17. Peyton

17

My mom and Elle show up at my house early. I swear the sun has barely risen when my annoying sister bursts through my house, acting like we're planning her wedding or something. My head hurts and I'm afraid to take anything, and the homeopathic remedies only work part of the time. Lately, I haven't felt great. Some foods turn my stomach sour, but it's not like I'm puking or anything. The nausea comes and goes and is mostly non-existent. I guess I'm one of those women who can say their pregnancy has been easy. So far, minus the whole getting pregnant part, it has been.

I come out of my bedroom wearing a dress. We're going to see a venue today for Elle and Ben's vow renewal. She wants the whole ceremony, with our dad walking her down the aisle. I don't blame her one bit. It was a magical moment. Not only for me, but for our dad as well. Deep down, even though he's known Noah for most of his life, and with Liam being his best friend, I'm not sure my dad was ready to let me go.

As soon as I see my mom, she comes over and hugs me, and then sets her hand on my non-existent bump. Noah says he can see a difference, but I don't and I'm not sure I believe him.

"I bet you can't wait to show off your bump," Mom says.

Do I want that? Part of me thinks I do, but then, I'm not so sure.

Elle scoffs as she walks into the room. "We match," she says as she points to her also non-existent bump. She's going to be the one showing her bump to everyone and not have a single care in the world about it.

Sometimes, I want to be more like her. Elle's confident in everything she does and doesn't show any fear and never holds back. That's not me. I'm not meek, but if something isn't going my way, I let it slide and just fade into the background. I don't like confrontation, and I definitely don't want any attention drawn to me. Noah and I have kept our growing family a secret. We want to control the narrative when it comes to what photos of me are out there. We have the ones we'd taken the morning we found out we were pregnant, but he's yet to post anything.

Our lives have always been so public, whether it be our dad's career or Noah and his team winning the Super Bowl, no matter what, we've always somewhat been in the public eye. While I accept that—I've grown up with it—the early days of pregnancy are so intimate and special, and I want to savor those moments with my family. I don't want to be the unwilling participant in Bump Watch in the showbiz columns just yet. Not when there's a doubt at the back of my mind that the really tough days of this pregnancy are yet to come.

"I wonder how long I can continue to look like this?" Elle looks in my hallway mirror. "If I start showing before the ceremony everyone is going to think I'm having a shotgun wedding," Elle says.

"You should wear a shirt that says, ‘I'm already married to my baby daddy' to get attention," I tell her.

"No, she shouldn't," Mom says, completely unenthused with my attempt at humor. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Our mother keeps a tight schedule. It's something she learned when she moonlighted as 4225 West's manager or whatever the heck she was. She didn't last long—something about fraternizing with one of the band members—that's what we tease her about. The band doesn't actually have a policy like that in place.

Elle and Ben want to get married at a vineyard. It doesn't matter which one even though she has a list of requirements. The view being one of them. I can't fault her there. No one wants to get married with a road behind you or some cow pasture next to the venue. We've already toured a few, none of which sparked any real interest from my sister. The guys appreciated it though. Each time we toured one of the vineyards, Ben and Noah helped themselves to the free wine offered. In the words of my loving husband, "Ben and I have to double up since you and Elle can't drink." I sure do love him.

"Shotgun," Elle yells as soon as we get outside. As the oldest, I should be able to sit in the front. I look at our mom, who says nothing.

"Fine, but I get the front on the way back," I say to Elle.

"Only if you're fast enough to call it."

"Then I'm not going or I'm driving myself. I'm not sitting in the back both ways."

"Girls!"

We stare at our mother, both of us smirking. She sighs heavily and pinches the bridge of her nose. I'm not sure what her issue is, it's not like we're fighting or asking her to come in between us.

Well, maybe I am.

"Elle you're in front for the first two stops, and then Peyton until we get home. If you don't like it, I'll stay home."

Mom looks at Elle when she says the last part.

"I'm good with that," I say as I make my way to Mom's car. "Come on, we're going to be late."

Elle likes to sit up front because she likes to control the radio or whatever streaming app she's using. We're halfway down the road when she plays a new song. I find myself bopping along to the beat and even pick up on the catchy chorus.

"Who is this?" I ask.

"Plum," she says. "You remember the all-girl band?"

"I do. I have them on my playlist. I like them a lot."

"This new single is going to drop next week," Elle says.

Mom looks in her rearview mirror. "Ask her who is on back-up."

I don't ask or look at Elle but she answers anyway.

"Quinn," she says. "He worked with them some last year but sings on this album. He also helped produce it. I think he has co-writing credits on three songs."

"Really? Dang, he's so talented."

"They're going on tour soon," Mom says.

I look at Elle for confirmation. She nods. "I'm not going with them. Or maybe I will show up at a couple stops. I don't know. I know dad raised us on a tour bus, but we were also older." Elle shrugs. "Besides, I worry about Ben. It's not like I want to leave a newborn with him and I'm not sure how he feels about tour bus life."

"What about a nanny?" I ask.

"Are you using one?"

I shake my head. "I'm thinking about quitting."

"What?" Mom screeches and I feel the car swerve.

"I know," I say with a sigh. "But we only had two embryos and I feel like I'm blessed to be pregnant now, I really don't want to spend ten hours a day away from this baby. And I don't want someone else to raise him or her."

"What if it's Mom?" Elle asks.

"Unless I quit that means Mom is moving to Portland with Oliver."

"As much as I love you both, I'm not becoming a nanny. Your dad and I are very much looking forward to being grandparents. Spoil them and send them home."

"Like you with Evelyn and Jamie?" Elle asks.

"Exactly," Mom says as she turns into the first vineyard. "We love Oliver, but he's a handful. I never realized how tired I was until he started walking."

"Any word on the adoption?" I ask as we get out of the car.

"Hopefully we'll hear next week. Your dad wants it done because I think the band is going to head back on tour. He doesn't want someone taking a photo of Ollie and having it plastered all over the web."

"The last thing you need is for his mother to come back," Elle says.

"That would break my heart in too many ways to count. At first, it's what I wanted, but now that he's been mine for a year and a half, I can't imagine my life without him."

Elle reaches for my hand. We walk side-by-side, with me in the middle and our mom on my other side. It's an odd formation but works for us.

"He's going to end up being a big brother to our babies," I say.

"If he's anything like Quinny, he'll be the best," Elle says.

"As long as we can teach him to be nice. He's in the pulling, biting, and hitting stage. I have no idea where he's learned any of this because it's not like your dad acts this way. It's definitely not a learned behavior."

"Maybe from the play dates he has?" Elle asks.

"Possibly, but I'm there with him. I don't see it. Although, sharing is an issue at those play groups. The other babies take his toys, and he cries, which I get. Technically, he's an only child and doesn't understand sharing. Your dad and I try to work on it, but I think it's different when it's toddler to toddler."

"Well soon you'll have a houseful," I tell her as we reach the door to the winery. "You'll be on full-time grandma duty while Elle and I are basking in the sun."

Mom lets out a soft chuckle. "I love you dearly, but no."

"Riiight," Elle says as we walk in.

As if on cue, Elle's contact walks out and greets us. She introduces us to Kerry, and we start the tour. She takes us through the vineyard, pointing out the different grapes, and tells us about the growing season. She details the history of the vineyard, what wines they produce, and introduces us to other employees as we walk the grounds. This is all fascinating, if not mundane. Every winery has the same story, it started with a dream, or it's been handed down through many generations. I'm not sure if Elle is even interested or just wants to see the spot where she would walk down the aisle and renew her vows with Ben.

When we finally reach what Kerry refers to as the grand wedding location, I'm not impressed. I have a better view of the ocean from my patio. It's hilly, uneven, and you can faintly hear the water. If Elle and Ben wanted to see the water, they'd have to walk to the edge and the ocean still wouldn't be in their backdrop.

Kerry takes us inside to show us where the reception would be. The room is small, not that Elle's guest list is overly large, but she'll have a live band or four and people will dance. Our father will have industry professionals there and I believe Elle and Ben are inviting some of Noah's teammates. There needs to be space and this room doesn't have it.

Elle glances at me and without her saying anything, she knows I'm not impressed. Sometimes it's hard to hide how you're feeling, but the website for this winery showed a very different picture of what they can offer.

As soon as the tour ends, Kerry urges Elle to sign a contract, saying dates are filling up. She's good at her job, but the winery isn't selling itself. At least, not to me.

"I'm still looking at other places," Elle tells her. Kerry nods. She gets it. Every bride has to do their due diligence. "I'll be in touch."

Once we're an earshot away, I say, "Not a fan. The pictures they have on their website do not match."

"No, they don't. I hate when businesses do this," Mom says. "It really chides my butt that they wasted our time."

"Whoa, Mom. Watch the naughty language," Elle says, and we both laugh. "Don't worry, I'll tell Ben and he'll mention how disgruntled his MIL was during the visit."

"MIL?" she asks.

"Mother-in-law," I tell her.

"Do you call Liam a DIL?"

Elle snorts. "No, but others call Dad and Liam, DILFs."

Mom looks at Elle strangely. I shake my head but know Elle's going to do it.

"Dads I'd like to fu?—"

"Elle Miller so help me. . ." Mom walks off shaking her head.

"She's so easy to rile up," Elle says as she links her arm with mine.

At the car, Elle tells us Ben has started vlogging. It was something his therapist said would help as part of his recovery and acceptance. "You know since he lost his nuts."

"Elle!"

Elle cackles.

"That's pretty cool for Ben," I tell my sister.

Elle nods. "He's doing a pretty detailed account of everything. It's like journaling. At first, I thought it was a bit odd, but he likes it and I like reading and watching the videos he's made. He's taken a bunch of photos and videos on the sly and put them together."

"That's very sweet," I tell her. I don't bother to tell her that Noah's taking a picture of me daily so we can watch the bump grow in real time. It feels intimate and something that should stay between us. I know he plans to share it on his social media sometime after the baby arrives and I'm okay with that, but for right now, I like that it's private.

We pile into my mom's car, with Elle in the front. Instead of going to the next winery, Mom takes us out to lunch. In the back corner, the color pink has exploded, and the section is filled with women, presents and balloons shaped like baby bottles.

"We should probably talk about a baby shower or gender reveal parties," Mom says as we sit down. "We can schedule them after Elle's bridal shower."

"I love presents but don't need a bridal shower. A baby shower for sure," she says.

"I don't want a shower or a party."

"Wait, aren't you and Noah going to find out?" Elle asks.

I shrug. "We've talked about it. One day, we want to know and then the next we want it to be a surprise. Imagine the elation you'd feel when Ben says it's a boy or girl, and you're finding out for the first time."

"I get it," Elle says. "I still want to know though."

"For shopping," Mom adds.

"Definitely," Elle says. "I want everything bought and done so I can rest on maternity leave and not have to worry about anything. Just me, the baby and Ben, living in bliss."

"Part of me wants that too," I tell her and my mom. "But I don't know. There's something about the element of surprise."

Mom nods. "You have a very valid point. I don't care what you girls have, as long as they're healthy and my babies stay safe. It's all I can ask for."

"How does it feel knowing you're going to be a grandma?" Elle asks her.

"A lot better than it did when I found out I was having twins," she said. "Even though I wouldn't trade you girls for anything, having multiples scared the shit out of me."

"Ben wants twins," Elle says. "One of each and then we can be done."

"Noah wants a football team," I tell them. "He'll be over-the-moon happy with the one he's getting."

Mom and Elle laugh. We pick up our menus and have our orders ready by the time the server comes to the table. With our glasses raised, Mom says, "To my babies and their babies, I'm one lucky woman."