1881 Hameau des Artistes -- Michaud Household

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

This time last year, Lucian was just moving into this place. He was knee-deep in Styrofoam packing peanuts and looking at the sad remains of his life, which fit all too neatly into a couple boxes. There were no Christmas lights; no tree. And that year, Lucian hadn’t minded much. He’d planned to spend last year alone, wallowing in his post-divorce, basking in it. Reveling. Drinking, staring at the fireplace, pretending to read. Thinking on it now was laughable. Ashton had swept into Lucian’s living room almost exactly a year ago, suitcases in tow. With her, she’d brought an air of holiday cheer. She’d made Christmas worth celebrating; later, she’d made everything else worthy of celebration. But even a year after that fateful Christmas, they had no tree, no string of lights, no mistletoe. It was blasphemous. Well, almost.

You know, they’d gotten their start over a Christmas song.

Now they were tacking up lights together and Ashton’s face flushed with green-and-red glow. Lucian, who was supposed to be stringing mistletoe from the ceiling stood on a step-ladder watching her untangle strings of lights with skilled fingers. He loved her fingers. They were long and nimble. Piano fingers, his mum would have called them. Lucian didn’t have piano fingers; his fingers were short compared to his long palms and they looked shorter somehow because of the guitar calluses that harshened them. Not like Ashton’s. Ashton had calluses on her feet; her hands she rubbed with sweet-smelling lotions so they stayed touchable. They did all sorts of things, her hands. They chopped vegetables at lightning speeds, they raked down Lucian’s back until his spine tingled, they twirled in Ashton’s hair, they played the piano. And they tasted salty sweet.

But now Ashton’s hands arranged Christmas lights, as if they’d been doing exactly this every December. There was no uncertainty in them, which was what Lucian loved best. Ashton was a deliberate woman; one who adapted on the fly and who stuck to her choices, even when they led to some crazy outcome.

Even if that outcome was marrying Lucian and raising a family together.

That hadn’t been in either of their plans last Christmas. They’d both been too busy to notice they’d fallen in love until it was much too late to do anything but give in. But that hadn’t happened for a while—months, maybe—until after last Christmas. It was really wonderful how far they’d come.

Ashton stood up and wandered over to Lucian.

“Put that down a second,” she said, tugging at his waist. It was only then Lucian realized he hadn’t even hung the mistletoe. “Come here.”

The mistletoe hit the ground gracelessly. Lucian clambered off the ladder and squeezed between it and Ashton, who nestled against him. Lucian shut his eyes and kissed the crown of her head.

“I like it. I mean, we’re not done yet, but I like it so far. And I think Gregory will, too. Just think: when he’s born, all of this stuff will be here for his first Christmas, and it’s here now for our first Christmas together. I mean our first Christmas as a couple.” She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling him warm against her. “This is the first time in a long time Christmas has felt like Christmas.”

“No kidding,” Lucian mumbled against her hair.

The last real Christmas he’d had was five years ago. Maybe six. Probably six. Five years ago, he’d been married to an unfaithful woman and juggling a crumbling career in politics and a moody teenage son who was too cool to come home for the holidays. Six years ago, at least, he’d been blissfully ignorant, wildly popular in the polls, and he could mandate Damien not shovel down goose and potatoes before rushing out the door like a wild animal. That had been his last normal Christmas. Even last year, for all its magic, had not been normal. Lucian had drank too much the night previous and his family was in disarray. Now, everything was properly reconfigured. And Lucian was sober. Happy. Even with Henry the Terrible wasting space in the guest room. Lucian rested his cheek against Ashton’s.

“Damien said he’s coming for Christmas Day,” Lucian said. “When are Delilah and Theodore arriving?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“No kidding,” Lucian agreed into her hair, his lips mussing it up a little. The last Christmas she had with a family all together was the year her mother died. Christmas didn’t smell like the usual yule log and peppermint ginger cookies like it did every other year. It smelt like vomit and salty, silent tears. That year, Ashton’s father carried her mother down the stairs and sat her up in his chair comfortably. She was blind by then and her speech was slurred, but through the pain and occasional fountain of sick, she was happy to be with them, she was beautiful. All the years after that, she’d spent it with solely her father, solely her sister, with a boyfriend, or alone. Christmas hadn’t felt the same since—it felt cold and lifeless.

But now here she sat with her fiancé, her father working in the other room, her unborn son’s presence felt, and her sister’s family’s impending arrival buzzing through the air. Christmas was finally warm again, with its spark turning back on like a once broken Christmas light, bright and vibrant and emanating a hot glow of love and family. Ashton took in a deep, relaxing breath, smiling contentedly.

“Damien said he’s coming for Christmas Day,” Lucian said. “When are Delilah and Theodore arriving?”

“I don’t know, actually. An hour or two? But in the meantime, do you want to light a fire and make some hot chocolate?” Ashton’s eyes fell on the mistletoe Lucian had dropped and scooped it up. “Actually, I have a better idea than even that!” She laughed, raising the berries and leaves above her head. “Pucker up, my love.”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

It would be a full house on Christmas Day. Lucian struggled to remember the last time he’d had a full house. He didn’t bother for long; it wasn’t as if those past Christmases had any bearing on this one. Chances were, thinking on them would only spoil the moment.

“I don’t know, actually. An hour or two? But in the meantime, do you want to light a fire and make some hot chocolate?”

Before Lucian could say “yes”, Ashton got a mischievous little grin on her face and she reached for something off the floor.

“Actually, I have a better idea than even that!” She laughed, raising the berries and leaves above her head. “Pucker up, my love.”

Lucian looked up for a moment. Mistletoe. He grinned wickedly back before crushing his lips to Ashton’s. They were back to sneaking around, in a way, stealing moments when they could, when Henry wasn’t looking or listening so he could make disparaging comments. Lucian supposed it was good practice for when Gregory was born. They’d have to behave then, too. Or pretend to. But not now. Not in these stolen moments. Not when it was just the two of them and a handful of mistletoe. Lucian slid his hands into Ashton’s hair.

And then the doorbell rang. Lucian groaned into Ashton’s mouth, but didn’t pull away. Whoever it was could wait a minute more.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Under the invitation of mistletoe, Ashton melted into Lucian’s kiss as he swallowed her lips whole in his own mouth. Henry would never hear them and she could feel the rush and whoosh of time ticking by, double time to her own heartbeat at Delilah and Theodore’s arrival. Lucian entangled his fingers in her blonde hair and pulled and tugged at the roots of his as their tongues did partnered acrobatics inside the space provided. Ashton was in the moment, enjoying every sensation that she didn’t hear the doorbell ring over her own breathing, conjoined with the respirations of Lucian.

She didn’t hear it the second time when her head hit the couch cushions as boxes slid off and hit the floor with a clatter loud enough to make the visitors wonder. Her lips traced down Lucian’s jawline and she felt every prickly strand of scruff that was budding there and she giggled as they tickled and danced across her pink lips.

And then the doorbell rang again. And this time, she heard it. It had to be her sister, Theodore, and Calvin waiting out there in the blistering cold on that icy stoop, luggage and presents in tow.

“Lucian!” She said with a start, twisting herself off the couch and into a safe sitting postion on the floor amongst the Christmas clutter. “I think my sister’s here…”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

The innocent little kiss climbed higher and higher until it blazed. Lucian was thankful Henry wasn’t there right now; thankful to finally have a stolen moment with Ashton, since those had been hard to come by in the past weeks. They pressed against each other and into the couch, snogging with the wild abandon of teenagers. Until Ashton wrenched from Lucian and sat on the floor suddenly.

“Lucian! I think my sister’s here…”

Lucian groaned and pushed himself off the couch. He offered Ashton his hand and a half-smile.

“Then you might want to fix your hair before we answer the door,” he teased. “Or, do want me to get it?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“Then you might want to fix your hair before we answer the door,” he teased. “Or, do want me to get it?”

Ashton laughed. “Do you really want their first impression to be of with your shirt half way unbuttoned? Let me help you with that.” She straightened out his shirt as he smoothed down her hair under the overtone of another doorbell ringing and the sound of Henry waking up in the other room. She grabbed his hand and led him. “Let’s go. They’ll love you, I promise!”

Ashton led him down the stairs with far more gusto than intended. She was told to be careful on the stairs while she was pregnant, which she agreed to when she knew her sister wasn’t at the bottom of them. She threw the door open, throwing her arms around the blonde woman there, squealing. Theodore stood, waving awkwardly at Lucian, whose hair still stood in wayward positions.

“Lilah! I’ve missed you so much! I’m so glad you’re here!” But a tugging at Ashton’s coat pulled her away from her older sister and she looked down to see her nephew. “Calvin!” she exclaimed. She would have loved to dote on how big he had gotten, but the boy was small for his age, so Ashton bent down and scooped him up, kissing his face. “Did you get my gift?”

“Get it? Delilah asked with a laugh. “He won’t put it down!”

“Hi!” said Theodore. “I’m Theo.” he said to Lucian, shaking his hand. “You’re right, Ashton. He is cuter in real life than he is on the telly.”

Ashton smiled and flushed pink. “Can we help you carry anything?”

“Looks like you’ve already got our son,” Theodore said with a laugh as he stepped inside with Delilah and their bags. “And I’m sorry, Ashton. Either the stairs are a real doozy or we interrupted something.” Delilah smacked Theodore’s arm.

“I apologise about my husband, Lucian. Hi. I’m Delilah Chu, Ash’s sister. You have a lovely home, even if it is a bit tricky to get to.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Together, Ashton and Lucian had kissed the new year in, locking lips at midnight on the dot and not letting go until twelve minutes after twelve, when they broke away with breathless smiles. It was perfectly cliché, but perfectly fitting to say they felt fireworks with that kiss. It was like some dream new years party on that midnight terrace; just her, Lucian, and their baby kicking low beneath her navel happily in celebration.

“Happy New year, my darling,” she had said then, and she said it again now at one a.m. as she turned the key in the door, stifling a laugh as Lucian’s lips gently tickled her ear. Everyone was probably sleeping by now and they didn’t need to be woken up by Lucian and Ashton’s post-party romantic clowning. “Shh… Stop. We’re going to wake someone up.” She reminded him with a gentle, good natured reminder. It was just like when they were sneaking around, fearing the wrath of Henry Greene should he find out. By this point, Henry knew about them, but he certainly wouldn’t be pleased about be woken up in the middle of the night.

Ashton pushed in the door and made her way into the house, holding Lucian’s hand as he helped her up the stairs.

Ashton expected to find the house still and quiet, the way they had left it. She expected to maybe see her father asleep on the couch, or Delilah tidying up. She did not expect to find her nephew in a box of crushed Christmas ornaments, Ashton’s new breast pump on his head like a space hat, Edie with a cooking bowl on her head, wielding a spatula and an open window in which a bird flew in, flying around terrified and manic as if the children had been chasing it. A lamp across the room lay on its side, the bulb broken. Calvin and Edie’s names were scribbled in the floor over and over. Her brother-in-law, through it all slept on the couch, snoring softly. Ashton’s mouth fell open, praying to God she was dreaming, begging Him to bless her with a well behaved child. She squeezed her hazel eyes shut, counting to five, then ten, then fifteen. She let out a stream of cool air and opened them, realizing, she had been gripping at Lucian’s sleeve for support. “Theo…” she said, keeping her voice even. But the man did not answer. Instead, he rolled over and let out a small yawn. “Theodore!” she pushed against him to wake him up. Her brother-in-law jumped awake, looking around dazed. “Theo,” her voice was stern as he regained his senses. “Do you want to explain this is to me?”

“This? Well, it’s a living room. Typically, it’s where a family lives.”

Ashton tried not to laugh and reminded herself she was angry with his lack of attention. “I’m aware, Theo. I meant explain to me why you fell asleep and let this happen.”

Theodore looked around, his eyes growing wide. “Cal! Calvin! What are you doing? … I’m so sorry Ashton, Lucian. Here, I’ll help you clean that up.”

It certainly was not the way Ashton planned on ending the night, on her hands and knees scrubbing Crayola off the hardwood floor, but she supposed it was good practice for Gregory. She discreetly made her way over to Lucian, was cleaning up broken glass while Theodore scooped up and wrestled with the kids to get them to bed. “Lucian… I am so sorry… I have to say, though, this is the oddest thing I’ve ever come home to.”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian would have sworn he was drunk if he didn’t know better. His head light, he felt that giddy sense of rejuvenation only pure euphoria or copious amounts of alcohol could provide. He’d only had three glasses of champagne the entire evening and that buzz ha come and gone. He was still soaring on a wave of happiness he hadn’t had at the evening’s start. Gone were the worries about the state of his house or the nature of his debt to Theodore and Delilah for sacrificing a night out for his and Ashton’s sake. They were replaced with the lingering strands of “Auld Lang Syne” and the taste of Ashton’s mouth on his, the relief of a night as a couple without playing host and the thrill of knowing Henry Greene would be leaving soon enough and give them five blissful months alone with their baby before he showed back up to officially give Ashton away. Happy New Year, Michaud Family.

Lucian nuzzled at Ashton’s ear, kissing her neck. He felt somehow certain the rest of her family was sleeping and that tonight would probably be their last opportunity to make love until after their son was born. Perhaps the last time they’d really feel that inclination until the baby could sleep through a full night.

“Shh… Stop. We’re going to wake someone up.” Ashton batted him away good-naturedly.

Lucian gave a small groan of protest. There was a line on his lips about waking the whole of Paris if they played their cards right. But they reached the stairs, which, for Ashton had become in the last week or two, as insurmountable an obstacle as Mount Everest. Lucian placed a guiding hand on the small of her back, steadying her, easing her upstairs. They turned to enter the sitting room. Or what used to be the sitting room. The wooden floor was covered in scribbly handwriting; a broken lamp lay on the floor. Ashton’s nephew, Calvin, was wearing Ashton’s breast pump on his head. Valter’s daughter, Edie, was wearing a bowl on her head. Lucian imagined they must have been jungle explorers, chasing the bird—where had the bird come from?—that was fluttering around the ceiling fan and making more of a mess than either child.

Ashton gripped Lucian’s sleeve and, had he worn almost anything else, the cloth would have ripped. He looked around for Henry or Delilah or Theodore, only to find his future brother-in-law asleep on the couch. Lucian breathed slowly through his nose. He said nothing to Theodore; let Ashton handle that. Instead, he walked over to the children and crouched to their level. Suddenly, they both went quiet, joy gone from their faces.

“Well, now,” Lucian said, studying the pair of them. “I don’t suppose yelling will get all this cleaned up. Why don’t you two help me find a big bucket in the kitchen and the mop?”

Calvin and Edie scrambled to the kitchen and only once their backs were turned, did Lucian bury his face in his hands. At least Ashton’s piano was untouched. At least the art was still hanging on the walls. At least there was no blood or fire or vomit. You counted your blessings where there were blessings to count. He followed the children into the kitchen to make sure they didn’t find the knives instead.

The kids helped Lucian fill up the bucket with suds and he told them both that he wasn’t angry, but he was very disappointed in a voice Lucian knew made four year old him and, later, four year old Damien, cringe. He got rags and disassembled the children’s costumes before handing them off to Theodore. He went back out and immediately set to work getting the bird out of the living room using the mop and a plastic bag tied to the end like a net. Twenty minutes later, he was on his hands and knees, sweeping up the broken lamp and wondering if they made decent looking furniture out of rubber and plastic.

“Lucian… I am so sorry… I have to say, though, this is the oddest thing I’ve ever come home to.”

“Second,” Lucian said, looking up and grinning. “Imagine Damien, the MaCarthy boys, a bedazzler, an iguana, make up, and some bike chains. I still don’t know how he and Bill managed to lash Ben to the bed post long enough to make him look like a prostitute or how they smuggled a prehistoric looking lizard into the house. You’ll love being a mum. I swear.”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

“Second. Imagine Damien, the MaCarthy boys, a bedazzler, an iguana, make up, and some bike chains. I still don’t know how he and Bill managed to lash Ben to the bed post long enough to make him look like a prostitute or how they smuggled a prehistoric looking lizard into the house.”

Ashton laughed, scrubbing madly at a blue ‘L’ Calvin had scrawled in his messy five year old handwriting. She loved hearing stories about Damien and Bill’s misadventures and adventures as kids. She loved it when Lucian describes them, painting a vivid picture in her mind that made her smile. She wondered if her dad ever told stories about her childhood with that same mixture of pride, nostalgia and exasperation on his face.

Probably not.

“ You’ll love being a mum. I swear.”

Ashton smiled. “Oh I know I’ll love it.” Ashton dropped her voice as she worked on the hot pink and backwards ‘N’. “I just sometimes worry I won’t be good at it.”

From the corner of her eye she had watched Lucian, taking mental notes on how he assessed the situation at hand. She was in awe of him and she realized just how different their parenting situation would be from other couples. It wouldn’t be a mutual learning experience, they wouldn’t struggle together to figure out how best to parent, what their child-rearing style was. It’d be Lucian handling things with an only slightly rusty expertise and Ashton watching dumbly as she learned. She worried their children would pick a favourite parent, that she would mess up beyond repair, that she’d be one of those God-awful parents who loved their kids beyond belief, but couldn’t quite figure out how to raise them. The worry made her lungs hurt and her stomach feel tight. She stood up, taking slow, deep breaths as she fixed the blinds. “What if I’m terrible, Lucian? What if I’m terrible at this? I only have a month left!” She rolled her eyes to the ceiling to keep them dry and tear free. She tried to keep her voice down as Theodore stepped back into the room, looking apologetic and carrying a broom. “It’s a legitimate concern.”

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

He neglected to tell Ashton how terrified he’d been of touching the iguana. Lucian didn’t want her to think of him as squeamish, or perhaps worse, as the sort of man who detested animals. Those sort of men weren’t to be trusted was the general rule of thumb. Truthfully, the thought of prying the lizard off of the pillow in the dead of night could still make Lucian’s skin crawl as he thought of the leathery, scaly skin and that whip-like tail trying to slice him open. He had caught vomit with his bare hands—not his proudest parenting moment—and he had changed mucky diapers. He had rushed Damien to the emergency room a dozen times. All of that was usual. But that day was hallmarked by the lizard monster and fears that his son would grow up to be a sadomasochist or kidnapper because what sort of boy tied up another to bedazzle and make him up anyways? Of course, it had all been a game, a typical play date between the MaCarthys and Damien and all of them (with perhaps the exception of Ben) had turned into normal, socialized, and well-mannered adults. Parenting was never dull.

“Oh I know I’ll love it.” Ashton dropped her voice as she worked on the hot pink and backwards ‘N’. “I just sometimes worry I won’t be good at it.”

Lucian snorted. Parenting was exactly Ashton’s territory. Imagination games, sing-alongs. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could easily see her being the “fun” parent and him falling into the disciplinarian role. He knew if he ever voiced this, those who knew him as Damien’s dad would laugh. (“Oh, sure,” an imagined Bill said. “And maybe I’ll be a monk. Sound like a plan, Mister Michaud?”) Perhaps not even laugh; just scoff. (“Lord help that poor child,” an imagined Natalie said. “No. Lord help the teachers that get him in class when you’re through with him.”) He’d been able to be the “fun” parent for Damien much of the time, simply because he wasn’t always there. He had never been much good at punishing Damien; he’d always been terrified that he’d lose what he considered to be already tenuous affection. Natalie was a stay at home mum. She could play the bad guy one day and the next be the one to make Damien meals and be his superhero. Lucian couldn’t risk being the bad guy unless it was a joint effort; it would give animosity days to fester. Never mind that Lucian was rubbish at being angry. Even Damien’s worst antics—Iguana Escapade included—were met with mingled exasperation and amusement. He could still, sometimes, hear very clearly Natalie chastising him for indulging Damien too much. On Christmas Day, when Damien was hungover and Lucian tip-toed around him, he could hear Natalie snapping that Lucian should let the consequences take their toll and stop mollifying Damien with paracemetol. That he should at least tell Damien it was wrong to get piss-drunk on religious holidays. Or wonder aloud who Damien had learned that behavior from. Ashton would be a better wife for not nagging Lucian. And she’d probably make for a better parent than either he or Natalie. Ashton didn’t walk on eggshells with anyone. She’d be straightforward with their children. She’d be straightforward and fun. Lucian would be old and rusty and political with them, trying to win favor like he tried to win votes, tried to win Damien.

Lucian took the broken lamp to the dustbin and threw it out. Then he grabbed a rag and joined in the floor scrubbing. He’d hardly noticed the mess the bird had made until now. He wondered if you could teach an old dog—old dad—new tricks or if his and Ashton’s children were doomed to the man-child limbo Damien now found himself in or the closeted sense of self Damien had (apparently) learned from Lucian’s shoddy parenting.

“What if I’m terrible, Lucian? What if I’m terrible at this? I only have a month left! It’s a legitimate concern.”

“You won’t be terrible,” Lucian said, not looking up. He was scrubbing bird poo off the floor with a little extra elbow grease. “You’ll be fun and clever and honest with our children. You’ll have appropriate boundaries and still be able to romp around with them on the playground. If there’s anybody in the whole world designed for motherhood, it’s you.”

If he could have his pick of all the women in the world to raise his children, he would still pick Ashton. He had picked Ashton. There was no regret in that choice. Insofar as it had been a choice. He thought of the blanket fort talk they’d once had. Their plan for a child—for children. This was a choice, their choice. The right choice, no backing out now anyhow. Even if Ashton worried about inexperience and Lucian worried about bad experience spoiling the new, they’d figure something out. They had to. They always did.

He looked up at her and smiled at her.

“Listen to me,” he said. “The way I see it, each child, each set of parents is different. Our children aren’t Damien. You and I aren’t me and Natalie twenty something years ago; we certainly aren’t Henry or Theodore and Delilah. Don’t go saying you’re going to be rubbish at parenting before you’ve even had the baby. Self-fulfilling prophecies are the worst because they’re the easiest to prevent. So, let’s just finish cleaning and go to bed. Fair?”

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Ashton Greene

Lucian scoffed and Ashton scrunched her lips together, biting at the inside of her lips. This was no laughing matter. She had this fear of being a shoddy parent, doing a poor job of raising her own child, creating a maladjusted member of society.

Or maybe she was over-reacting.

“You won’t be terrible. You’ll be fun and clever and honest with our children. You’ll have appropriate boundaries and still be able to romp around with them on the playground. If there’s anybody in the whole world designed for motherhood, it’s you.”

Ashton smiled, imagining herself swinging with her son, reading him Red Fish, Blue Fish while he squealed with delight at the pictures, making organic happy face French fries for him to douse in ketchup, building waffle volcanoes and pancake castles. Lucian’s words helped to reassure her, and she heard her mother’s words echoing in her head, saying in that philosophic way of hers ‘motherhood is a gift that you never finish unwrapping,’ and ‘picnics are one of the best ways to connect with your children.’

“Listen to me, the way I see it, each child, each set of parents is different. Our children aren’t Damien. You and I aren’t me and Natalie twenty something years ago; we certainly aren’t Henry or Theodore and Delilah. Don’t go saying you’re going to be rubbish at parenting before you’ve even had the baby. Self-fulfilling prophecies are the worst because they’re the easiest to prevent. So, let’s just finish cleaning and go to bed. Fair?”

“Fair.” Ashton agreed, smiling, stretching out a tightness in her lower back. But it didn’t go away, it moved instead, slowly seeping across to her lower abdomen, a low, deep pain erupting there. Ashton stopped, clutching it for the thirty seconds it lasted. But it left just as quickly as it came and she bent to pluck up the dustpan. She dumped it in the kitchen where it hit her again, harder than it was before, the pain pulsating, pounding against her like a bass drum. Only thirty-five seconds. She caught her breath.

She swept the pile of crushed ornaments again, brushing them gently into the dustpan, doing her best to ignore the intensifying pain, pounding like a second heartbeat.

Sweep she thought, reminding herself how tired she was. The sooner the three of them finished, the sooner they could sleep. Sweep, sweep… sweep, sweep.

“Ashton!” Theodore said from the couch where he worked at a grape juice stain. “Oh my God, Ashton, did your water just break?” Ashton looked at her brother-in-law, then down at the place she just swept beneath her. It was gooey and warm. There was a moment of stillness, of silence.

“Um… Yes.” There was nothing else it could have been, and in that stagnant quiet, the pain started up again. Ashton clutched at it again, gasping, unsure if she should scream or smile or both.

“I’m getting Lilah.”

Ashton looked to her fiancé. “Lucian…” she moaned through the excruciating pain, reaching out a hand to beckon him over. This was really happening. There was no more room for fear and worry, no time.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

He managed to put his and Ashton’s fears to rest. Lucian stood up to toss the rag into the wash. When he returned from the other room, Ashton was on the floor and Theodore had gone the color of starchy flour.

“I’m getting Lilah,” Theodore said.

Lucian looked at Ashton, just past him, before grabbing Theodore’s arm.

“What’s happened?”

“Her water broke. Get the car ready.”

“What? Now? Early?”

Lucian took a shaky breath and crouched beside Ashton. He took her hand into his and squeezed. He didn’t even have bags packed for them. They hadn’t even changed out of their formal clothes. Early. Premature. Now. Oh God. He felt his stomach clamp up. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

“We’re having a baby,” he said abruptly. He laughed breathily. He kissed Ashton’s forehead. “Oh God, we’re having a baby tonight.”

Happy New Year’s, Michaud family. Happy, happy New Year’s.

[The Exodus]

OOC: Ashton or Henry. Take your pick, Riss! BIC:


Lucian Michaud

The idea of Lucian Michaud as a stay at home dad would have seemed laughable a decade, two decades ago. When he told Damien that was the plan, his eldest son laughed riotously before stopping himself and managing a straight face and asking, “No, really, Dad. What’s the plan?” Lucian’s pride hurt then and he plucked Gregory out of Damien’s arms as if to prove he would be a good father.

“I’m sorry,” Damien said. “It’s just… I’m getting this image of you blogging about fatherhood. You, sitting on that dinosaur of a laptop, pounding out posts about the trials and tribulations of parenting in a foreign country.”

“Not so foreign,” Lucian said. “And what’s blogging?”

Even without knowing what “blogging” was, Lucian supposed Damien was onto something. Even now that he was retired, Lucian as a stay-at-home dad would seem rubbish to people who knew him in the pre-Ashton days. He had been a career man, looking to become Prime Minister one day. His accomplishments had once been marked by election terms and parliament sessions. Motions, bills, laws. He remembered being on a multi-party committee to marry ecological and industrial interests and being so proud to be made chair. He remembered taking up joint partnership of the vineyards with his uncle after his political dreams were crushed by circumstance. He had measured success in quarterly and annual revenues. Now, he’d measure success in baby steps.

He remembered Damien’s childhood. He measured in baby steps then, too. Damien learning to lift his head on his own. Damien’s first words. Damien’s earliest fingerpaint masterpieces. Damien learning to walk, ride a bike, drive a car. Birthday parties punctuated by a funeral for Damien’s beloved dog, by Damien’s teenaged misadventures, by university selection. By Lucian’s own relationships, too. His first marriage, his friendships, his parents’ lives and deaths’ and his uncle’s. All that was left from all that time to show was Damien. He had nothing from his professional life to show except an impressive resume, some stories. But he had his children. That was something. More than something.

So far, he’d managed being a stay-at-home dad without disaster. In all fairness, Ashton was still home on maternity rest, so Lucian was not alone. Gregory—more precisely Gregory James Michaud—was a good baby as far as Lucian was concerned. It sounded biased to call your own baby “good”, but emotions aside, it was empirically true. Damien had been a colicky baby, who cried and screamed his little lungs out while his mum spent much of her time in what would now be diagnosed as post-partum depression, leaving a hapless Lucian to soothe him—assuage him, really—until one of their mothers arrived to take the helm. There was none of that with Gregory. He was a happy baby, who made gurgling sounds Lucian insisted were laughs, but Ashton insisted were merely attempts to laugh. Gregory also slept through most nights and only once woke up with an earsplitting cry and that was only to be fed because mummy had been out with Auntie Lilah most of the day and Lucian had run out of prepared bottles. Gregory also seemed to like music more than Damien had, which wasn’t an empirically good or bad trait, but rather one that Lucian was thankful for. Ashton sang to him; Lucian strummed his guitar for him. Gregory’s wide blue eyes would get even bigger and he’d wiggle around like a little worm. A rather cute worm.

Despite being a month premature, Gregory was perfectly healthy, a little small at five and a half pounds. They’d been allowed to take him home the same day as his birth, which allowed for the family to meet him all at once. “Sensory overload,” Lucian had muttered for Ashton’s ears only. She’d playfully swatted him and then leaned against him happily. But it probably was disorienting for Gregory and Lucian couldn’t help but worry Gregory would attach to Theodore or Henry instead of him. At least Ashton had the benefit of mother-child bonding.

Lucian hung around in the nursery like an overprotective guard dog. He’d slept in the chair last night and despite being sore and stiff, he had no intention of leaving the room today. He’d already showered and dressed, eaten a bit of toast and brewed a pot of tea. Earl Grey. He had scarcely said a word, scarpering off to Gregory’s bedside. He wasn’t missing a moment. Not this time; he’d be as good a dad or better starting from now. To Gregory and Damien both.

He stared down into the cradle, handcrafted by his eldest for his youngest and stroked the polished wood. Gregory was asleep right now, lying on his back and half covered by a light blue blanket. Lucian couldn’t remember where they’d gotten that blanket. He pulled it over Gregory to better cover him and stroked his tiny, soft foot. Something in his chest constricted and it was a familiar feeling. Lucian sighed to release the tightness, but the warmth didn’t go away. A smile twitched onto Lucian’s lips. He still had his reservations about being an older dad, but even if he could go back, do it all again, there’d be nothing Lucian would want to change. Nothing at all. Everything—from his first marriage to his divorce to Damien’s short-lived engagement to Ashton to the affair he and Ashton had to Damien’s coming out to Lucian and Ashton’s engagement—everything culminated to this. And even if there’d be nights where Gregory was colicky or days in the foggy future where he was a rebellious and moody teen where Lucian wanted to tear his own hair (if he still had hair) out, the end would justify everything. The end all, be all: his family.

[Lets_Eat_Paste]

Henry Greene

Henry could still remember the day Ashton was born. Jane’s parents stayed with Delilah in the waiting room while Henry filmed the entire thing. Another girl. Another beautiful, perfect little baby for them to love and protect, that they had created.

Ashton was born via cesarean section, and within the first minutes of her life, Henry could tell she would be a handful. As the doctor snipped at his wife, all numb and groggy, Ashton, with her well-developed piano fingers gripped the scissors and plucked them right out of the surgeon’s hand, waving them around for a good sixty seconds. Henry knew then that he’d have to hide all sharp objects from kitchen knives to sharpened pencils from her. He still had that video. He had planned to watch it on her wedding day as a picturesque little moment, and in this figment of fabricated beauty, he’d sit down and show it to her husband-to-be in his tuxedo. But when Ashton dated men in rock bands and minimum wage jobs, he began to lose hope of that day ever coming. When she was engaged to Damien, he may not of been sharing that video with a man who loved Ashton the way he had loved Jane, but at least he’d have his moment. And then that didn’t happen. And Ashton surprised him, stepping outside of her usual flair and getting engaged to and pregnant by a man twice her age and had enough money to fill the Red Sea (which was, admittedly, a hypocritical thought). Even better, the man she was engaged to was a man he once trusted and would have willingly invited into his family. But he didn’t trust Ashton’s judgment, nor did he trust a man who would lie to him. It made Henry’s stay hard and difficult.

But the birth of his second grandchild, Gregory brought about a softness in him. He saw Ashton, his wayward, irresponsible daughter transform overnight into a spitting image of Jane, the quintessential perfect mum, and Lucian the lying, good-for-nothing fiancé of Ashton become the active, loving father Henry seemed to have fallen short in being. Babies had that sort of effect of people, to the point that Henry found himself watching the nursery door to be sure nothing woke up his infant grandchild, much as he did with an infant Delilah. He never bothered with Ashton because Henry swore she didn’t sleep for the first three years of her life anyway.

At times, as Ashton napped and Lucian was at work, Henry would steal away into the beautiful nursery and hold his grandchild, making up for the moment he wasn’t allowed to the day he was born.

“Only me and Lucian, sorry. I’m so scared of letting him out of my sight.” Ashton had insisted on that day. It was a perfectly normal request of a new mother, but Henry knew it was somehow a nice way of saying “don’t you dare touch my kids. You might engage them, too.”

But he had his rights, and it wasn’t as if those big eyes and mischievous little smirk of Gregory’s (Greggy James, as Ashton called him) made it hard for him to love him.

This night was no different. As all other household members and guests slept, Henry snuck into the nursery, a little white and purple polka-dotted elephant under his arm. It was worn and the white had faded to grey over the years of being showered with a young Ashton’s love and years of being stored away in the attic. “Petri” had been dragged on London sidewalks, washed, used as a pillow on muddy ground, lost, found in the laundry, colored on, covered in flour and glitter in some Paper Mache experiment, washed again, and finally hidden away, neglected in the attic. Ashton wouldn’t go anywhere without Petri, and now, the little plush hadn’t seen sunlight in years. For a moment, as he quietly pushed open the door to the nursery, he could have sworn Petri smiled beneath that slightly stained trunk at the idea of being loved once more. Henry couldn’t count how many times this little rag of a plush animal had been sewed back together because of Ashton’s imaginative playtime, but it seemed to have brought light into Ashton’s eyes. He may not have been close to his youngest daughter, but he knew this would somehow make her happy.

But he stopped when he realized he was not alone. Lucian Michaud, Ashton’s fiancé, the father of Gregory, was in there, too. Henry played almost nervously with the large ear of Petri. “I.. Um.. I just wanted to give this to Gregory. It was Ashton’s when she was little. Couldn’t sleep without it. “Petri”, she called it. Maybe Gregory would like it…?” Henry said, his voice still big and commanding , even in a cautious whisper as to not wake up Gregory, but broken, somehow nervous at being alone with Lucian. The man detested him he was sure. Rightfully so. Henry hadn’t actually been a gracious house guest. Maybe, just for this moment, they could put aside their differences. For Ashton’s sake. For Gregory’s sake.

[The Exodus]

Lucian Michaud

Lucian didn’t notice Henry come in. If he had, he would have told him to go, that Gregory was sleeping. He and Ashton had an unspoken pact to keep Henry away from Gregory. Lucian, however, was so focused on his son, he hadn’t heard the door open. When he, by pure chance, looked up, he saw Henry standing in the doorframe. Lucian always felt odd around his father-in-law-to-be. Taller and thinner by far, he was the lanky teenager he’d been thirty years ago, who just wanted to be liked. Sometimes, anyways. Sometimes, he didn’t feel like a grown man in Henry’s company and when he did, he felt like throttling Ashton’s father. The man deserved a good thump or two for the hell he’d put Ashton—and Damien, come to think of it--- through. In fact, when Lucian felt like a grown man around Henry Greene, he was agitated and bitingly civilized. This was the snake who’d conspired with his ex-wife to keep Damien unhappily in the closet. The bully who made Ashton feel inadequate and unloved. When those two realities hit Lucian, not only did he feel like a grown man, but he felt that there was no place to love Henry in his heart. He felt stupid for wanting the man’s approval. Who needed the approval of someone who wouldn’t even give it to his own children? A bilious taste rose in his throat.

“Henry,” he greeted lowly. He wanted to ask what the man wanted. Why he was here. What gave him the right to be in Gregory’s room? Henry had already tampered with one of Lucian’s sons. He wasn’t tampering with the other. Henry had already tampered with Lucian’s fiancée, which may have been his parental right, but not anymore. Not now that Ashton was grown and engaged and a parent herself.

And then Lucian noticed a toy in Henry’s hammy hands. It was so small and ratty, Lucian wanted to laugh for a moment. He never pictured Henry Greene, captain of industry, deigning to touch anything that wasn’t made of the finest materials. He expected perfection from his daughters and his wine and his surroundings and his sons-in-law. And when he didn’t get it, he was downright horrid. And now he had possibly the most imperfect, squashed-looking toy Lucian could imagine. Was it an elephant?

“I.. Um.. I just wanted to give this to Gregory,” Henry said. Lucian said nothing, he stared from the elephant to Henry and back at the elephant again. It was Ashton’s when she was little. Couldn’t sleep without it. “Petri”, she called it. Maybe Gregory would like it…?”

Something went oddly soft in Lucian’s chest. He cursed it, this soft side of his. He thought of his mother’s father, Jacob. The man was anything but soft; brittle, funny, unbreakable. Or his father’s father, Victor, charming and austere. He thought of Damien’s grandfathers: his own father, Alphonse, and Natalie’s, Ken. He tried as hard as he could to imagine the men of his past making peace with their in-laws. Grandpa Jacob didn’t make peace with anyone, least of all Alphonse. Victor would make peace, but somehow had a knack for making you feel as though you owed him a favor for his forgiveness. Alphonse could be diplomatic, but Lucian struggled to recall him ever wriggling into his and Henry’s position of bitterness and faux pas. Ken would never, absolutely never, reach out to Lucian, not even over Damien, who they’d both considered their pride and joy.

Henry Greene was being a good man and for a few seconds, Lucian was actually touched by the gesture. He looked at the careworn elephant and imagined little Ashton with that thing. Chewing it, sucking it, throwing it in the air. A smile tickled Lucian’s lips.

And then he thought: what if Henry is doing this to get in my head? Psychological warfare. He’d not been allowed to hold Gregory. Lucian had scarcely wanted Henry to even see Gregory. He could still recall a time, mere weeks ago, when Henry threatened to put Gregory up for adoption. Lucian could still recall his own hellacious headache the day Gregory was born, insisting to a social worker and several nurses that there had clearly been a mistake because neither he nor Ashton was looking to give Gregory up. He hadn’t told Ashton about all that; he didn’t want to upset her or detract from their shared joy. He also—he supposed—realized that one day, he, too might be a grandfather. In that case, Lucian wouldn’t want to be the most hated man in the room. Lucian didn’t enjoy sympathizing with Henry. The man wasn’t above reproach just for one gesture, not when there were dozens of others he’d made that Lucian thought obscene or unforgivable.

But this was perhaps innocent.

“Petri, hmm?” he asked. He was smiling softly, speaking softly. Softness, it seemed, had won out. “I’m sure Greggy would love him. He hasn’t a stuffed elephant yet.”