Always the Last to Know(82)

“Trying to give you a BJ.” Men were supposed to love this shit.

“The girls will be home in five minutes.”

Right. “Then I’ll be quick.”

“I swear that I’m thrilled about this theoretically, but seriously, darling, can we reschedule?”

“No.”

“Juliet.” He pulled her to her feet. “What’s got into you?”

“I’m trying to be fun and spontaneous and . . . not so serious.”

“Darling, we’re married with two children. Spontaneous happens only when we put it on the calendar.”

Well. She just couldn’t fucking win, could she? Everything Oliver said was true, and he looked like vomit warmed over, but it didn’t do much for her battered ego.

At that moment, the door banged open. “Daddy! Mommy!” yelled Sloane. “Guess what? Brianna got her period!”

“I rest my case,” Oliver murmured.

“Shut up, Sloane! I hate you!” Brianna said.

Juliet opened the laundry room door as Brianna flew by, her eyes red.

“She’s a woman now,” Sloane said solemnly. “She could have a baby.”

“Sloanie-Pop, this is a personal matter,” Oliver said. “Let’s get you a snack while Mummy talks to your sister, right?”

Sure. Give the hard child to me, Juliet thought. But yes. This was a mother’s job.

She went to Brianna’s room and knocked once. There was no answer, so she went in. Brianna was lying on the bed, sobbing.

Juliet didn’t know what to say, so she just put her hand on her daughter’s hair. “Hello, baby,” she said.

“It was horrible! It was in math class, and I felt this stickiness, and then George Tanner said, ‘Don’t mess with Brianna, she’s on her period,’ and everyone laughed. The blood was on my jeans, Mom! You knew I had cramps last night! Why didn’t you tell me to wear a pad?”

Yes. Why hadn’t Juliet been more psychic? The fact that Brianna had been claiming to have cramps every time she wanted to get out of a chore for two solid years was probably not what she wanted to hear.

“I’m sorry, honey. If it’s any consolation, I’ve gotten blood on my pants, too. So has Sadie, and just about every female I know.” Except Arwen. It probably hadn’t happened to her.

Brianna gave her a sullen look. “I thought it would be different,” she said, tears still dripping down her face. “I thought it would be cool and I’d feel sophisticated and in some kind of older girls club, but it’s just gross and my stomach hurts and my legs do, too.”

“I’ll get you some Motrin,” Juliet said. “And a hot-water bottle. It’ll feel good against your tummy.”

She went into her own bathroom and got the necessary items. A pad, just in case, and a tampon, too. She’d bought Brianna her own supplies last year, as well as a book about periods, but nothing ever did prepare you, did it?

She went back into Brianna’s room and gave her the Motrin and a glass of water. Put the hot-water bottle against her daughter’s abdomen and nodded at the tampons and pads. “In case you need it.”

“I have my own,” Brianna muttered. She rolled away from Juliet. “You can go now, Mom. Thanks.”

Once again, dismissed. What would Barb, the perfect mother, do? “You’ll always be my little girl. No matter how old you get.”

“Thanks. Could you go? I just want to sleep.”

“Right. Sleep tight.”

By the time Juliet had made dinner and cleaned up, even though it was Oliver’s turn (but he was suffering greatly), and checked on Brianna and helped Sloane with her reading and took a shower and got into bed, Oliver was asleep. He rolled over and put his arm around her, then started gently snoring in her ear.

So much for being the spontaneous, sexy, positive lover.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





Barb


LeVon had gone to his new job, and John had recovered enough that he could handle the stairs. We moved him back into his bedroom, and the dining room furniture was returned. A home health aide named Kit came to keep him company and make his meals, but she was sullen and didn’t talk much, and was no replacement for LeVon. Sadie also came over every day, always optimistic, always talking up John’s mental progress (which I sure couldn’t see, though having him go up the stairs was great, don’t get me wrong). The speech therapist continued to come three times a week, and while John did seem to be trying to say words from time to time, the only clear thing he’d said was you the first day Janet came over.

Janet still visited once or twice a week, and I was grateful, if a bit mystified at her motives. If I was home when she visited, we’d have coffee and talk; if I was at work, she’d leave me a nice little note and, once, a pot of pansies. She worked at a nursery. I took to making sure there was some baked good in the house, cake or cookies, and always texted her to help herself.

Juliet was working like crazy these days. Caro, too. Sadie would move back to the city eventually; those paintings she did were fine as a side job, but I knew she wasn’t exactly fulfilled (as I had predicted all those years ago, but who listened?). She seemed to like teaching in New York, and sooner or later, she’d get restless and leave again.