Shopping for a CEO's Baby (Shopping for a Billionaire Series Book 16), стр. 36
“How could we forget, Mom?” Amy says, frowning as she enters carrying a red and white polka-dotted gift. She looks at me, teeth gritted, eyes shining maniacally as she adds, “I'm never having kids after playing that game.”
“Come on! The pain isn't that bad.”
“I meant the constipation pictures.”
“Oh. Yes. The first postpartum poop is–”
Amy shoves a piece of chocolate poop in her mom's mouth. She moans.
“I love these chocolate shavings around this pink cake!” James says, appearing with a slice. “How inventive. The shades of pink and purple are so vivid.”
“It's a hairy vulva,” Marie explains.
Instantly, Andrew turns on one heel and leaves.
“A what?” James inquires politely.
“Hairy vulva.”
“Is that a Latin term?”
“Like cunnilingus?” Marie replies, clearly perplexed. James begins to choke.
Good to know my father-in-law knows the meaning of that word.
“Don't you dare mention Cardi B. and Megan Thee Stallion's song,” Shannon whispers in my ear. I laugh, which nearly makes me pee, which confuses my central nervous system, and suddenly, I'm hiccuping and have an eyelid twitch.
“If we're going to talk about vaginas at a baby shower, it should be mine. Not the one on the lovely cake Marie brought,” I say, trying to divert attention.
It works.
“And have you seen the album?” Mom says loudly as she picks up on my cue and changes the subject. “Amanda's baby photos.” Mom looks at James. “We have one of Andrew, too, thanks to his father.”
“You do?” Andrew says, surprised.
“Of course. Remember the copies I made years ago and gave to you for Christmas?”
Declan looks at Grace, who is now across the room, chatting animatedly with Gina. “You mean the copies Grace made and put into the albums we all received.”
James waves his hand dismissively. “You have them. I assume the boys will look like Andrew,” he says in a tone that is so annoying it's as if it's all affect, but it's not. James came out of the womb clutching a mergers and acquisitions contract and an ego the size of Missouri.
“You can't assume that.”
“Why not? My sons resemble me.”
“They have some of Elena in them, James,” Grace points out, joining our group. I notice Gina now at the table, picking up a Cheeto marshmallow treat, sniffing suspiciously.
“Fine. And the boys would certainly be well served by big, smart eyes like Amanda's,” my father-in-law says, offering an unctuous–and rare–compliment.
I blame the scotch.
“Thank you,” I say politely, earning a dazzling smile from him. The guy may be in his sixties, but I see how he manages to get women in their twenties to date him. Charm doesn't fade from men like James McCormick.
Or from his sons.
Andrew's arm wraps around my expanding waist and squeezes my hip, his nose in my hair. “I hope our boys take after you. But when we have a girl, she'll–”
“Hold up there, bucko. Let me get through this pregnancy first.”
Mom watches us, eyes rolling from Andrew to me. “You want more?”
I rub my belly. “Eventually.”
He kisses my cheek. “Four.”
“FOUR?” James and Mom gasp in unison.
Andrew gives his dad a flat look. “Sure. Have to do one better than you.”
“Hmph. I'm not too old to produce another child, you know. Don't poke my competitive streak,” James replies.
Poor Jason has just wandered over to us.
“Are you crazy? You'd be dead before the child turned eighteen!” A booming, unexpectedly caustic laugh makes everyone stare at him in surprise. For a mild-mannered guy, this is out of character.
“Clint Eastwood had a baby in his seventies,” James huffs. “I could, if I wanted to.”
“And I could have a surgeon cut off my arms and attach them to my forehead like horns if I wanted to, but I'd be crazy and there would be no point,” Jason shoots back, but his entire demeanor softens, as if he's realizing the fight isn't worth it.
“It doesn't matter,” Andrew interrupts. “You're not having more kids,” he says to James, “and even if you did, we'd just beat you by having another.”
“We would?” I squeak.
“What about us?” Declan demands, pointing between himself and Shannon, who startles like she's been hit with a cattle prod. “We could have five, if we wanted to.”
“FIVE?” Shannon screams in horror.
“FIVE?” Marie squeals with sheer delight.
Shannon turns on her mother, finger in her face like she's ready to give her a nasal swab test with her fingernail. “We are NOT having five kids!”
“But Declan just said–”
Shannon turns to her husband, same finger in his face. “We are not having five kids to fulfill some sick competitive streak of yours.”
“We'll talk later,” he says smoothly. He turns to Pam. “How are you doing? Shannon told me you learned the fibromyalgia might be caused by Lyme?”
Pam and Declan begin talking as Shannon stands there, gape-mouthed. Her husband has just smoothly finessed his way out of a fight.
“How does he do that?” she hisses. “I can't complain publicly because he's expressing compassion for Pam. But he left that grenade hanging without a pin!”
“He'll have to put the pin back in the slot someday,” I say with a wink.
Her eyebrow cocks. “Ooooo. Leverage.”
“Awwwwwwww,” comes a collective outburst from the living room. Shannon and I share a perplexed look and follow the crowd.
A slideshow is being projected on the wall.
Terry is holding baby Andrew in a photo, Declan behind them, playing with a toy truck, the 1990s on display.
In the present, James has a funny look on his face, arms folded over his chest. Andrew stands next to him, looking like his dad.
A hand goes to my shoulder and I turn to find yet another McCormick man in my Mom's house.
“Terry!” I say, instantly in a hug with my brother-in-law. Of the three McCormick boys, he's the most distanced from the family. The eldest, with the deepest voice, he's the rebel. He was groomed by James for greatness, but he quit Anterdec after their mother died and James handled it all so poorly, turning Declan into the scapegoat.
Terry lives in a duplex in Jamaica Plain.