Epilogue
No, no, no. It can’t be the baby again. He was just up like 3 hours ago! If it hadn’t
been apparent by the curly brown hair and dimples, this child’s incessant bellowing for
me would be proof positive that this is Josh’s child. That’s another thing; I carry the
child for 9 months, I’m sick as hell the whole time, and out comes the spitting image of
Josh! What the hell?
I blearily get up from where I’d been trying to nap on the couch. When you have a
new baby, everyone tells you to sleep when the baby sleeps. It’s a good idea in
theory, but in reality, it just doesn’t work. When I finally get the baby down, I need to
eat, do laundry and a host of other things that need to be done. Josh has tried to
help, but he’s only around at nights and on weekends and honestly, we’re both so
exhausted that if he’s able to get sleep while he’s home, I’m inclined to just let him
sleep.
Looking back, perhaps the mistake was in thinking that we could handle a newborn
infant and moving into a new house all at once. I believed that with my exceptional
organizational and research skills, that I could handle a move to our new house 3
months after the baby was born.
When I said I could handle all the details of a move to a new house along with caring
for a newborn infant? I may have been overstating things a bit.
Wow. Our child is very loud.
“Shhhhh…shhhh… Noah. Mommy’s here. It’s okay now.” I pick him up and hold him to
me, unsure yet if he is genuinely hungry or if he just wants attention. You’d think after
almost 12 weeks, I’d have it all down pat. But just like his father, Noah Thomas Lyman
has the ability to flummox me. It becomes clear very quickly that he wants to eat so I
settle into our rocking chair in his beautiful new nursery. I look over at the clock and
see that I’ve got about 5 hours before the hordes descend.
Not a horde exactly, just a conglomeration of our friends and family coming over for a
house warming party. It’s Saturday, so technically Josh should be home right now, but
something came up and he had to take a last minute meeting. His new assistant
doesn’t quite have a handle on how to schedule him yet, but she’s coming along.
Most importantly, she doesn’t take his crap seriously and she never gets him coffee.
Josh wasn’t happy about my decision to leave the White House to work in Sam’s D.C.
office, but in the end, he understood my reasoning and supported me. He went
through 3 different assistants before we landed on Julia. She’s bright, organized, and
has proven herself to be very valuable.
I hear the front door slam and I smile. My man is home.
“Perfect timing Noah, Daddy’s home!” I tell our son excitedly. He may not understand
everything I say yet, but he gets the tone and gurgles happily while I’m burping him.
“Hey!” Josh calls from the nursery doorway. He’s learned the hard way that he may
not bellow for me from downstairs. He did it once and woke up Noah. Let’s just say he
was sporting bruises from the incident for a week.
“What took you so long?” I ask.
“The guys a windbag. I got out as soon as I could. Hey, buddy!” he addresses the last
to Noah as he takes the baby out of my arms. “Are you ready for our big party today?
Lots of people are coming to see you, you know.”
“Technically, they’re coming to see the house.” I correct him.
“Nah…that’s just an excuse to see my boy.”
“Excuse me?”
“Our boy. They want to see our boy.” Josh is quick to correct himself.
“That’s more like it.” I reply and lay my head back against the rocker and close my
eyes for just a minute. Maybe now that Josh is home, I can get a quick nap. Josh
seems to read my mind. Even though we’re not working together anymore, that has
never changed.
“You look wiped. Why don’t you get a nap before everyone comes over? Noah and I
can hang out and talk sports.” They both smile at me with matching dimples; women
of the district, beware.
“I’d love that.” I admit. Cardinal Rule; when your husband offers to take care of the
baby so you can sleep, let him. “Don’t let me sleep too long, though, okay?”
“We can handle things, Mom. Can’t we Noah?” Josh looks to our son like he’s going to
provide and essay answer to the question. Instead, the child just gurgles again. “See?
He says we’ve got it covered.”
“Right.” I drawl. “Just make sure you wake me up by 2. Sam is coming over at 3 and
everyone else is due at 4. I need time to get ready before they get here.”
“I can handle Sam by myself.” He contradicts me. This is not the first argument we’ve
had about this. Sam wasn’t happy about the way he won his Congressional seat, but
he was dealing with it okay. He was determined that he’d be a much better
representative for the people in the 47th district and that helped take some of the
sting out of everything. Then the unthinkable happened. Rather than face criminal
charges, Chuck Webb took his own life with a handgun. Ironically, it was
manufactured by El Diablo. He left behind a disgraced widow, and an extremely angry
son.
The whole episode threw Sam into a depression that he hasn’t been able to snap out
of. The only times we see him genuinely smiling anymore is when he’s with Noah, so
we’ve been including Uncle Sam in as many family activities as we can. Josh likes to
think he can cajole Sam out of this funk, but he steps into landmines with it at least as
often as he manages to cheer his friend up. He really needs help with this, but I’m not
going to argue.
“Sure you can, but I like to spend some time with Sam, too.” I say diplomatically.
“You’re just saying that to placate me, right?” He calls to me as I leave the ‘men’ alone
in the nursery.
“Right.” I call back before falling into bed and directly into sleep.
I wake up with a start when I hear strange voices; male and female. It takes me a
moment, but then I identify them. It’s Sam and Ainsley. My head turns in alarm to the
digital clock on the bedside table; 3:11 p.m. Joshua! I’m going to kill him.
In a panic, I grab the dress I picked out earlier, throw it on and pull my hair back into a
pony tail. I only take enough time to add some lipstick and mascara before I rush into
the nursery to see Sam, Ainsley, and the fink I married standing over the crib,
admiring my son.
They must hear my breathless arrival because they all turn to greet me.
“There she is.” Sam smiles. “You look beautiful.”
“I’m a mess.” I correct him and throw daggers at my husband who stares back at me
innocently. “SOMEONE was supposed to wake me over an hour ago so I had time to
get ready.” I kiss Sam’s cheek and turn to Ainsley. “Ainsley, I’m so glad you could
make it too.”
“I’m delighted to be included. Don’t be too hard on Josh, Donna. He was just sharing
how he hadn’t been able to help much the last few days and wanted you to get as
much rest as possible before the gang arrived.” Ainsley explained. “Guys don’t
understand that women like to have a little preparation time to get themselves
organized.”
“Donna doesn’t need organization time. She has everything managed down to the last
detail.” Josh brags in an attempt to get out of the doghouse with me. It doesn’t work.
“It isn’t easy to get Secret Service to approve the President and First Lady’s trip to a
private home.”
“I can only imagine.” Ainsley agrees. “But seeing to the details has always been one
of Donna’s gifts.”
“She’s the only thing that’s stood between Josh and disaster on more occasions than I
can count.” Sam teases.
“I don’t feel like it.” I admit. “The lack of sleep and the stress of moving has really
taken its’ toll on my brain.”
“That’s perfectly normal.” Ainsley assures me. “Both my sisters went through the
same thing when they had their children.”
“How long does it go on for?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Well, my oldest niece is nearly 11, and it hasn’t stopped yet.” Ainsley tells me.
“Terrific.” I drawl with a smile.
“Let’s focus on today.” Ainsley determines. “What can we do to help you get ready?”
“There really shouldn’t be much. The caterer takes care of the food, the dishes, the
cutlery; everything.” I explain.
“That’s perfect.” Sam cuts in. “You’ve had enough on your plate between the baby,
the new house, and working part time for my office to be doing all that yourself.”
“What time are they supposed to be here?” Josh asks. “I mean, shouldn’t they be
here by now if the rest of our guests are coming at 4?”
“Well, yes.” I answer, puzzled. “That’s strange isn’t it? I better give them a call.” I
disappear into the bedroom to place the call and find out what the delay is.
Five minutes later, Josh comes into our room to find me hanging up the phone with
tears running down my face.
“Donna? What’s wrong, baby?” He asks as he turns me toward him.
“They’re not coming.” I tell him.
“Who’s not coming? The Bartlet’s?” he guesses.
“I wish! No, the caterers; they’re not coming.” I say a little too loudly.
“What? Why not?”
“Because…because…” I can’t finish the sentence and it’s way too late to call
everyone and cancel.
“Talk to me Donna. Why aren’t they coming?”
“Because…I forgot to call and confirm the arrangements. I had until a certain day and
time to confirm everything and when I didn’t, they cancelled everything.” I wail. “We
have about 40 guests coming to our home in 30 minutes, including the President and
First Lady! What am I going to do?”
“Shit.” Josh replies and sends me into another fit of tears. “Hold on. Wait. First of all,
we’re going to fix this together, so just take a deep breath. Now think. Where else can
we get some food and beverages?”
“That have already been vetted by the Secret Service?” I ask. “Nowhere. And even if
there were someplace, we don’t even have a plate or cup to serve it in.”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” Josh admits. This is absolutely horrible. We are totally
screwed. The only thing that could make this worse is if Noah woke up while we were
trying to sort this out.
On cue, Josh’s child lets out an incredible wail.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Okay. This is about to be very messy. Donna looks like she’s dangling at the end of a
very frayed rope.
“I’ll get the baby!” Sam calls from the living room. Thank God for Sam’s incessant
need to be branded favorite uncle. He and Noah have very long one-sided
conversations. I’d make fun of him, but I do, too. Noah’s easy to tell stuff to.
“Donna…”
“What. Are. We. Going. To. Do?” She punctuates each word. Bad. Sign.
“Baby, don’t have a nutty.” I immediately dive in for damage control.
“The President of the United States of America and the First Lady are coming to our
house ANY MINUTE and they’ll be joined by about 20 of our closest friends and family
and we have absolutely nothing to feed these people. Why is it, exactly, that I shouldn’
t have a nutty? What part of this situation from HELL is not nutty worthy, Josh? This
was not a pot luck party! I DO NOT forget things, Josh! But my brain seems to have
fallen out of my head and since I do not HAVE a brain right now, I don’t really know
where to start to look for it! Furthermore --”
“No! Not furthermore.” I put both of my hands in her upper arms and lead her
backwards until she sits on the bed. “I am going to fix this.”
“How?” She’s not the slightest bit curious. She thinks it’s impossible.
“Donna, this is what I do. I fix things.”
She lets out what can only be described as a guffaw.
“What the hell is that for?” I demand indignantly.
“Joshua, you cause mass chaos wherever you go. You fix things, yes, but not this
kind of stuff.”
“I’m on it.” I say and leave the room.
“Where are you going?” she demands and she’s immediately falling into step with me
as I move down our upstairs hallway towards the office. Right here, right now it strikes
me how much I truly miss her at the White House.
“I’m going to make a phone call.” I say simply. “You go back to the bedroom and do
whatever it is you do when you’re getting ready, or make sure Sam and Ainsley are
okay with the baby. I’ve got this under control.”
“So help me, Joshua, if pizza or Chinese enters this house when the President of the
United States is in it…” she starts.
“No take out. I promise.” Even though the President loves both those cuisines.
“What are you going to do?” She asks arching a brow.
“I’m going to fix it and you’re not going worry your beautiful mind one more second
over it.”
She’s extremely wary and backs away slowly. I don’t blame her. First of all, she’s
exhausted; secondly, I’ve almost set the White House on fire and invented a secret
plan to fight inflation. Fixing things often won’t go my way, but I’ve got a fool proof plan
and let me tell you, it’s one that she’s not going to like at all.
I go into the office and close the door. I pick up the phone and dial. After a few
minutes of threatening some jobs, I’m finally put through the private line in the
Residence where I proceed to dump the entire problem into Abbey’s lap.
“DONNA forgot?” she asks incredulously. “That’s not something Donna forgets, Josh.
Surely she delegated this to you and this is your screw up.”
“Unfortunately, Mrs. B., this one’s not me.” I sigh. “Donna is so incredibly exhausted.
She put the milk in the pantry yesterday. She’s firing on one very battered cylinder.”
“Noah’s three months old. He’ll sleep through the night any day now.” Abbey assures.
“In the meantime, Donna’s forgetting to confirm caterers.”
“What is it you want me to do?” Abbey asks.
“Dr. B! You’re Abigail Bartlet! You’re the First Lady of the United States. You’re
America’s hostess. You’ve got to know someone I can call on extremely short notice
who’s been vetted by the Secret Service.”
“You want them to feed 25 people in an hour!”
“Yes, I know.”
“Josh, you cause destruction everywhere you go.” Abbey spits out.
“In my defense, I’m aware of that.”
“Well, I don’t know…” she starts. “Oh wait, yes, I do.”
“You have someone?”
“I do. I’ll take care of it, Josh.”
“Donna ordered all the plates, glasses and silverware from the caterer, too.” I supply.
“Of course she did.” Abbey sighs. “I can take care of that, too.”
“You’re an angel, Abbey.”
“Uh-huh.” She says. “We’re going to be a little late now.”
“S’okay with me.” I say and disconnect the call. The wife of the leader of the free world
is now on food prep for my housewarming party.
Isn’t this country great?
I saunter back down to the bedroom where Donna is hurling clothes out of the closet
over her shoulder and onto the bed.
“I fixed it!” I announce triumphantly entering the bedroom.
“Already? What’d you do?”
“Fixed it.” I shrug.
“And it’s not pizza and it’s not Chinese?”
“Well, I didn’t make that stipulation.” I confess. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not going to be
pizza or Chinese.”
“And it’s not going to be paper plates and plastic forks?”
“I highly doubt it.”
“Who’d you call?” she asks cocking her head to the side.
“A friend.” I’m intentionally vague. When Abbey and the President show up with the
food, Donna’s going to punch me.
“Well…okay, I guess.” She says.
“I’m going to get the baby.” I say hooking a thumb over my shoulder and heading out
of the bedroom.
I find Sam and Ainsley whispering in the living room. They came here together. That’s
kind of odd. I always wondered why Sam didn’t ask her out when he worked at the
White House. They remind me a lot of me and Donna, which is why I guess I can
overlook the Republican bit.
Sam’s not happy when I liberate my son from him. Too bad. I went through a lot for
this kid and I don’t feel bad about hogging him. When I look at him now, I can’t bear to
think that there was ever the possibility that he might not have been here. But in
hindsight, I should have known that Donna would never have gone through with it, but
we were both in very emotional places then, so it’s tough to say, I guess.
Donna’s been feeling great since he’s been born, albeit very tired. She’s only working
part-time for Sam right now, but she plans on going back to work full-time soon.
Sam took this Webb thing hard. He wasn’t happy with the way he won. I’ve tried to
convince him that how he won isn’t as important as what he does with it. Whether or
not he’s re-elected is the true test, and the people of Orange County really deserved
to know what kind of guy they had there. But Sam’s not like that, so he’s going to
have to come to terms with it in his own time, I guess.
I’m strangely looking forward to the day my office and Sam’s has to interact, or more
importantly Donna and my office have to interact. She’ll employ all my tricks against
me, I’m sure, and when that doesn’t work, just resort to getting to me through just the
normal course of being married to her. Am I some kind of masochist for looking
forward to that?
Getting adjusted to a baby in the house has been quite the eye opening experience. It’
s like we can’t do anything right. I don’t know if it’s just new parent syndrome or if it’s
just the old adage of whatever can go wrong, will go wrong. If Donna gets the baby to
sleep, I’ll come home, not know he’s asleep and accidentally slam the door. Donna
took him to the store with her, didn’t anticipate the length of time she’d actually be
gone in relation to his mealtime and he started to wail throughout the store.
The doorbell rings and I smile down to Noah and pass him off to Ainsley to open the
door.
“Uh, Josh?” she says trying to get my attention.
“Just a sec.”
I move to the door and when I open it, CJ, Toby, my mother, Leo, Ginger, Margaret,
Carol, Bonny, Ed, Larry, Matt and Mike are all standing there.
“What’d you guys take a party bus over?” I smirk.
They all look at me, then down at my chest. I look down at my shirt. There’s baby spit
up all over it.
My friends, whatever can go wrong, will go wrong.
And that’s Murphy’s Law.
THE END