The Man Who Can't Be Moved

“It’s like the blind leading the blind,” Peyton observes, her hand pressed against her forehead as she shields her eyes from the harsh rays of later afternoon and shakes her head in both amusement in dismay at the group of men huddled around the brand new barbeque at the far end of the deck.

It’s a monstrous and extremely expensive stainless steel contraption that my husband had announced during a stop in at Home Depot -we were only supposed to check out what kind of different options and designs there were decks because we wanted to ‘update’ our entire backyard- that he was not only buying on the spot but I was to consider it one of my birthday presents. Sure it’s shiny and pretty -as far as outdoor grills can go- but it certainly isn’t the kind of bling a girl has her mind set on and I’d let him know through a series of bitchy glares and snide comments that there was no way in hell he was going to survive to my twentieth birthday if that’s what he had in mind as a present. It’s like the time he bought the Nintendo Wii at Christmas and told me that it was ‘for both us and for our kids when we have them’ when in reality I knew full well I’d probably never touch the damn thing.

“You know there’s serious issues when they’re talking solid French,” Carole-Lyne -Pascal Dupuis’ wife- comments from the other side of the wrought iron and glass table that us women have gathered at; alcoholic and booze free drinks in coloured pitchers and a vast assortment of chips, popcorn, cheese and crackers, a veggie tray accompanied by my mother in law’s homemade dip, and three shrimp rings scattered across the table top. “When there’s no English whatsoever making its way through, you know it’s intense.”

“Max only talks solid French at home when he’s really pissed off, really drunk or both,” I say, as I kick off my flip flops, stretch out my legs and prop my aching, swollen feet in Audrey’s lap as she sits across from me. “And look at Tyler and Jordy’s faces,” I smirk, as I lean over and snag a handful of Doritos from the plastic bowl closest to me. “They’re both wishing they’d paid more attention in French class all through high school.”

“How hard could it possibly be?” Kelsey inquires. “It’s only a barbeque. And isn’t barbecuing a huge deal with Canadians? Especially up north? You’d think seeing as both Jordan and Tyler have probably spent years slaving away over one they’d know how to use the damn thing.”

“Get men together and mix in beer and everything seems more complicated,” Carole-Lyne says. “When they’re alone they can program the DVD player and figure out the issues with the computer, but once they’re in a group it’s like they’re all sharing one brain.”

“How much longer should I let them stand there looking stupid before I tell them that they have to hit the reset switch on the back and then press the power button?” I ask, and then give an innocent shrug when every eye at the table zeros in on me. “It’s funny!” I cry, and nod towards where five grown men are all scratching their heads in confusion and bickering amongst each other. “Can I help it if I get my amusement from my husband’s dorky moments? And trust me; he has a lot of dorky moments. You have to wonder how someone that looks like that…”

I nod in Max’s direction; he’s looking extra attractive this afternoon -not that he isn’t always the sexiest man alive in my opinion, just that there’s times where my hormones sky rocket quicker than usual- in a pair of baggy tan coloured cargo shorts, a burgundy t-shirt that’s snug around his biceps and across his chest, and a backwards Pirates cap. Even the facial hair is doing something for me; it’s just the start of his playoff beard but it’s already putting all of his other teammates’ scruff to shame.

“…can possibly be that huge of a dork," I finish. "But he is! I don’t think any of you realize just how geeky that man can be!”

“Is it just me or does Jordan look like an Amish farmer with that beard?” Audrey inquires, as she helps herself to one of my mother’s famous -and impossible delicious- devilled eggs. “I think I’m going to start calling him Josef.”

“Wait until Max’s gets worse and I start calling him the Unabomber,” I grin. “You know what the extremely scary thing about his beard is? Or should I say his beard growing skills? It looked like that when he was in Junior A. Now what teenage guy can grow a beard like that? I am telling you…” I point a Dorito in my husband’s direction. “…part Yeti.”

“I have to say, my Kristopher is even hotter with a beard,” Peyton gives a dreamy sigh and sips at her virgin cocktail; a mixture of peach and cranberry juices and Sprite.

“Is it even possible for Lepretty to be even prettier?” I ask. “It’s totally unfair that one man can be that attractive. Why do the two of you have to be so damn gorgeous? Why do you have to make the rest of us look like complete and utter shit?”

“They’ll either have a really gorgeous baby or a really ugly one,” Kelsey says. “No in between.”

“I just want a baby bump!” Peyton cries, and lays her hands on the sides of her stomach. “A legitimate one! I’m almost seven months and I barely have one!”

“You’ll wake up the morning you hit eight months and be as big as a house,” Carole-Lyne assures her. “That’s exactly what happened to me with my first pregnancy. It wasn’t until I was eight months where my stomach really took off. Up until then I could barely fill out any of my maternity clothes. And why would you want a huge tummy anyway?”

“Peyton wants to be able to flaunt it in all of the puck sluts’ faces,” I reveal. “She wants to have this massive stomach so that it’s impossible for those bitches to miss. Not that you can’t already tell that there’s a baby in there, but…”

“Bigger the bump, bigger smack in the face it is to the puck bunnies,” Audrey concludes.

“In that case, Em is smacking a whole lot of bitches,” my brother’s girlfriend teases me. “I think she’s already managed to knock out three quarters of them.”

“That is one epic baby bump,” Peyton agrees. “Either there’s actually four babies in there or Max makes huge kids.”

“There’s only two and the doctor says that they’re actually a normal size for how far along I am,” I say. “I just happen to retaining a shit load of water. Not to mention I can’t stop eating. It’s impossible. I never feel full. I just eat and eat and eat and eat.”

“And what she does eat is disgusting,” Peyton tattles. “I’ve never seen someone eat so much junk in my entire life. Especially if it involves peanut butter and chocolate. Or Taco Bell.”

“Taco Bell…” I sigh contently. “…I could seriously go for some fries supreme right now.”

“I can’t take another second of this blatantly display of stupidity,” Audrey declares, and then pushes her chair away from the table, jumps to her feet and hurries towards the end of the deck. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?!” she cries, and then easily locates the reset switch and fires up the barbeque with a simple push of the power button. “What a bunch of dorks,” she mutters, receiving dirty looks from the men and rounds of applause from the women as she returns to our ‘hen party’.

It’s been quite possible the best birthday I’ve ever had; a celebration of my twentieth that has stretched the span of two days. Last night Max and I had gone out for a quiet and romantic dinner at my favourite restaurant in downtown Pittsburgh; our last dinner together before I’d been shipped off to Montreal had been at Nine on Nine and I’d loved it so much that he’d promised to take me back the second I arrived back in Pittsburgh. That hadn’t happened, but he had remembered how I’d enjoyed it and had gone ahead and made reservations behind my back and had had my favourite flowers waiting at the table and had given me a beautiful antique platinum and diamond cuff bracelet. Today we’re having a little get together with the people that we’re closest with; my mother in law had been slaving in the kitchen since the early morning hours and had baked all my favourite treats -and a second birthday cake- and had spoiled all of us with homemade appetizers that rival any restaurant or catering company. It’s paradise in the middle of the Pens’ hectic playoff schedule; we have four days before they’re back on the ice against the Washington Capitals and it’s nice to be able to kick back and relax and temporarily push all of the stress and anxiety to the backburner.

*******

“What happened?” I inquire, as my husband plops down into the empty chair to my right and leans over to snag a bottle of Bud from one of several open cases littering the deck. “Did you get owned by a woman?”

“Story of your life, huh Max?” Peyton teases. “You’re used to being whipped into shape by a member of the fairer sex.”

“I already knew how to start the thing up for the first time,” he says, as he twists the cap of his bottle, tosses it into the case below and then takes a swig of beer. “I just wanted to see if anyone else could figure it. I didn’t want to show anyone up and make them look stupid. I didn’t want to gloat and rub it in their faces that I’m so much smarter than everyone else.”

“Sure Max…sure…” I give a derisive snort and snag my own drink -a mixture of chocolate and white milk in a massive neon orange plastic tumbler- from the table. “If you tell yourself that often enough, you’ll actually start believing it. And how come you’re not over there cooking?”

“’Cause I’m lazy,” he readily admits. “I’m lazy and tired of being the one that does everything around here and…” he winces when I grab a handful of the hair on his thigh and give an aggressive tug. “…my dad took over,” he says, and nods in the direction of where my father in law is giving Jordan, Tyler and Pascal -or Pasquale as I call him- tips on how to cook perfect barbeque. “…he likes to feel important so I humour him.”

“Exactly what I do with you,” I tease. “I humour you by actually letting you think you have some semblance of control in our marriage.”

He rolls his eyes, takes another swallow of beer and then drapes his arm around my shoulders; the bottle of beer cold against the bare skin of my upper arm. “Babies…” he reaches across his body with his other arm and lays a hand on my stomach. “…wake up…your mommy’s being mean to me…punish her…”

“Please do not get them started,” I plead, and removing his sunglasses from their resting place on the brim of backwards cap, slip them onto my face. “They just spent the last hour trying to make themselves comfortable. I have someone’s ass right here…” I point to top of my stomach just under my right ribs “…and someone’s head here…” I lay a hand on the left hand side near my hip. “…not the most comfortable thing in the entire world. So if you don’t mind…gardez vos mains à vous-même.”

“Now I’m sure that’s a first for Max,” Carole-Lyne grins. “I’m sure he’s never had a woman tell him to keep his hands to himself.”

“Him not being able to keep his hands to himself is what led to this…” I nod down at my stomach, and then lean forward to grab a few chocolate covered almonds from one of the dishes.

“Actually what led to that was two bottles of white wine, your faulty birth control and the fact that the pull out method obviously doesn’t work,” Max retorts, and then chuckles and jerks away from me when I issue an elbow to his ribs. “I’m just kidding…” he pouts dramatically, strokes my tummy gently and then presses a kiss to my temple and nuzzles my ear with the tip of his nose. “…just kidding…it’s a blessing…they both are.”

“You two make me sick,” Audrey complains. “I can’t stand being around you guys. I can’t stomach the way you two look at each other. It’s all a little too PG-13 cheesy romance. You know, where the guy is constantly gazing adoringly at the girl and wearing his heart on his sleeve.”

“Trust me, we are nothing but NC-17 behind closed doors,” Max retorts.

“I’d rather be around when he’s looking at her like that…” Peyton nods in our direction. “…than be around when Jordan is looking at you like some piece of meat he can’t wait to devour. I don’t mind seeing a guy sometimes get that crazed, rabid, ‘I want to hump your leg’ look, but when it’s a constant thing…”

“Jordy’s just one huge perv,” I conclude. “And from what I’ve heard about a certain someone, she’s just as bad and practically rapes him the second he walks in the door.”

“Lucky guy,” my husband sighs. “I remember when you used to rape me the second I walked in the door.”

“Like you have anything to complain about,” I mutter. “You’re hardly suffering. Do I need to remind you that it was you who woke me up at six o’clock this morning? And then again at eight. And that it was you who wouldn’t let me go downstairs for lunch even until you were finished doing a little something-something even though your mother called us at least a dozen a times?”

“You’re like a dog in heat Max,” Kelsey chides.

“Can I help it that I’m married to an insanely beautiful, incredible sexy woman?” he asks. “Can I help it if she…”

“.....give him the most phenomenal sex he’s ever had in his entire life,” I finish for him, jabbing my elbow into his stomach playfully and then kissing his cheek. “…admit it, baby. I rock your world in ways none of your other girlfriends ever did.”

“And she uses the term girlfriends extremely loosely,” Peyton teases. “Monsieur Letang…” she beams up at her new husband as he joins us, his love and adoration clearly evident in his eyes and through the tender smile that curves his lips as he runs a hand over her golden tresses and drops a kiss on the top of her head. “You’re brave…” she turns her face up for a peck to the lips before he slides into the chair alongside of her. “…coming over here with all these women.”

“I figured Max could use some backup,” he says. “Although we don’t stand much of a chance when it’s two against five. Here Emma-Leigh…” he plops a gift bag -a Strawberry Shortcake one in honour of my favourite cartoon character growing up- in the middle of the table. “…this isn’t your real present from me and Peyton. This is just something strictly from me. A little something extra.”

“You’re buying my wife presents?” Max’s eyes narrowed. “This better not be a lead up to these babies coming out looking just like you.”

“He figured us out Kristopher,” I lean across the table and grab the bag. “He’s discovered our dirty little secret. He knows all about our illicit affair and the fact that the twins are actually yours. Wait until he finds out about the threesomes we’ve been having with Peyton.”

“You need to just chill,” Kris addresses Max. “No one is doing anything they shouldn’t be with your wife. This is just something that I found and I thought it would be cute to give it to her. You know, like a big brother giving his little sister a gift. Relax.”

“If you were my brother, I would have had a lot more girlfriends growing up,” I say, as I set the gift bag in my lap and eagerly attack the purple and pink tissue paper inside. “I know they would have only been my friends to get into your pants, but still. At least I would have…oh my God!” I shriek in excitement as I finally unearth my ‘present’. “The Mister Rogers sweater!” I cry, and pull it out of the bag and lay the robin egg blue knit monstrosity against my body as everyone at the table laughs. “I can’t believe Peyton told you about this!”

“You told me to ask him if he had it lying around the house,” my best friend says. “You said that you wouldn’t mind having it so…”

“It was actually back home in Montreal,” Kris admits. “I had my mom dig it out of my closet and then mail it to me. I wasn’t ever going to wear it again, so…”

“If you weren’t ever going to wear it again why did you keep it?” Peyton inquires. “If you had no intention of wearing it a second time, why didn’t you just get rid of it? Or say no thanks when the designer asked if you wanted to take it home?”

“I took the clothes home to be nice,” he lamely explains, as he pushes his chair away from the table, stands up and makes his way towards me. “Not because I was going to actually wear them. People do favours for friends. To be nice.”

“In that case, you’ll be the one that I enlist to help me build the deck,” Max toasts him with his beer. “Seeing as you’re in such a generous, helpful mood.”

“I love it,” I gush, and cuddle the sweater to my chest. “Merci beaucoup, Kristopher. It’s very sweet of you to go to all that trouble.”

“It was no trouble,” he assures me, and leans down to press a kiss to each of my cheeks. “I just thought it would be something cute to do.”

“Very cute,” I press my lips against each of his cheeks in return. “Thank you. You’re a doll.”

“Just remember who put those babies in there,” Max jokingly warns his friend. “You just remember who got her barefoot and pregnant, Tanger.”

“It’s perfect!” I cry happily, as I shrug into the sweater and draw it around my body. “And…” I turn my face into the collar and inhale deeply. “…it smells incredible. No wonder Peyton can’t keep her clothes on around you, Lepretty.”

“Seems to me that that’s a serious issue with all women married to Frenchmen,” Kelsey teases, and gestures towards my stomach.

“It’s the accent,” I conclude. “I am telling you, Max could be just reading the ingredients off a cereal box or telling me all about the weather, but if it’s in French or even if it’s in English but he’s doing that really quiet thing with his voice…”

“She’s all over me like flies on shit,” my husband concludes. “Like at six in the morning when I’m telling her about how I’m going to take the dogs for a walk and she suddenly just throws me down on the bed and…”

“That is so not what happened,” I roll my eyes. “Don’t make it sound as if you weren’t the instigator. Don’t sit there and pretend you’re this innocent little thing when…”

“Remember the certain two people that you invited but you were pretty sure wouldn’t come…” Kris suddenly whispers to Max. “…well…guess what…” he jerks his head in the direction of the stairs leading up to the deck. “…they showed up.”

“Who are you talking about?” I ask, glancing towards the parties in question just as I lift my drink to my lips. “Who did you invite that you didn’t think would come? Who…?”

The rest of my sentence doesn’t get a chance to leave my lips as the invited -yet obviously unexpected- guests come into view.

“Now this could get very interesting,” Audrey mutters from across the table.

Sid and Autumn.

So much for an uneventful birthday.