Merrily Yours (The Bardot Siblings)

Chapter 3

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick, even if you’re home.” — Carol Nelson

Music ebbs and flows through my headphones as I listen back to the recording for the umpteenth time. Something is off, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. I pull my long hair out of its tie, only to retie it back in the same way.

Tapping on my legs to match the rhythm, I let the melody wash over me. The issue is tickling my brain, I just can’t quite figure it out, which is annoying as fuck. It’s right there, out of reach in my mind. I circle my fingers around my temples, close my eyes, and lean my head back to rest on the couch cushion.

A hard flick hits me right in the forehead. “What the f?—”

I open my eyes and am greeted by a waterfall of curly hair that matches mine. Bex has her hands on her hips, pregnant stomach sticking out. She looks less than impressed, and I check my watch to see that it’s fifteen minutes past the time she said she would be here. I pause the music and take off my headphones, allowing the sounds of life back in.

“You’re late,” I grumble.

“You’re moody,” she retorts. “And I was here on time but you didn’t answer when I knocked, and you moved the spare key. It took me fifteen minutes to find the damn thing.”

“Oh yeah, sorry about that.” I run a hand through my hair again, trying to secure the pieces that have already fallen out. “Gabe kept coming over unannounced, I had to make it a little harder to find.”

She nods her head in solidarity, knowing as well as I do that Gabe has no boundaries, and then plops down into the big armchair. She’s kicked her boots off already, presumably at the front door, so she props her feet up on the coffee table and turns her big brown eyes toward me.

“Will you get me a glass of water?” she asks. “And maybe a snack? Do you have any snacks?”

I roll my eyes because she knows the answer to that. “How snacky are we talking? A couple handfuls of pretzels or do you need me to make some macaroni and cheese?”

It’s silent as I walk to the kitchen of my small home and pour a glass of water. I poke my head around the wall to see why Bex hasn’t responded and watch as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

“Bex? What’s wrong?” I rush over, checking for injury. “Is it the baby?” Fear like I’ve never known takes over. I pull out my phone, ready to call 911 if necessary.

She shakes her head before choking out, “You’re”—sob—“the best brother.” Sob. “Did you know that?”

Relief that there isn’t anything seriously wrong with her courses through me. “For fuck’s sake, BB, don’t do that shit to me. I thought something was wrong!”

“Nothing is wrong.” She wipes under her eye. “I just love you. You’re also the best uncle.”

I pat her on the leg and then stand up, taking a deep breath to calm down. “Alright, enough with the sap. I’m assuming that’s a yes to macaroni?”

She nods and I put a pot of water on to boil. The truth is, I love being an uncle. I can’t wait to be a dad , if I’m being honest with myself. But after seeing the way my parents love each other—hell the way Bex and Anders love each other, too—I know it’s a unique gift to find someone you want to share your life with.

“Whatcha thinking about?” Bex asks, and I realize I’ve been staring into the unboiling water, completely zoned out. I enjoy spending time with Bex because she doesn’t mind my brand of weird.

“I guess just thinking about Elodie and how much I love that kid. And how excited I am for another little Bardot-Olsson. I’ll have to come down to the city more often.” I look around my small kitchen. “And maybe I need to get a cat to keep me company.”

She perks up at that. “Oooh! I mean, definitely both of those things, but I want you to get a cat! We can’t in the apartment and it makes me so sad. I feed all of the strays at the park.”

“I’m sure the other park goers love that.”

“They can fuck right off,” she replies. “The cats love me and that’s all that matters.”

“Lovely,” I mutter, adding the dried noodles to the now boiling water. “You’ve really become quite the New Yorker.”

“I’ll always be a Sassifrasian… Sassafrasite? Whatever.” She pauses, gazing down at her belly. I can tell she has more to say, so I let her be. “I told Anders I’d like to end up back here one day. When he’s ready to make a career pivot of sorts. Maybe Callahan will even hire him at Hawthorne—wouldn’t that be full circle?”

It would be full circle, considering Callahan’s class led Bex and Anders back to each other.

“You know we miss you, but is that really what you want? To come back here after you worked so hard to get out?” I ask.

She contemplates for a moment. “I was a kid and I’d never experienced anything else before. I think maybe it’s not as bad as I thought it was here, you know?”

“Yeah, I do.” I smile.

Bex heaves a big sigh. “Enough about me. I can tell you aren’t happy either.”

I stir the macaroni, debating how to respond to that. “I’m… happy…” is what I settle on, which sounds even less convincing out loud.

I can feel her eyes roll without even looking at her. “Okay, JuJu. It’s okay if you aren’t though.”

“It’s not that I’m unhappy …” I start. “I just feel like something is missing. I love music. I love playing with my band. I don’t love teaching, though. And I feel backed into a corner, like there aren’t any other options.”

I think that’s the first time I’ve voiced those thoughts out loud. They feel selfish, which is not something I’m used to being. I blend in. I’m the easy going son, hidden behind my brothers’ larger than life personalities. The quiet and broody bandmate with an ear for musical composition. The brother that’s always ready to comfort and provide, no matter what I’m sacrificing personally. I know Bex understands me more than anyone else, but even she doesn’t quite get it. She has Anders and Elodie, and now this baby on the way.

They’re building their own family, and I feel left behind.

“There are always other options, Jules,” Bex murmurs. “It might not be easy, but it’ll be worth it.”

I raise my eyebrow at her and she replies with, “Yeah, I heard it. I don’t know what this baby is doing to me, but I’m speaking in cliches.”

We’re quiet as I drain the pasta, mix in the cheese, and scoop her lunch into a bowl. She takes it from me and balances it on her small bump. “You shoo quif teafing,” she says.

“You should chew with your mouth closed,” I reply, plopping down onto the couch.

She narrows her eyes but finishes her bite and tries again. “I’m serious, Jules. You should quit teaching.”

“I’m not going to quit in the middle of the school year,” I say.

“That’s very admirable. However, it doesn’t mean you can’t start making plans for what happens next.”

“Right, but what happens next?” I ask, hoping she knows the answer.

“I don’t know, JuJu. That’s for you to decide.”

I sigh, undoing my hair and retying it again. “Enough of your wisdom. Finish your food and then we need to go shopping, yes?” I ask, very ready to change the subject.

Bex groans. “Don’t remind me! How I can be married to someone and not know what to get them for Christmas still boggles my mind. But he’s so hard to shop for!”

“I thought you wanted to get him something to reveal the gender of the baby.”

“I do, but what? A baby outfit sounds boring. I was thinking maybe a funny shirt, but I don’t know where I could find that so last minute. Let’s just go to the market and maybe something will inspire me.” She finishes off her mac and cheese, and I take it from her to rinse off in the sink.

“I have to pee before we leave.” She rolls her eyes. “I always have to pee.”

“No rush, I already found my Christmas presents so I’m just going with you for moral support.”

“No one likes a bragger, Julien!” she calls from down the hall.

I’ve learned with Bex sometimes it’s best to just keep your mouth shut.

We get to the indoor market and Bex immediately spots five different items she wants for herself and nothing that would be a good gift for her husband. We meander the aisles, picking up candles to smell, admiring the work of local artists, and taste testing different teas. I find a few of the latter that I like and end up taking a business card from the owner—an older woman who has spent years perfecting her tea recipes.

I’m pocketing it when Bex comes up behind me and asks, “What are you going to do with that?”

I don’t actually know so I just shrug. It’s not like this woman is looking to hire an ex-music teacher to help her make tea.

We continue on, Bex half-heartedly looking for something that “inspires” her. Out of the blue she states, “You need to find a woman to take care of.”

“Excuse me?” I ask, eyebrows raised. “That’s not very feminist of you.”

“Not that she will need taking care of, but you need to find someone you want to take care of. Someone who will want to take care of you, too,” she says, bumping my shoulder and looking around as if we’ll find someone right here in one of these booths.

“That is much easier said than done.” I stuff my hands in my pockets to stop myself from running them through my hair—something I’ve realized is a nervous habit.

“True. It’s not like there’s a lot of eligible women running around Sassafras,” she muses. “And you’re too old to go pick someone up at Hawthorne now.”

“I’m only thirty, Bex, it’s not like I’m ancient.”

“Kind of weird for a thirty-year-old to start dating someone in college though, don’t you think?” she asks.

I scoff, because now I know she’s fucking with me. “Hmm, I seem to remember a certain twenty-eight-year-old dating a certain college senior not that long ago.”

“That was totally different.” She winks. “Listen, I don’t care where you find her but you need a person, you know? You’re lonely and unhappy, which is a terrible combination for someone as broody as you are when everything is going your way. You are like a sad puppy.”

“And you give the absolute worst inspirational talks,” I reply.

She holds a finger up in the air. “I resent that. Oh! Look!” She uses the same finger to point to a matching baby and adult outfit on the mannequin at a booth across from us.

I smirk. “It’s perfect.”

“Order some extra wontons, please!” Bex says into the phone. “Yes, I’m allowed to eat those! Ugh, put Anders on.”

We finished shopping, dropped everything off back at my parents’ house, and now we are on the way to Gabe’s for Margarita Monday, a tradition that started years ago and has become a part of our Bardot sibling culture. If any of us are together on a Monday night, we have to have margaritas and takeout.

“Babe, will you google if I can have wontons? And if I can’t, order them anyway—I don’t want Gabe to know he was right. I had them with El and she turned out fine.” She pauses, listening. “Thank you, love you!”

“Would it be so bad to admit Gabe is right sometimes?” I ask.

Her head slowly swings toward me. “Did you hear what you just said?”

I play it back in my head and then nod. “You’re right. He’s the most insufferable of the four of us. It’s bad enough that he gets to be Santa this year.”

By the time we get to Gabe’s apartment, Anders has discovered that crab wontons are safe to eat during pregnancy much to Bex’s relief. Ben joins us right as the food arrives, scrolling on his phone as he walks in.

“Did you know the apartment down the hall is available for rent?” he asks without looking up.

“Are you looking to move, brother?” Gabe lifts an eyebrow. Ben has been living and working in Boston for the last several years, with no real indication of leaving.

“I’ve thought about it,” Ben replies. He has always been a terrible liar—or maybe it’s our twin telepathy—so I can see right through his bullshit answer.

“Damn,” I say. “You’ve more than thought about it.”

He stares at me and I stare back, unblinking.

Out of my periphery I see Anders lean into Bex and whisper, “It always creeps me out when they do this.”

Ben breaks first, blinking and mumbling, “Dammit.” He rubs his eyes before continuing. “I really haven’t ‘more than thought about it.’” He air quotes. “I looked into the apartments because being here for Christmas makes me realize how much I miss you guys, okay?”

“Okay,” I reply at the same time Gabe says, “Aww.” Bex and Anders eye each other as Bex rubs her belly, communicating without saying a word.

“I know Boston is only an hour away, but I can’t drop in on you assholes whenever I feel like it and I get…” The sentence trails off. Ben looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly.

“Lonely,” Gabe finishes.

Ben’s throat clears several times. “Yeah… yeah.”

Bex circles the counter and pulls Ben in for a hug. Gabe and Anders quickly join. Ben’s head pops up, eyes still watery. “Bring it in, big guy.”

My steps are slow as I walk over and circle my arms around the outside of the group hug. I want my brother back in Sassafras, of course I do. He’s obviously unhappy in Boston, and the weight of his unhappiness is crushing, both for him and me.

There has to be something I can do.

Has to be a way I can help fix this for him.

But I can’t right now. All I can do is hug my siblings. Hold them together literally since I am unable to figuratively.

I vow right then and there to find a way to get Ben home.

Later that night I lie in bed, running through the options. I fall into a fitful sleep and dream about having a family of my own.

My own child and pregnant wife. My own family to build.

To take care of.

To love.

The morning comes entirely too soon.