Page 79 of Requiem

I nod and Matthew gives me another side squeeze.

“I am. We’re expecting another baby in the early spring. I was hoping to get through all of this before we told anyone.”

He’s beaming, like the proud grandpa that David already knows him to be.

“I’m so glad things have finally settled down for the two of you,” he says

“Not too loud!” I caution jokingly. “You’ll jinx us, Dr. Sam!”

“Ah, good point! Now, then, where did that lad with the champagne go?” he mutters as he wanders off in search of another drink.

“Hey, Mrs. Ayers,” Matthew says as soon as he’s out of earshot. “No more talk about jinxes, okay? Everything is going to be just perfect from here on out. Understood?” he asks, putting a hand on the camouflaged swell of my belly.

I put a hand to his face in response. “I love you, Matthew Ayers.”

He smiles so broadly and once again I’m struck by how handsome he looks in his suit. Those amber eyes, the tousled brown hair … No, actually, he looks hot. He leans down and gives me another kiss, this time deeper and longer. I find myself standing on tippy-toes just to be closer to him. I’m tempted to take this man and sneak out the side door, but it’s too late. I catch sight of Lester, waving at me frantically from the other side of the gallery.

“Do you want me to go with you, or wait for you?” my husband asks.

“With me. Always, always with me.”

He gives a quick bow and offers me his arm like some chivalrous suitor out of a Jane Austen book.

“I’d kill for a drink right now,” I say, forcing a smile as they all start to applaud my success.

Julia 29

The wineglass is almost to Brett’s lips when it stops short, sending tiny waves of Shiraz spilling over the rim and onto his shirt.

“Oh, fuck!” he says, looking down at his newly bloodied chest briefly before looking back at Matthew. “You’re making that shit up,” he accuses with a laugh.

“I shit you not,” Matthew responds, shaking his head solemnly. “I wish I was. Julia is determined to get my kid’s ass kicked on the playground.”

“What? Stop it!” I say, smacking his arm. “God! What is with you and the baby names? I make a few … original suggestions, and suddenly I want our child to be bullied?”

“What was it again? Bass Cleff?” Brett teases.

I put my hands on my hips. I’m not amused.

“Crescendo,” Matthew corrects.

“Oh, no! Poor little Crescendo!” Brett says in a tortured voice. “God, those kids can be such douchebags! Julia! Why, Julia? Why?”

“Okay, okay,” I moan. “Knock it off!”

We’re two bottles of wine too many into this little ‘after party’ at Tucci’s, down the street from the Beau-Radcliffe Gallery. Well, more accurately, Matthew and Brett are. Maggie’s a bit tipsy, too, and I’m finding it’s not as much fun being the only sober one at the table.

“I’m thinking Glockenspiel,” Matthew says, ignoring me.

“Are you sure?” Brett counters. “Dude, I was thinking Cadenza or Allegro or maybe Forte …”

“Okay, okay! Enough already!” Maggie laughs as she passes the basket of bread in my direction. “Leave Julia alone. She’s just trying to find an original name that has some meaning to her.”

Brett leans over and kisses her cheek sweetly. “That’s my girl. Always coming to someone else’s defense,” he murmurs.

She swats him with a linen napkin.

“I’m serious! Knock it off!” she says more sternly, and then, she smiles and rolls her eyes. “Ugh. I knew Julia and I should have gone out and left the two of you at home!” she groans.