against the pillows before answering. “I don’t think I’m going to be sick anymore until the evening, at least,” she said.
Jerome sat down beside his wife, smiling as he watched her lower her head off the pillow so that she could rest it on his stomach instead. He let out a happy little chirp, while Esmé herself sighed in utter contentment.
“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable that way, darling?” Jerome asked as he wrapped one arm around her.
“Your stomach is softer than all the pillows in the whole wide world, Jerome,” Esmé reminded him. “Of course I’ll be comfortable.”
Jerome blushed. Taking his freehand, he reached down and rested it on his wife’s belly, which had brushed up against his thigh. Unbuttoning a few of the lower buttons on her blouse, he began to gently caress the soft, pale skin underneath. He felt his son give another healthy kick, and for a few moments Jerome chose to rest his hand there.
Esmé’s hand had found its own resting place beside her husband’s bellybutton, and he tightened his arm a little more around her. Closing his eyes, he thought of the surprise he had in store for her, and tried to picture the look of utter delight on her face when she finally saw what it was.
It wasn’t long before they both drifted off, nestled closely together within the safety of their penthouse, their hands resting affectionately on each other’s stomach.
“Mama and Dada wook funny.”
Carmelita and Emma had just returned from their afternoon at the park, and were standing together in the doorway of their parents’ bedroom. Carmelita couldn’t help but agree with her five-year-old sister, as the way their parents had allowed themselves to fall asleep was quite comical.
“Mama looks happy, though, doesn’t she?” Carmelita asked. “Not at all like she did earlier when we left.”
“Nope.”
“Why don’t you go wake them up? Then we can go up to the R-O-O-F-T-O-P and see the S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E.”
“Wooftop su’pwise!” Emma shrieked, which caused both of her parents to sit up in bed with a start
“You’re back already?” Esmé asked. She drew her hand away from her husband’s stomach so that she could rub the sleep out of her eyes, being careful not to smudge her makeup. “Jerome, how long was I asleep for?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I dozed off, too.”
Carmelita glanced over at the digital clock on Jerome’s nightstand, before turning back to her adoptive parents. “It’s half past five,” she confirmed. “Don’t worry; we have at least four more hours of daylight left.”
“What does daylight have to do with anything?” Esmé asked.
“You’ll see,” Jerome said, before Emma could give away the surprise. Turning to his daughters, he continued: “Why don’t you two go get ready and meet us on the rooftop? Your mother and I will be up in a few minutes.”
“O.K.,” said Carmelita, and took Emma by the hand. “Come on, Emma. We’ll stop by your room first so I can help you pick out a swim— something to wear.”
Esmé waited until Carmelita and Emma had left the room, then turned to Jerome. “What was that all about?” Esmé said.
“Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Now, before we head up to the roof, I’ll need you to pick out something that you’d wear to the beach.”
Esmé frowned. “Jerome, you can’t be serious! There is absolutely no way you’ll convince me to put on a bikini when I am five months pregnant, let alone set foot on a beach.”
“Hush,” he replied patiently, and pressed the tips of his fingers against Esmé’s mouth to quiet her. “You’ll do as I say, and without argument. Is that understood, my dear?”
Esmé blushed a bit at the authoritative way in which her husband seemed to be handling the situation, and kissed the tips of his fingers that were pressed against her puckered mouth. “Yes, darling,” she said, unable to retain her giggles.
Jerome waited patiently while Esmé took her time deciding on what type of swimsuit she was going to wear. Not that she had much of a choice, considering that Jerome had given away all of her one-pieces the summer following Emma’s birth. He refused to let his wife buy anything other than a bikini on his credit card. If she was to purchase a one-piece with the money she earned from being the city’s sixth most important financial advisor, then he would simply cut the swimsuit in half.
At last, Esmé decided upon a white bikini with a bright pink floral pattern, which she changed into with her back to Jerome. When she turned around, the fingers of both hands were knotted nervously together, and her face was bright red. “Do I look alright?” she asked, her eyes focused on her stomach.
“Oh, Esmé,” Jerome gasped, and he thought he might faint if he stared at her for much longer. “You look absolutely incredible.” Sliding out of the bed, he walked over to his wife and embraced her, giving her a long, wet kiss on the mouth.
“You’re going to wear your swimsuit, too,” Esmé said, and by now an idea of what Jerome’s surprise was had begun to brew in her mind. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, of course I am.”
“No silly t-shirts this time— promise?”
“I give you my word.”
In order to emphasize his promise, Jerome lifted up his hand and held out his pinky. Esmé did the same, and wrapped her pinky around his.
Knowing that Carmelita and Emma had been up on the rooftop enjoying their mother’s surprise for a good thirty minutes, Jerome changed into the first pair of swim trunks he could find (which appropriately happened to be the ones with the hundred-dollar bill pattern on them).
Jerome and Esmé then headed down the hallway, where they found the attic door ajar with the steps leading up to the inside. Beckoning her to go first, he put his hands on her shoulders and told her to close her eyes, assuring her that he would guide her so that she wouldn’t trip.
Soon enough, Esmé’s feet had passed the final step, and she felt herself standing inside the attic. “May I open my eyes yet?” she asked her husband.
“Just a few more seconds,” he said, and turned her in the direction of the sliding glass door that led out onto the rooftop.
As they drew closer, Esmé heard the distinct sound of splashing. Just when she thought her excitement would surpass her, Jerome’s voice echoed in her ear.
“Alright, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”
Esmé did so, and the first thing she saw was a large swimming pool that had been set up in the middle of the rooftop. The water didn’t appear to be very deep, taking into account that Carmelita was standing in her white-and-black polka-dot swimsuit at one end with a beach ball. Emma, who was wearing her blue swimsuit with a picture of a weasel on it, was paddling at the other end of the pool with the assistance of her water-wings. Carmelita tossed the ball to her younger sister, who caught it just as Esmé and Jerome reached the pool.
“Mama!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the ball so that she could paddle over to the edge of the pool to greet her mother.
“Are you surprised, Esmé?” Carmelita asked with a grin.
“Yes,” said Esmé. “Jerome, I had no idea that you— however did you organize all this without me finding out?”
“I had some workers come by on the days when you and Carmelita went shopping for the baby’s nursery,” Jerome explained. “I was a little concerned about the length of time the process would take, but the workers managed to get everything installed in just two days. Then, last night while you were sleeping, I snuck up here with the hose and filled the pool with water.”
“How deep is it?” Esmé asked, and glanced hesitantly over at the pool. She had never learned how to swim, and she wondered if Jerome had forgotten that little tidbit from her past.
“The area where Carmy is standing is just over five feet,” Jerome said. “And the part of the pool where Emma is swimming is six feet. It’s perfectly—”
“You allowed a five-year-old to swim in six feet of water?!” Esmé shouted, and it was difficult to tell if her anger was directed more at Carmelita or at Jerome.
“Darling, please don’t get upset,” he advised carefully. “Emma is perfectly safe as long as she has her water-wings on and someone is here to keep an eye on her.”
“That is not the point, Jerome,” Esmé argued. “The point is that Emma is too young to be trusted to play in anything deeper than a bathtub.”
“Emma wike pool,” Emma told her mother firmly.
“Emma, I want you to come out of there now,” Esmé said.
“No.”
“Emma, don’t argue with me. I said—”
“Do’ wanna.”
“Emma, you aren’t listening to—”
“Do’ care.”
With some effort, Esmé reached up and plucked her youngest daughter out of the pool. Emma started to scream, and Esmé had no choice but to hand the disobedient child over to her stepfather for fear she might accidentally hit or kick her mother in the stomach.
“Mama mean,” Emma stated, and Esmé felt her heart break. “Mean and ug-wee.”
It wasn’t until the last word fell out of Emma’s mouth that Esmé felt her eyes fill rapidly up with tears. She turned away from the identically blue, accusing eyes of her daughter so that Emma wouldn’t see the first of the tears fall from her mother’s eyes.
“Emma, that was a terrible thing to say!” Jerome exclaimed in shock. “I insist that you apologize to your mother immediately.”
“No. Mama mean. Won’t wet Emma pway in pool wit’ Cawmy.”
Esmé let out a little sob from where she was standing up against the pool, one hand clinging to the rim while her other hand shielded her face.
“Mother,” Carmelita said, and threw herself into the water, swimming quickly over to her adoptive mother’s side. Reaching up to the rim of the pool, Carmelita rested her hand on Esmé’s, the stylish woman’s long red nails a strange contrast to the gnawed pink ones of the teenager. “Oh, Esmé, don’t cry. Emma, she’s— she’s just a little kid. She didn’t mean it.”
“Did so,” Emma argued defiantly.
Carmelita glared disapprovingly up from the rim of the pool at her sister, who was watching from her place in Jerome’s arms. Instead, Carmelita chose to say nothing to Emma, and turned back to her main concern.
“Esmé,” Carmelita went on, brushing the hair back from Esmé’s face and frowning as a tear trickled down her cheek.
“It’s obvious that Emma wasn’t referring to one of my outfits,” Esmé replied miserably. “But it’s different this time around, Carmy. The last time I was pregnant, I didn’t develop allergies, nor did I look in the mirror one morning to discover that my face had swollen up.”
As Esmé began to cry again, Jerome asked Carmelita to take Emma inside and dry her off. He accompanied them both over to the sliding glass door, where he added in a hushed undertone that he would speak to Esmé about letting Emma back in the pool. Which, of course, all depended on whether or not the little girl decided to apologize to her mother.
Jerome returned to discover that his wife had pressed her face up against the outside of the pool, her shoulders shuddering as she continued to cry. Very carefully, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his hands on her belly.
“She hates me, Jerome,” Esmé whispered sadly through her tears. “My child hates me.”
Jerome traced a slow circle around Esmé’s stomach before kissing the back of her lovely neck. How could anyone hate her? “Don’t be absurd, darling,” he said. “She’s just angry. But you can rest assured that I’m not going to let this go unresolved. I give you my word that I’ll be speaking to Emma about her behavior later on.”
“Please don’t. I suppose I did overreact in my decision to banish her from the pool. But that was only because of what happened to me when I was a child.”
“What are you talking about?” Jerome asked.
With a little sniffle, Esmé turned around and laced her arms around her husband’s neck. Her stomach brushed up against his own as she cuddled close to him for comfort, resting her head on his shoulder. “I was eight years old,” she began, “and the company my father worked for was having a picnic at the local park. I was playing tag with some of the other employees’ children near the lake— I can’t remember if somebody pushed me, or if I fell in on my own. Anyway, the next thing I knew, my mouth and lungs were filling up with water. I would’ve drowned had one of my father’s co-workers not rushed over and pulled me out.
“I’ve been terribly frightened of water ever since, and never learned how to swim because of it. It took a lot of courage for me to set foot aboard that submarine. I even made Carmelita prove to me that she could swim before I allowed her to go into the deep end of the pool at the Hotel Denouement.”
“Oh, darling!” Jerome cried, and threw his arms around his wife. “How frightened and helpless you must have felt when you fell into that lake! But don’t worry— I’ll be the one to teach you how to swim, though it will be best to wait until after you’ve had the baby. Until then, you can simply enjoy yourself in the shallow end.”
Esmé allowed Jerome to hold her from behind as she climbed slowly up the attached stairs of the pool, her hand resting protectively over her belly to assist her in keeping her balance. She stepped slowly down into no more than five feet of water, feeling her husband’s hands as they continued to hold securely to the corners of her waist.
“Here, Esmé,” he said. “Lie back, and I’ll teach you how to float.”
“But I—” Esmé began. “I’m too heavy. My belly will—”
“You’re forgetting, darling, that you don’t weigh anything in the water. Besides, I’ll be holding you the entire time. You’ve nothing to fear.”
Jerome’s words being of great comfort to her emotional and somewhat unstable mind, Esmé laid back slowly in the water. Her dark hair was soon soaked, and she could feel her husband’s fingers position themselves beneath her. All but her face, belly, and the tops of her feet were covered by the water as she smiled up at Jerome.
He had no idea where to begin telling his wife how sweet and perfect her face looked now that it had filled out some; nor was he sure how to start explaining why he thought her pushed-out bellybutton was so cute. With a deep sigh, he leaned down and planted a light kiss on her lips.
“I love you, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor,” he said. “From the tip of your adorable upturned nose, to your lovely manicured toes.” To prove it, he kissed the tip of her nose, followed by all ten of her toes, whose nails were painted red to match the ones on her fingers.
Esmé giggled as she felt her shoulder make contact with Jerome’s somewhat squishy stomach as she drifted forward in the water. She was just beginning to feel relaxed enough to close her eyes, when all of a sudden she became aware of an unpleasant tickle at the back of her throat. It traveled up into her nose, causing her long, soot-black eyelashes to flutter and forcing her to produce a series of sharp, desperate breaths.
“Je— Jerome,” Esmé gasped. “I think I might— I’m going to— I… I…”
Her words trailed off as she gave into the almost painful tickling sensation, and she sneezed not once, not twice, but three times in a row. The back of her head plopped down into the water following her third sneeze, and she watched Jerome lower his face and kiss her directly on top of her bellybutton.
“What was that for?” Esmé asked.
Jerome’s reply was simply an amiable grin as he gazed down into his wife’s eyes. “Must you even ask,” he said softly, “when you are honestly the most enchanting, precious creature I’ve ever set eyes on?”
By now, Esmé had managed to set the argument with her daughter and overactive hormones aside. She chose to surrender herself to the romantic moment with her husband, watching his emerald eyes sparkle magnificently in the sunlight. She hadn’t realized it yet, but she was no longer floating with the assistance of her husband’s fingers beneath her.
“You’re doing it, Esmé,” Jerome said. “You’re floating.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied. “You’re keeping me afloat, remember?”
“But I’m not. I just let go of you a moment ago.”
To prove it, Jerome held up both hands. Esmé was so startled that her legs gave out from beneath her, and her long, slender arms flailed in the air as she felt her feet make contact with the bottom of the pool.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jerome,” Esmé scolded, and threw her arms around him.
“But you were doing splendidly, darling,” he said, sliding down a few feet into the water so that he could prop his wife up on both of his knees. “I wanted you to see that you didn’t need me to support you.”
Jerome’s words struck a familiarity in Esmé, and she cuddled up to him as much as she could without her stomach interfering. “You’ve always supported me,” she said. “You supported me when I first came back into your life and had no money. You supported me when your father tried to convince you to divorce me, and you argued that I deserved another chance to be your wife.”
As Esmé started to cry again, Jerome kissed the top of her damp head, smiling as she made a grab for his belly underneath the water. She felt so soft and warm in his arms, despite the water’s cool temperature. Tiny droplets clung to every corner of her alabaster skin, and she shivered slightly in his embrace.
“Are you cold, my love?” he asked.
Esmé shook her head, but there was no way in which Jerome could ignore the goosebumps breaking out over her small shoulders. Not wanting to dismiss her prior sneezes as allergies when there was a possibility that she could be coming down with a cold, he suggested that they go back inside for a while.
“I need to have that talk with Emma anyway,” Jerome explained, as he and Esmé climbed out of the pool. “Perhaps you and I can return after dinner for a moonlight swim.”
Esmé nodded as Jerome picked up a pair of towels from two of three beach chairs that had been placed in a corner on the rooftop. Wrapping one towel around Esmé and taking the other for himself, Jerome escorted her back into the penthouse.
“No” was the first word out of Emma’s mouth when Jerome asked her to apologize to her mother.
“Now, Emma,” he said carefully, where he and his stepdaughter were seated on the twin bed in her room. “What you said to Mama before was incredibly cruel. She was in tears over it. You don’t like to see her sad, do you?”
“No,” Emma admitted. “But Mama make Emma get outta da pool when Emma was havin’ fun. Dat not fair.”
“Emma, do you remember what we’ve talked about many times before? About the possibility of Mama getting hurt or sick if she gets too upset?”
“Emma wemember,” Emma said. “She still cwyin’ an’ stuff?”
“No,” replied Jerome. “But she’s very sad.”
“Where Mama now?”
“In her room.”
“Emma gonna go see Mama den.”
With that, Emma slid off the bed and made her way across the room to the door. She headed out into the hallway and rounded the corner, stopping when she reached her parents’ bedroom. As she slipped inside, she heard the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the sink turning on. A few moments later, she watched her mother emerge from the bathroom.
Esmé was wearing a long, white nightgown with lace around the collar and sleeves. While one hand leaned up against the doorframe, the other remained wrapped protectively around her belly. Her face looked sad and exhausted, but she smiled down at her small daughter as best she could.
“Mama sick again?” Emma asked in a small voice, unsure if her mother would be willing to speak to her after what had occurred on the rooftop.
Esmé nodded wearily as she walked slowly over to the bed and sat down. Emma followed, and climbed up onto the bed beside her mother.
“Emma so-wee ‘bout what she said,” Emma said. “Emma so-wee she make Mama cwy.”
“It’s alright, darling,” Esmé replied. “All is forgiven. I’m not upset anymore.”
Esmé drew her arm around her daughter’s small shoulders, and the little girl cuddled closer to her. Laying her head against her mother’s breast, Emma lifted her small hand and placed it carefully on Esmé’s stomach.
“Emma can feel baby movin’,” Emma said.
Esmé smiled. “That’s your little brother inside my tummy,” she said. “He’s saying hello to you.”
“Emma so-wee she say Mama ug-wee. Mama not ug-wee— Mama pwetty. Emma wuv Mama. Emma do’ wanna see Mama gettin’ hurt or sick no mo’. Make Emma sad seein’ Mama sad.”
Esmé was in the process of reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand to wipe the tears that her daughter’s words had brought about in her eyes. As she was dabbing at them, she turned toward the bedroom door to see Jerome and Carmelita standing there.
“Are you alright, Esmé?” Jerome asked his wife. “Carmelita said you were sick again.”
Nodding, Esmé smiled down at her daughter, who had drifted off in the sheltered warmth of her mother’s arm. Emma’s small hand continued to rest on Esmé’s belly, as if the child’s intention was to both comfort and protect her mother and baby brother.
Sometimes, a touch of comfort is all one needs to remind them of just how special they truly are.
Author’s Disclaimer: I do not own A Series of Unfortunate Events or any of its characters or places. They belong to Lemony Snicket a.k.a. Daniel Handler. Emma Squalor belongs to me.
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama/Romance
Story-Type: One-Shot
Summary: Wanting to cheer up Esmé during her emotional pregnancy, Jerome organizes a special surprise for her.
Author’s Note: I practically put myself into a coma Sunday night while studying for my driver’s permit test. It’s funny how when I started writing this, I woke myself right up. Go figure. Anywoo, this here’s just another one-shot I’ve had floating around in my head for a while. Enjoy.
***
Esmé had just entered into the fourth month of her second pregnancy, and the process was running anything but smoothly. She was sick every morning and then again in the afternoon, and occasionally in the evening. The bank had insisted that she take her remaining five months and go on maternity leave, since she spent every lunch break sobbing at her desk. She had developed new allergies, including one to the feather pillows in the bedroom, and Jerome had replaced them with ones that had a cotton inlay. To make matters worse, Esmé’s face had begun to swell slightly, giving her all the more reason to cry.
Having a thorough understanding of his wife’s psychiatric history, Jerome was adamant to leave the penthouse for any reason whatsoever. If an errand needed to be run, he would usually send Carmelita so that he could keep a watchful eye on his wife.
“Look at me, Jerome,” Esmé wailed from where she was seated in front of her vanity, pressing her long-nailed fingertips against her cheeks. “I’m positively hideous!”
Jerome was standing in the doorway of the master bedroom, silently watching his wife fall apart before his eyes. He was relieved now that he had sent Carmelita and Emma to the park for the afternoon, as he didn’t want them to witness anymore of their mother’s crying spells. How could Esmé say such things? To Jerome, she had never looked more beautiful, and the newly attributed puffiness to her face simply strengthened her already lovely glow.
“Darling, please don’t say such awful things,” Jerome begged, his voice soft and sad as he stepped into the room. “I think you look beautiful.”
“I look like a monster!”
Jerome felt his green eyes fill with tears, and he collapsed on his knees in front of Esmé’s chair. Taking his hand, he gently caressed her cheek, feeling a tear slide in between his fingers. Her bright blue eyes were fraught with sadness, and her lower lip trembled unsteadily. Lowering his hand away from his wife’s face, he gently trailed the tips of his fingers over the curve of her stomach, stopping as he felt the strength of their son’s kick. Jerome smiled, but it faded quickly when he lifted his head to see more tears rolling down his wife’s cheeks.
“I have a present for you,” he said, and cupped her adorable, heart-shaped face in his hands. “Well, it’s for all of us, but mostly it’s for you. I really think it’s going to help make your pregnancy a lot easier to bear.”
“What is it?” Esmé asked with a light sniffle.
Jerome leaned forward to kiss her on the nose before answering. “It’s a surprise,” he told her. “Once Carmy and Emma have returned from the park, then I’ll take you up to the roof to show you.”
“Your surprise is on the roof?”
“That’s right.”
“What’s it doing there?”
“If I tell you, then it will no longer be a surprise.”
Esmé turned toward the mirror once more, and scowled at her reflection. “Revolting,” she said. “I don’t know why I even bother putting on makeup anymore. It’s not as if it makes a difference.”
“Enough,” Jerome said, pressing his large hands against the sides of her face and turning it away from the mirror to face him. “I won’t sit here and listen to you make such defamatory remarks in regard to something so beautiful and adorable.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Oh, come now, Esmé. I gave you a compliment and you just—”
“No, Jerome, I mean it. I’m going to—” Esmé stood up and rushed into the built-on bathroom, Jerome running after her.
He arrived just as she started to vomit, and without a word he knelt down behind her. Very gently, he began to pull back the hair from her face and shoulders, holding it in a ponytail until she had finished. She whimpered, lowering one hand away from the rim of the toilet so that she could clutch her aching stomach. Her husband’s arms wrapped around her from behind, the hair falling back into her eyes and over her shoulders. She smiled as she felt the fingers of both his hands lace together around her full, round belly.
Esmé had just enough strength left to flick the nozzle on the toilet, and groaned a bit as Jerome helped her to rise. She quickly brushed her teeth, and leaned on his shoulder for support as he led her back into the bedroom.
“Why don’t you rest for a bit?” he suggested, as he pulled back the comforter from the bed. “I’ll wake you when Carmelita and Emma return.”
Esmé crawled into bed, and leaned her aching back against the pillows before answering. “I don’t think I’m going to be sick anymore until the evening, at least,” she said.
Jerome sat down beside his wife, smiling as he watched her lower her head off the pillow so that she could rest it on his stomach instead. He let out a happy little chirp, while Esmé herself sighed in utter contentment.
“Are you sure you’ll be comfortable that way, darling?” Jerome asked as he wrapped one arm around her.
“Your stomach is softer than all the pillows in the whole wide world, Jerome,” Esmé reminded him. “Of course I’ll be comfortable.”
Jerome blushed. Taking his freehand, he reached down and rested it on his wife’s belly, which had brushed up against his thigh. Unbuttoning a few of the lower buttons on her blouse, he began to gently caress the soft, pale skin underneath. He felt his son give another healthy kick, and for a few moments Jerome chose to rest his hand there.
Esmé’s hand had found its own resting place beside her husband’s bellybutton, and he tightened his arm a little more around her. Closing his eyes, he thought of the surprise he had in store for her, and tried to picture the look of utter delight on her face when she finally saw what it was.
It wasn’t long before they both drifted off, nestled closely together within the safety of their penthouse, their hands resting affectionately on each other’s stomach.
***
“Mama and Dada wook funny.”
Carmelita and Emma had just returned from their afternoon at the park, and were standing together in the doorway of their parents’ bedroom. Carmelita couldn’t help but agree with her five-year-old sister, as the way their parents had allowed themselves to fall asleep was quite comical.
“Mama looks happy, though, doesn’t she?” Carmelita asked. “Not at all like she did earlier when we left.”
“Nope.”
“Why don’t you go wake them up? Then we can go up to the R-O-O-F-T-O-P and see the S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E.”
“Wooftop su’pwise!” Emma shrieked, which caused both of her parents to sit up in bed with a start
“You’re back already?” Esmé asked. She drew her hand away from her husband’s stomach so that she could rub the sleep out of her eyes, being careful not to smudge her makeup. “Jerome, how long was I asleep for?”
“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “I dozed off, too.”
Carmelita glanced over at the digital clock on Jerome’s nightstand, before turning back to her adoptive parents. “It’s half past five,” she confirmed. “Don’t worry; we have at least four more hours of daylight left.”
“What does daylight have to do with anything?” Esmé asked.
“You’ll see,” Jerome said, before Emma could give away the surprise. Turning to his daughters, he continued: “Why don’t you two go get ready and meet us on the rooftop? Your mother and I will be up in a few minutes.”
“O.K.,” said Carmelita, and took Emma by the hand. “Come on, Emma. We’ll stop by your room first so I can help you pick out a swim— something to wear.”
Esmé waited until Carmelita and Emma had left the room, then turned to Jerome. “What was that all about?” Esmé said.
“Nothing,” he answered quickly. “Now, before we head up to the roof, I’ll need you to pick out something that you’d wear to the beach.”
Esmé frowned. “Jerome, you can’t be serious! There is absolutely no way you’ll convince me to put on a bikini when I am five months pregnant, let alone set foot on a beach.”
“Hush,” he replied patiently, and pressed the tips of his fingers against Esmé’s mouth to quiet her. “You’ll do as I say, and without argument. Is that understood, my dear?”
Esmé blushed a bit at the authoritative way in which her husband seemed to be handling the situation, and kissed the tips of his fingers that were pressed against her puckered mouth. “Yes, darling,” she said, unable to retain her giggles.
Jerome waited patiently while Esmé took her time deciding on what type of swimsuit she was going to wear. Not that she had much of a choice, considering that Jerome had given away all of her one-pieces the summer following Emma’s birth. He refused to let his wife buy anything other than a bikini on his credit card. If she was to purchase a one-piece with the money she earned from being the city’s sixth most important financial advisor, then he would simply cut the swimsuit in half.
At last, Esmé decided upon a white bikini with a bright pink floral pattern, which she changed into with her back to Jerome. When she turned around, the fingers of both hands were knotted nervously together, and her face was bright red. “Do I look alright?” she asked, her eyes focused on her stomach.
“Oh, Esmé,” Jerome gasped, and he thought he might faint if he stared at her for much longer. “You look absolutely incredible.” Sliding out of the bed, he walked over to his wife and embraced her, giving her a long, wet kiss on the mouth.
“You’re going to wear your swimsuit, too,” Esmé said, and by now an idea of what Jerome’s surprise was had begun to brew in her mind. “Aren’t you?”
“Well, of course I am.”
“No silly t-shirts this time— promise?”
“I give you my word.”
In order to emphasize his promise, Jerome lifted up his hand and held out his pinky. Esmé did the same, and wrapped her pinky around his.
Knowing that Carmelita and Emma had been up on the rooftop enjoying their mother’s surprise for a good thirty minutes, Jerome changed into the first pair of swim trunks he could find (which appropriately happened to be the ones with the hundred-dollar bill pattern on them).
Jerome and Esmé then headed down the hallway, where they found the attic door ajar with the steps leading up to the inside. Beckoning her to go first, he put his hands on her shoulders and told her to close her eyes, assuring her that he would guide her so that she wouldn’t trip.
Soon enough, Esmé’s feet had passed the final step, and she felt herself standing inside the attic. “May I open my eyes yet?” she asked her husband.
“Just a few more seconds,” he said, and turned her in the direction of the sliding glass door that led out onto the rooftop.
As they drew closer, Esmé heard the distinct sound of splashing. Just when she thought her excitement would surpass her, Jerome’s voice echoed in her ear.
“Alright, sweetheart. Open your eyes.”
Esmé did so, and the first thing she saw was a large swimming pool that had been set up in the middle of the rooftop. The water didn’t appear to be very deep, taking into account that Carmelita was standing in her white-and-black polka-dot swimsuit at one end with a beach ball. Emma, who was wearing her blue swimsuit with a picture of a weasel on it, was paddling at the other end of the pool with the assistance of her water-wings. Carmelita tossed the ball to her younger sister, who caught it just as Esmé and Jerome reached the pool.
“Mama!” Emma exclaimed, dropping the ball so that she could paddle over to the edge of the pool to greet her mother.
“Are you surprised, Esmé?” Carmelita asked with a grin.
“Yes,” said Esmé. “Jerome, I had no idea that you— however did you organize all this without me finding out?”
“I had some workers come by on the days when you and Carmelita went shopping for the baby’s nursery,” Jerome explained. “I was a little concerned about the length of time the process would take, but the workers managed to get everything installed in just two days. Then, last night while you were sleeping, I snuck up here with the hose and filled the pool with water.”
“How deep is it?” Esmé asked, and glanced hesitantly over at the pool. She had never learned how to swim, and she wondered if Jerome had forgotten that little tidbit from her past.
“The area where Carmy is standing is just over five feet,” Jerome said. “And the part of the pool where Emma is swimming is six feet. It’s perfectly—”
“You allowed a five-year-old to swim in six feet of water?!” Esmé shouted, and it was difficult to tell if her anger was directed more at Carmelita or at Jerome.
“Darling, please don’t get upset,” he advised carefully. “Emma is perfectly safe as long as she has her water-wings on and someone is here to keep an eye on her.”
“That is not the point, Jerome,” Esmé argued. “The point is that Emma is too young to be trusted to play in anything deeper than a bathtub.”
“Emma wike pool,” Emma told her mother firmly.
“Emma, I want you to come out of there now,” Esmé said.
“No.”
“Emma, don’t argue with me. I said—”
“Do’ wanna.”
“Emma, you aren’t listening to—”
“Do’ care.”
With some effort, Esmé reached up and plucked her youngest daughter out of the pool. Emma started to scream, and Esmé had no choice but to hand the disobedient child over to her stepfather for fear she might accidentally hit or kick her mother in the stomach.
“Mama mean,” Emma stated, and Esmé felt her heart break. “Mean and ug-wee.”
It wasn’t until the last word fell out of Emma’s mouth that Esmé felt her eyes fill rapidly up with tears. She turned away from the identically blue, accusing eyes of her daughter so that Emma wouldn’t see the first of the tears fall from her mother’s eyes.
“Emma, that was a terrible thing to say!” Jerome exclaimed in shock. “I insist that you apologize to your mother immediately.”
“No. Mama mean. Won’t wet Emma pway in pool wit’ Cawmy.”
Esmé let out a little sob from where she was standing up against the pool, one hand clinging to the rim while her other hand shielded her face.
“Mother,” Carmelita said, and threw herself into the water, swimming quickly over to her adoptive mother’s side. Reaching up to the rim of the pool, Carmelita rested her hand on Esmé’s, the stylish woman’s long red nails a strange contrast to the gnawed pink ones of the teenager. “Oh, Esmé, don’t cry. Emma, she’s— she’s just a little kid. She didn’t mean it.”
“Did so,” Emma argued defiantly.
Carmelita glared disapprovingly up from the rim of the pool at her sister, who was watching from her place in Jerome’s arms. Instead, Carmelita chose to say nothing to Emma, and turned back to her main concern.
“Esmé,” Carmelita went on, brushing the hair back from Esmé’s face and frowning as a tear trickled down her cheek.
“It’s obvious that Emma wasn’t referring to one of my outfits,” Esmé replied miserably. “But it’s different this time around, Carmy. The last time I was pregnant, I didn’t develop allergies, nor did I look in the mirror one morning to discover that my face had swollen up.”
As Esmé began to cry again, Jerome asked Carmelita to take Emma inside and dry her off. He accompanied them both over to the sliding glass door, where he added in a hushed undertone that he would speak to Esmé about letting Emma back in the pool. Which, of course, all depended on whether or not the little girl decided to apologize to her mother.
Jerome returned to discover that his wife had pressed her face up against the outside of the pool, her shoulders shuddering as she continued to cry. Very carefully, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his hands on her belly.
“She hates me, Jerome,” Esmé whispered sadly through her tears. “My child hates me.”
Jerome traced a slow circle around Esmé’s stomach before kissing the back of her lovely neck. How could anyone hate her? “Don’t be absurd, darling,” he said. “She’s just angry. But you can rest assured that I’m not going to let this go unresolved. I give you my word that I’ll be speaking to Emma about her behavior later on.”
“Please don’t. I suppose I did overreact in my decision to banish her from the pool. But that was only because of what happened to me when I was a child.”
“What are you talking about?” Jerome asked.
With a little sniffle, Esmé turned around and laced her arms around her husband’s neck. Her stomach brushed up against his own as she cuddled close to him for comfort, resting her head on his shoulder. “I was eight years old,” she began, “and the company my father worked for was having a picnic at the local park. I was playing tag with some of the other employees’ children near the lake— I can’t remember if somebody pushed me, or if I fell in on my own. Anyway, the next thing I knew, my mouth and lungs were filling up with water. I would’ve drowned had one of my father’s co-workers not rushed over and pulled me out.
“I’ve been terribly frightened of water ever since, and never learned how to swim because of it. It took a lot of courage for me to set foot aboard that submarine. I even made Carmelita prove to me that she could swim before I allowed her to go into the deep end of the pool at the Hotel Denouement.”
“Oh, darling!” Jerome cried, and threw his arms around his wife. “How frightened and helpless you must have felt when you fell into that lake! But don’t worry— I’ll be the one to teach you how to swim, though it will be best to wait until after you’ve had the baby. Until then, you can simply enjoy yourself in the shallow end.”
Esmé allowed Jerome to hold her from behind as she climbed slowly up the attached stairs of the pool, her hand resting protectively over her belly to assist her in keeping her balance. She stepped slowly down into no more than five feet of water, feeling her husband’s hands as they continued to hold securely to the corners of her waist.
“Here, Esmé,” he said. “Lie back, and I’ll teach you how to float.”
“But I—” Esmé began. “I’m too heavy. My belly will—”
“You’re forgetting, darling, that you don’t weigh anything in the water. Besides, I’ll be holding you the entire time. You’ve nothing to fear.”
Jerome’s words being of great comfort to her emotional and somewhat unstable mind, Esmé laid back slowly in the water. Her dark hair was soon soaked, and she could feel her husband’s fingers position themselves beneath her. All but her face, belly, and the tops of her feet were covered by the water as she smiled up at Jerome.
He had no idea where to begin telling his wife how sweet and perfect her face looked now that it had filled out some; nor was he sure how to start explaining why he thought her pushed-out bellybutton was so cute. With a deep sigh, he leaned down and planted a light kiss on her lips.
“I love you, Esmé Gigi Genevieve Squalor,” he said. “From the tip of your adorable upturned nose, to your lovely manicured toes.” To prove it, he kissed the tip of her nose, followed by all ten of her toes, whose nails were painted red to match the ones on her fingers.
Esmé giggled as she felt her shoulder make contact with Jerome’s somewhat squishy stomach as she drifted forward in the water. She was just beginning to feel relaxed enough to close her eyes, when all of a sudden she became aware of an unpleasant tickle at the back of her throat. It traveled up into her nose, causing her long, soot-black eyelashes to flutter and forcing her to produce a series of sharp, desperate breaths.
“Je— Jerome,” Esmé gasped. “I think I might— I’m going to— I… I…”
Her words trailed off as she gave into the almost painful tickling sensation, and she sneezed not once, not twice, but three times in a row. The back of her head plopped down into the water following her third sneeze, and she watched Jerome lower his face and kiss her directly on top of her bellybutton.
“What was that for?” Esmé asked.
Jerome’s reply was simply an amiable grin as he gazed down into his wife’s eyes. “Must you even ask,” he said softly, “when you are honestly the most enchanting, precious creature I’ve ever set eyes on?”
By now, Esmé had managed to set the argument with her daughter and overactive hormones aside. She chose to surrender herself to the romantic moment with her husband, watching his emerald eyes sparkle magnificently in the sunlight. She hadn’t realized it yet, but she was no longer floating with the assistance of her husband’s fingers beneath her.
“You’re doing it, Esmé,” Jerome said. “You’re floating.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied. “You’re keeping me afloat, remember?”
“But I’m not. I just let go of you a moment ago.”
To prove it, Jerome held up both hands. Esmé was so startled that her legs gave out from beneath her, and her long, slender arms flailed in the air as she felt her feet make contact with the bottom of the pool.
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jerome,” Esmé scolded, and threw her arms around him.
“But you were doing splendidly, darling,” he said, sliding down a few feet into the water so that he could prop his wife up on both of his knees. “I wanted you to see that you didn’t need me to support you.”
Jerome’s words struck a familiarity in Esmé, and she cuddled up to him as much as she could without her stomach interfering. “You’ve always supported me,” she said. “You supported me when I first came back into your life and had no money. You supported me when your father tried to convince you to divorce me, and you argued that I deserved another chance to be your wife.”
As Esmé started to cry again, Jerome kissed the top of her damp head, smiling as she made a grab for his belly underneath the water. She felt so soft and warm in his arms, despite the water’s cool temperature. Tiny droplets clung to every corner of her alabaster skin, and she shivered slightly in his embrace.
“Are you cold, my love?” he asked.
Esmé shook her head, but there was no way in which Jerome could ignore the goosebumps breaking out over her small shoulders. Not wanting to dismiss her prior sneezes as allergies when there was a possibility that she could be coming down with a cold, he suggested that they go back inside for a while.
“I need to have that talk with Emma anyway,” Jerome explained, as he and Esmé climbed out of the pool. “Perhaps you and I can return after dinner for a moonlight swim.”
Esmé nodded as Jerome picked up a pair of towels from two of three beach chairs that had been placed in a corner on the rooftop. Wrapping one towel around Esmé and taking the other for himself, Jerome escorted her back into the penthouse.
***
“No” was the first word out of Emma’s mouth when Jerome asked her to apologize to her mother.
“Now, Emma,” he said carefully, where he and his stepdaughter were seated on the twin bed in her room. “What you said to Mama before was incredibly cruel. She was in tears over it. You don’t like to see her sad, do you?”
“No,” Emma admitted. “But Mama make Emma get outta da pool when Emma was havin’ fun. Dat not fair.”
“Emma, do you remember what we’ve talked about many times before? About the possibility of Mama getting hurt or sick if she gets too upset?”
“Emma wemember,” Emma said. “She still cwyin’ an’ stuff?”
“No,” replied Jerome. “But she’s very sad.”
“Where Mama now?”
“In her room.”
“Emma gonna go see Mama den.”
With that, Emma slid off the bed and made her way across the room to the door. She headed out into the hallway and rounded the corner, stopping when she reached her parents’ bedroom. As she slipped inside, she heard the sound of the toilet flushing, followed by the sink turning on. A few moments later, she watched her mother emerge from the bathroom.
Esmé was wearing a long, white nightgown with lace around the collar and sleeves. While one hand leaned up against the doorframe, the other remained wrapped protectively around her belly. Her face looked sad and exhausted, but she smiled down at her small daughter as best she could.
“Mama sick again?” Emma asked in a small voice, unsure if her mother would be willing to speak to her after what had occurred on the rooftop.
Esmé nodded wearily as she walked slowly over to the bed and sat down. Emma followed, and climbed up onto the bed beside her mother.
“Emma so-wee ‘bout what she said,” Emma said. “Emma so-wee she make Mama cwy.”
“It’s alright, darling,” Esmé replied. “All is forgiven. I’m not upset anymore.”
Esmé drew her arm around her daughter’s small shoulders, and the little girl cuddled closer to her. Laying her head against her mother’s breast, Emma lifted her small hand and placed it carefully on Esmé’s stomach.
“Emma can feel baby movin’,” Emma said.
Esmé smiled. “That’s your little brother inside my tummy,” she said. “He’s saying hello to you.”
“Emma so-wee she say Mama ug-wee. Mama not ug-wee— Mama pwetty. Emma wuv Mama. Emma do’ wanna see Mama gettin’ hurt or sick no mo’. Make Emma sad seein’ Mama sad.”
Esmé was in the process of reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand to wipe the tears that her daughter’s words had brought about in her eyes. As she was dabbing at them, she turned toward the bedroom door to see Jerome and Carmelita standing there.
“Are you alright, Esmé?” Jerome asked his wife. “Carmelita said you were sick again.”
Nodding, Esmé smiled down at her daughter, who had drifted off in the sheltered warmth of her mother’s arm. Emma’s small hand continued to rest on Esmé’s belly, as if the child’s intention was to both comfort and protect her mother and baby brother.
Sometimes, a touch of comfort is all one needs to remind them of just how special they truly are.
The End