spring girl

you’ve always noticed that about him, even way back when you were just going on dates with the handsome stranger you had just met. the first time you saw his apartment, you’d been mildly surprised by how neat everything was, how precise.

even now, watching him pick up at the end of the long day while you cuddle on the couch with whichever of the girls couldn’t fall asleep tonight, it makes you smile. 

you’d once thought that seeing him surrounded by the habitual mess that taking care of kids incites would be funny.

it’s mostly endearing. 

the other moms in the neighborhood have always complained about how their husbands are slobs and leave a mess. you guess you’ve never had to—

you’re interrupted mid-thought as julie makes her way down the stairs. she’s about two months from turning nine and the thought does not get easier to process as the days go by. 

but even at eight and three-fourths, with every day that passes, she looks more and more like your husband. she’s got curly auburn hair, currently tied up in a french braid because you had put her to bed about an hour ago. she wears matching pajamas with mellie, who you’re sure is still knocked out, because one storytime about fairies is always enough for your second-oldest. 

you hope the baby doesn’t wake up from the noise, glancing at the monitor next to you. the one in your arms shifts a little and then glances up at you with big brown eyes that are also duplicates of her dad.

that’s funny too, mostly endearing. you gave andrew cody four daughters and he paid you back by having all of them look like him. 

“hi sweetie,” you say quietly, patting the seat next to you on the couch. “couldn’t sleep?”

julie comes and joins you. you expect her to smush her body against yours, and you even peel back the blanket you’re laying with, expecting her to crawl under too.

but julie doesn’t—sparking your mild concern almost immediately. 

your mind flashes back to the fussy velcro baby that would cry if you put her down for thirty seconds. but it doesn’t get any easier—she is still andrew’s—and especially quiet and reserved when she’s really thinking about something like right now.

luckily you think you’ve cracked his code a long time ago. the same principle should apply to her.

julie sits next to you, tapping her foot against the rug. she glances up at the tv—a nature documentary, what else?—and looks away. throughout her short life she’s probably seen every single one that your tv can wrangle up. 

“what’s wrong, honey?” you ask quietly. charlie fusses, making adorable toddler noises that do not at all indicate to you what she wants. you pat her back and press a kiss to her head without realizing.

julie is a hard nut to crack sometimes. she’s so in her head about something—probably something small, too—that it’s hard to pull her back out. 

“where’s dad?”

oh. you can tell right away there’s something else going on now. 

“showering. he’ll be back in a few minutes, promise. you wanna talk to me about it first?”

julie turns to look at you, anxiety painted all over her features. you suddenly feel unwell—she must have been up for the last hour in bed thinking about whatever she wants to tell you. 

you don’t like that feeling at all. you were slightly distracted—mellie is getting over a cold and was extra sleepy tonight. you knew charlie wouldn’t sleep until you brought her to the couch with you and andrew. and the baby, well sometimes you don’t realize how much work a baby is because of how easy andrew makes it. but he got home later and you were trying to make sure she was settled before then and well—

you must not have been able to realize there was something on julie’s mind.

you take your free hand and put it over hers.

“you can tell me first. i promise i won’t tell dad until you’re ready.”

julie mulls on it for a moment—thoughts processing quickly until she comes to a conclusion that what you suggested sounds safe (it always is). 

“well,” she starts quietly, and you scoot a little closer to her. charlie’s eyes are drooping already, though she tries to fight it. “sophie is having a sleepover.” 

oh. that’s what this was about. you should have guessed. you think it was mentioned in passing at school pickup—sophie’s mom is nice and always stops to talk to you, and her daughter and julie have been friends since kindergarten.

sophie has even slept over at your house before—you and andrew had rearranged the couch into a fort for them and they’d slept in the living room. mellie had gotten scared sleeping alone and crawled into bed with you and andrew before your head had even hit the pillow.

“i see. is it with the girls at school?” 

julie nods, and then frowns.

“dad’s not gonna let me go, is he?”

“oh, sweetie,” you start, opening your arms so she can come lean against you. “it’s not that he doesn’t want you to go. he wants you to have fun. but you know how he feels about sleepovers that aren’t here.”

“i know,” julie groans into your side. you can understand how it must feel for an almost-nine year old. 

“he just wants to-”

“-keep me safe. i know.” 

andrew can never deny the girls anything. you would worry they’d grow up to be spoiled rotten if they were someone else’s kids.

(you secretly love it—you think it might be healing some part of you, every time he says yes to one of the girls, replacing every no you’d heard as a child. he treats them how he treats you—no isn’t in his vocabulary in this house.)

but the one thing he can’t compromise on is their safety. if you want to have a sleepover, it has to be here, where he can keep an eye on them. it’s one of the few hard no’s that andrew has, and you’ve never doubted him for a minute—andrew has always known more about the dangers of the world than you have.

but it’s so hard not to just give in this one time. you must have gone on twenty sleepovers by this age. julie is so understanding, too. she doesn’t cry or throw a tantrum, like you’re sure that charlie will when she gets to be this age. julie just gets sad.

“i know he hates saying no to you, sweetie.”

“i know,” julie says with a sigh and a sniffle. you stroke her pretty hair while she mumbles against your side. “i just want to go to a sleepover that’s not here.” 

that thought makes you emotional. of course you trust her enough. you trust sophie’s mom enough. you just don’t trust anyone else enough. and you’re sure that andrew doesn’t either—

you glance up to see your husband walking towards you. you smile—it’s hard not to. clad in a snug fitting shirt and plaid pajama pants. you know his hair is wet and how good he smells right now. when he’s around you suddenly understand why all those people have so many kids. 

he left you with one kid and has returned to two. julie glances in the direction of the noise of his footsteps and then curls up with you again. you make a sad face to andrew, but you don’t think he sees it. his eyes go towards his oldest right away.

“what’s wrong, julie?” he asks quietly. you didn’t have to give him the heads-up. he would have known something’s off from a mile away when it comes to julie. 

andrew strokes her back for a moment and looks at you. charlie is sound asleep in your arms.

julie, he likes to think, is the best parts of you. bright and happy and generous and sweet. she likes holding the baby and reading alphabet books to her and playing with her little sisters. she cleans up all her messes and you don’t have to tell her anything twice. 

it’s almost harder this way—she’s such a good kid that telling her no feels like getting a tooth pulled. 

“why don’t we go talk about it outside?” 

“i don’t wanna,” julie mumbles again, and you can feel your shirt getting damp. 

you look at andrew—not sure how to handle this one. it’s not the first time you two are dealing with a parenting crisis but it feels worse with julie, somehow. like you should have figured this out by now.

“sweetie,” you say quietly. “maybe you’ll feel better if you talk to dad about it.” 

andrew is amazing with kids. you should have known that he would be—he’s patient and actually listens to them and doesn’t get nearly as frustrated as he does with adults. 

he’s mellie’s perpetual tea-party guest. he buys the sugar cookies in a tin that she likes putting on her plastic tea-set plates. he comes home with dolls that look like fairies that make her run and hug his leg.

he calms down charlie every time he picks her up. he talks to her quietly and points out the different type of fish on the television and can basically do every chore around the house with one hand while holding her with the other.

he’s never once complained about getting up to get the baby in the middle of the night or making a bottle. he keeps better track of the monitor than you do.

and with julie, he’s particularly amazing. he knows she won’t just say how she’s feeling flat out. he knows that she’ll bury whatever she’s feeling if the younger girls are being noisy and rowdy and taking up your time. 

something that’s always worked with julie is taking her by the pool outside—empty and quiet, the noise of the house becoming a background static. they sit in the chairs or dip their feet in until she’s ready to talk about whatever is going on, and you know it’ll work if she gives it a chance, but—

“okay,” she says, getting up from beside you and rubbing her eyes. andrew offers her his hand and she takes it, and you smile at the two of them, adjusting charlie since your arm is falling asleep. the two of them walk to the back door hand in hand, but before he goes outside, andrew turns to look back at you.

you’re smiling at charlie, turning down the volume. you don’t worry for a moment that andrew won’t be able to figure it out, won’t be able to talk to her and make her feel better. it makes him feel better.

julie goes outside and sits by the water, not putting her feet in since her pajamas will get wet. andrew takes a seat by her after closing the door.

there’s a moment of silence. andrew almost starts speaking but he gives it another few seconds.

“do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” he says, pausing again. julie stares at the glowing blue water. “or do you want to sit for a little longer?”

she doesn’t answer right away. then she turns to look at andrew. he can see red in her eyes and a splotchy tear-stain on her cheek. it makes his chest hurt.

“s-sophie is having a sleepover. i wanna go,” julie says, another tear running down her face.

andrew sighs deeply—one of relief. 

julie is turning nine in a few short weeks. that’s almost nine years he’s been charged with the task of keeping her safe—keeping all of them safe. nine years of succeeding at that task. 

he thinks briefly to when he turned nine. he’d been taught how to pick pockets and case stores and throw punches to defend his siblings. 

sitting in front of him is his own nine-year-old, upset because she wants to go to a sleepover. he thinks for a moment that he did everything right for once, since the moment he met you. julie has a normal childhood. she gets to be a kid for a long time—a real kid. 

“okay,” he finally says. “do you know who’s gonna be there?” 

“other girls from school,” she answers, wiping away her tears. she names a few of them—all names he recognizes as her classmates. 

“is that why you’re upset? because you want to go?”

“i know i’m not allowed,” julie sniffles, leaning closer until her head is on andrew’s shoulder.

“do you know why i have that rule?” 

“because it’s not safe. but-but it’s sophie-”

“i know.” he brings his hand to stroke her back. “i just don’t like you being somewhere i can’t keep you safe.” 

in a couple years, he imagines he’ll have this same conversation with melody, or more likely charlotte. andrew thinks about what they might say in this situation. when people at the grocery store see him with all the girls loaded up and the baby strapped to his chest, they laugh and tell him to wait ten years if he thinks it’s hard now.

but that’s the thing—he’s never thought it was hard.

he tries to imagine charlotte fighting with him to go to a sleepover at someone else’s house. but he can’t imagine himself being upset. he’s just relieved that these are the things they have to fight about it.

and julie—well, julie is not a fighter. she leans against him, crying quietly, and mumbles back—she knows it’s dangerous, she knows it’s not always safe. she knows because he’s taught her. 

and andrew realizes, sitting by the pool, staring at the water and the pink floaties and the toys that they always forget to take out after the girls are done playing, that he has a problem with saying no. 

maybe it’s not the worst problem to have.

-

you bring charlie to her room and check on the baby. she’s still sound asleep. you peak into mellie and julie’s room since the door is still cracked open from when julie came downstairs. 

but you find that both beds are empty. when you come back downstairs, mellie’s sitting in your seat on the couch, blanket wrapped around her and somehow, a barbie movie playing on the television, your documentary long gone.

“what are you doing awake, sweetie?” you say quietly, taking your seat next to her. she crawls into your lap and puts her head against your chest. 

“where’s julie?” she asks, sleep still thick in her voice. mellie seems to have a sixth sense about waking up if her sister isn’t in the room anymore.

“outside with daddy. they’re talking. twenty minutes of barbie and then bed, okay?”

“okay,” she hums, complacent with the idea. she watches from your chest. 

andrew comes back in a few minutes later. he’s carrying julie, who looks half asleep and mumbles goodnight as he takes her upstairs. 

you’d ask mellie if she wants to sleep now but you know the answer, no, especially not if she still has another ten minutes of barbie.

andrew comes back and takes a seat next to you, running his hand over mellie’s hair. 

“every time i come back in here, there’s someone new next to you.” 

“should’ve thought about that before you gave me four kids.” he laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“is she okay?” you ask quietly.

“yes. sleepover at sophie’s house. did you know?”

“i think she told me in the pick-up line at school. but you know, they don’t live very far from here,” you try, if you can, to help julie plead her case. you can’t help it—you can’t pick sides.

“i know.”

“she’s been there a bunch. we both have her mom’s phone number.” 

“i know.”

“we can always give her one of those flip phones to take with her.”

“we could.” andrew sighs, and you decide to give it a rest. barbie starts singing a song in the background, mellie starts humming along.

“are you okay? is she really upset?” you ask quietly. you stare up at him and andrew stares back—you’re tired and you’ve seen this barbie movie three times in the last week and you haven’t sat by yourself all day. and yet you still try to make sure they’re both okay before doing anything else.

andrew sighs again.

“she is now.” 

you smile at him brightly.

“really?” you laugh, he nods. 

you don’t need to know everything behind the thought process—though he’s sure you know it anyways. if andrew’s kids cry about sleepovers a block away, then he’s done something right. they’re safe from the kinds of things he always worried about. that’s what matters most.

“i said we’d call sophie’s mom first. and she has to let us know if they're going anywhere.” andrew reaches for melly, still wide awake. she crawls in between the two of you, staring up at him with big brown eyes.

“ten more minutes? please?” 

“sure, mellie,” andrew answers, before you can say anything. content, she holds onto his arm. 

you bite back a laugh.

“you know, they’re gonna start asking for cars soon.”