CHAPTER 10
This is bliss,Shaundra thought as she walked through the expansive grounds with Benji strapped snugly to her chest in a comfortable sling. All around her, there was activity. The gardeners were redoing the flowerbeds that lined the long driveway to the main gate, because they had become overgrown, and all gone to seed due to neglect from the previous elderly owner.
She didn’t know much about flowers, but working with a consultant that Naisha had recommended, she had chosen purple hydrangeas, orange hostas, yellow poppies and white meadowsweet. Which adhered to literally no color scheme whatsoever. But she liked them and figured they’d make her happy, so whatever. The gardeners were putting in mature plants rather than seedlings, so she’d have an instant dose of hot color in the garden, and that was priceless.
The pool had been retiled a few weeks ago, and now it was a deep lapis-lazuli blue embedded with clear crystals so that when the stars came out, it was as though the canvas of heaven and the water below reflected each other back and forth, on and on, into infinity.
As soon as the grout was set and it was time to refill the pool, she and Nathanael had returned to their nightly swims as soon as Benji was safely asleep. It had become the scene of many erotic adventures.
There was a lot to be said about sex in the water, she reflected. Especially when you were a nursing mother and had acquired the superpower of spontaneously leaking milk during arousal.
She chuckled when she thought of that first night when they’d made love in the pool, when she’d damn near drowned the man. Served him right. She’d discovered to her horror that she’d been leaking all over the place and had been glad of the water that had washed away the evidence.
Nevertheless, Nathanael had begun insisting that they swim in the nude, since she’d somehow lost her black swimsuit that night and never managed to find it again. Which made the whole breastmilk-leaking thing a bit difficult to hide.
To her chagrin, she got busted a few nights later, when he’d noticed the trickle of fluids from her engorged breasts and puckered nipples. She’d been full of embarrassment, wanting to slip out of his embrace, hop out of the pool and run and hide. But her husband had been fascinated, flicking out his tongue to have an experimental lick.
He said it tasted like a vanilla milkshake. And now, her nipples were the recipients of much of his attention, to the extent that she teased him that he might be developing a fetish.
Not that she had a problem with that.
This morning, she was chatting excitedly with her mother on the hands-free as she walked, giving her updates on the progress of the remodeling. “I never thought of myself as artistic, or creative in any way,” she admitted. “But I really am getting the hang of it.”
“Oh, hush,” Irene said. “You were always my most creative child.”
“Me? Your most creative? Latrell’s doing art in senior year,” she reminded her.
“Maybe, but I’m talking about yourvision.You’ve always had a way of seeing things, even when you were younger.” Then, she added softly, “Even when your hands were so full, taking care of your siblings. You always found time to make the three-bedroom apartment look fancy. Turning old bedsheets into curtains. Making throw pillows out of scraps of fabric. I’m proud of you.”
Shaundra felt her throat constrict. It wasn’t often her mother said things like this to her. Partly because Irene wasn’t the affectionate type, and partly because she suspected it grieved her to admit to her earlier failures as a parent, leaving Shaundra to pick up so much of the slack.
Her mother said, more brightly, as if trying to fill in the awkward moment, “Anyway, I love the new gym and rec room. So convenient for you, not having to drive into town to work out. You’ll be back to your pre-baby weight in no time.”
She smiled at that. She’d really been working hard to get back into shape, and was grateful that the nanny, Samia, was so good with Benji while she put in her daily hour on the treadmill and 45 minutes on the other machines combined: weights, spin bike and elliptical. Not only was her body tauter and more supple, but she had so much more energy. Which was good, because contrary to popular opinion, being Lady of the Manor was hard work.
“And how’s my son-in-law? I hope you two have patched up your differences.”
Shaundra hesitated. She loved her mom, but she didn’t want to discuss her marriage.
Irene had no such reservations. “Remember what I told you, girl. You got yourself a good man. He’s a good provider, and those don’t come thick on the ground like fall leaves, you hear me? Don’t worry because he’s not too close to the baby. A lot of men aren’t as nurturing as us women. He probably doesn’t have the gene?”
Right,Shaundra thought sardonically. There’s a gene for fathering, and Nathanael was born without it. She wasn’t buying that for a minute.
“Hang in there,” Irene advised. “Give thanks for what you got. It could be much worse. Trust me. I know.”
Shaundra cringed, well aware that Irene was referring to the string of romantic mistakes she herself had made, and all the babies that had been left in the wake of destruction.
She didn’t blame her mother. Society had a way of shaming and excluding the parent that stayed, while sharing dinners and providing support to the parent that absconded their responsibility.
So many men out there, turning their backs on their own offspring. As if they were willing them into non-existence. At least Nathanael was an excellent provider. Maybe Irene was right. Maybe shewaslucky.
She said her goodbyes and headed back indoors, stopping in the kitchen to grab a large bottle of mineral water before heading to the nursery. That room had been the first to be redone. It was now a soothing pistachio green trimmed with white, an elaborate crib-slash-changing table contraption that was so comfortable for Benji to sleep in and convenient for diaper changes that she wondered how she’d have gotten by without it.
She settled into a large overstuffed armchair, positioned her son on his breastfeeding pillow, popped open her nursing bra and let him have at it. All the while, she chugged down the water. Breastfeeding was thirsty work, and she’d long learned that as fluids went out, they needed to be replaced or she’d wind up feeling parched.
She looked down at her son, as indulgent as any mother, admiring the curl of his chestnut hair. He’d inherited his father’s hair color, but the curl had definitely come from her side of the family. His skin was a delicious peanut butter shade, and his closed eyelids hid light brown eyes that were shaped like Nathanael’s. He would grow up to be so much like his dad, just a slightly darker version of the same man.
What a pity Nathanael wasn’t interested in observing those characteristics. The qualities that she fawned over and monitored obsessively, with deep maternal affection, every day. How Benji wrinkled his forehead when he cried, or how his upper lip puckered when he smiled. How silky were his dark brows, or perfect his tiny, paper-thin fingernails…