by Julia Kent
“For what?” she asks, shoulders dropping with sadness.
“For raising a good girl. A good girl who is a mom now.” He turns. “You done good, Mandy. You done real good, and I thank you for being kind to me.”
Terry, Dad, and Grace are watching, all in a row, triplets holding highball glasses with amber liquid coping skills. Dad's mouth drops open as Terry gives a soft-hearted smile, and Grace tilts her head, taking it all in, her hand going to James's forearm.
Dad just clears his throat and kicks back another mouthful.
“Why wouldn't I be kind?” Amanda asks as Pam moves next to Leo, holding Will next to Charlie.
“Trade?” Pam asks before Leo can reply to Amanda.
“Sure. Whatever you want, Pammy. “
Amanda's crying openly on the sofa, watching her parents together like it's the greatest fireworks display ever, like she's watching a meteor, like a triple rainbow lights up her favorite waterfall. Luminous and ethereal, she's observing a wonder of the world, but a very flawed, human one.
Her parents trade babies and I hear a click.
It's Grace, an actual camera in her hand.
“Habit,” she says as Dad rolls his eyes, but nostalgically. His hand goes to her shoulder in an affectionate gesture.
“You always took the photos and videos I wanted while I was at work,” he whispers.
Terry and I catch the comment and Grace smiles at me, as if to say, There's more to the story.
I look at Leo and Pam, then Amanda.
There always is, I want to answer.
There always is.
Epilogue
Ten Weeks After the Birth
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“The water doesn’t have too many chemicals?”
“The doctor said it’s fine.”
“And you turned up the temperature?”
“It’s ninety-three.”
“Maybe that’s too hot?’
“ANDREW!”
For a guy who is so commanding and sure in business, he’s a softy and a worrywart with the babies.
I set Will down on the cushion of the chaise lounge, his body curled still, the startle reflex beginning to fade as he ages. They’re ten weeks old now, and my C-section wound has healed enough that the doctors say I can swim.
So today, our boys swim for the first time in our indoor lap pool.
And not in front of their grandfather. This isn't the Olympic tryouts.
Andrew’s in his suit, though he thinks it’s silly, a formality we don’t need in private. But I have a camera and for the sake of posterity, no one needs to see Dad or Grandpa in the buff.
One day, if all goes well, Andrew will be a grandpa, and I’ll be a grandma. I think about this more and more as time passes.
As I get used to being Mom.
No one calls me that, yet, but the twins signal it in every way, from the latch that comes more naturally now as breastfeeding continues, to the quieting of cries when I pick them up at night. Two nannies and a night nurse means our life lives according to structure, schedules, and a sameness that is comforting, freeing me to heal.
Today is for us, though. The house is empty, the nannies off for the day, and my husband is fully present for this precious ritual.
A ritual bath of a different kind.
Charlie is in Andrew’s hands, stripped of his diaper, each of us holding a naked baby.
One handed, Andrew descends the ladder with a wide-awake Charlie in his arms.
He halts.
“What if they poop in the water?” His consternation shows in the dropped brow, the frown hilarious.
“You’re just realizing that’s a possibility now?”
I get a flat look. “I had to be in the water with him to think about it.” Charlie’s legs are in, butt hanging off Andrew’s forearm, eyes blinking rapidly.
“We climb out fast and let the filter do its job. But I don’t think that’ll happen.”
Parenting two small babies means conversations like this, mostly revolving around poop. I thought Shannon was kidding when she said this.
Turns out my bestie was issuing a warning, not a joke.
Leaves in the trees over the enclosed glass solarium are a flaming mix of yellow, orange and red, a little green still dotting the lush branches. Fall in New England has a special kind of allure. Even if you've lived here your entire life, like I have, you see how special it is.
Crisp golds mingle with bright reds, the leaves falling and plastering themselves on the glass. It rained last night, leaving the air fresh, scented with dirt and woodsmoke, neighbors burning brush and wood stoves as the chill begins to hit.
We have Halloween costumes for the babies. They'll be pumpkins, of course.
Twin pumpkins.
A big smile crosses Charlie's face as Andrew goes in deeper, moving over a few feet from the ladder, holding on to the side with one hand, clutching Charlie in the other. The twins can't hold their heads up just yet, but they try, and Charlie pulls back off Andrew's shoulder for a few seconds as if looking up in wonder.
Then he settles in and kicks, just once.
“Yes!” Andrew says gently, grinning at me. “Good kick! We'll get infant swimming tutors here next month and start with you.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, my heart exploding as I watch Andrew explore the water with Charlie, my hand on the ladder's railing, ready to join them. “I don't like the videos where they dip the babies all the way under.”
“Some people start at birth,” he reminds me. “From the amniotic fluid inside straight into the pool.”
“Those were vaginal births,” I remind him. “And those babies didn't have a mama who had surgery.”
“Hey,” he says tenderly. “No judgment. And no problem. We're not racing to turn them into Olympic contenders here.”
“I know. And Mom agrees with infant swimming lessons, for safety reasons. It freaks her out that we have an indoor pool with little ones running around.”
“Actuaries know all about the calculated risks.” He doesn't say the word drowning, but I know what he means.
For the last ten weeks, since the birth, I've been a roller coaster of emotions as all the hormones needed to build the babies had to slowly leave my body so I could be just me again. My bones. My blood. My hormones.
My empty womb.
“We have locks and alarms. We're fine. But teaching them to swim is a joy. And I'll be here for every lesson.”
“You said that, but – really? Can you be here?”
“Of course. Do you doubt me?”
“I – ” A flash of the day Carol and Shannon were here runs through my mind. The day work took him away from me here in the pool.
“I mean it,” he says firmly. “I'm changing my priorities.”
“I know you are. I just worry you can't.”
“Can't?”
“Sometimes what we want, even when we want it desperately, isn't possible if the structure of life fights us the whole way.”
Andrew pulls Charlie off his shoulder, carefully putting the baby on his back in the water, Charlie's head in the crook of his elbow as he moves into the water deeper, tall enough to move easily through the water. There's a small lip on the edge, too, where I can stand if I'm unsure with Will.
“You’re ready for this?”
“I think so.”
“I'm here if you need me.”
“You always are.”
The first step down the ladder is slow, my body ultra-aware of all the ways I have to protect the baby. The second step puts my calf in the warm water, a light layer of steam beginning to form on the surface. Unaccustomed to this temperature, I let out a gasp of surprise, which makes Andrew laugh.
“It's so warm!”
Will squirms on my shoulder, my grip tightening.
“It is. And the view is fabulous,” Andrew adds.
“If by view, you mean my ass, it's extra fabulous, given all the pad
ding.”
“The padding makes it fabulous, honey. What was already lovely is now extra lovely.”
I suppress a sarcastic hah! He means it.
And knowing he means it makes me love him even more.
When my fabulous ass hits the water, I pause, the c-section scar a source of irritation. Two weeks after the birth, half the incision opened, unfurling like a broken zipper. Infection had set in and it drew out the healing process. Andrew insisted on waiting for the twins' first swim until I could be here, and as the water covers the scar, I feel nothing.
Whew.
Salt water and open wounds don't mix well, so the lack of feeling means the doctors are right.
I'm healed.
Will wiggles as his legs hit the water, and when I am in and holding on to the wide with my right arm, I turn him to face me, his smile like sunbeams. Andrew has Charlie on his back, still in the crook of his arm, and he's saying something to him in low, soothing tones.
For the next twenty minutes, we just float.
The twins love it, little coos and sighs their only language, smiles their currency we accept eagerly. Will and Charlie are identical twins, but we can tell them apart. Charlie’s smile is crooked, the right side turning up a tinge more than the left.
Will sounds like a billy goat when he cries, and he’s an innie. Charlie’s an outie, though we’re only discovering that recently, as the umbilical cord heals.
They are carbon copies of my husband, which makes him puff up to no end, though Mom swears they have my wide eyes.
Andrew and I trade off babies and he kisses my cheek, our eyes meeting, the gaze deeper and deeper as we just... float.
The water holds us.
And so does the silence.
“Do you hear that?” I whisper in Andrew's ear as he bends down to kiss Will's forehead.
“Hear what?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“No cell phones. No texts. No work crew or nanny or night nurse. No emergency meetings, no demands from your dad. Just us.”
A funny look crosses his face, a mix of defensiveness, agreement, joy and sorrow.
And then he leans across me, kisses Will's shoulder, and looks at me again.
“If this is what nothing feels like, I want more nothing.”
;)
THANK YOU so much for reading Shopping for a CEO’s Baby. If you are suffering from “End of the Book Syndrome,” you’re in luck, because I have a BONUS EPILOGUE for you.
Just click here to get a free copy of it. Amanda’s first Mother’s Day is full of surprises… and love. <3
