by Lauren Rowe
There’s a long beat.
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He exhales. “So what would you name them?” he asks quietly, running his hand over my back.
“Hmm?”
“If we have boys. What would you name them?”
My mind jolts to consciousness. After all these months of watching Jonas retreat into himself and pull away, I’m not gonna let a little sleepiness deprive me of finally having this magical conversation with my husband. “Jeremiah and Jack,” I whisper softly.
He grins.
Damn, he’s a ridiculously handsome man.
“Which one is Crazy Monkey?” he asks.
“Jeremiah.”
His smile broadens. “That’s what I figured. Jeremiah sounds like he’d be the crazy one.”
My heart is soaring. I didn’t realize just how much I’ve been aching to talk to Jonas like this. My heart feels like it’s going to burst. “Those names are just my ideas, though,” I say. “I’m open to whatever names you’re thinking about.”
“No, no,” he says. “Those names are perfect.” He inhales sharply but doesn’t speak.
“What?” I ask.
“What if we have girls?”
“I truly think we’re having boys.”
“I know you do, little Miss Bossy-boots. But humor me. If you’re wrong about that—which I know is impossible since you’re Sarah Fucking Cruz, for Chrissakes—what are your girl names?”
I feel the sudden urge to cry with joy and relief, but I stuff it down. I can’t believe Jonas is finally—finally—talking to me like this. Why he picked now to do it, when I’m about to pass out with fatigue, I’ll never know. But when it comes to Jonas, I’ll take whatever he can give me. Always.
“Come on. I know you’ve thought about it,” Jonas prompts.
He’s right—I have. But only in the beginning. Once I became convinced I was carrying boys, my brain quickly disallowed itself from fantasizing about girls. Why imagine babies I’ll never get to hold? “The thing is, I’ve only got two babies in there, right? I don’t like imagining an alternate set of twins. I don’t want to be bummed out when I don’t get to have all four of them.”
He lets out a loud puff of air. “We are so much alike. Oh my God.”
“What?” I say.
He exhales. “I just... I’ve been doing the exact same thing.”
“What do you mean?”
He pauses. “I had a... vision. I don’t know what you’d call it. It was almost like a premonition.” He pauses again.
I wait.
“I saw you with two little girls. You were reading a bedtime story to them in Spanish. They had your hair and eyes and skin.” His voice is brimming with emotion.
I grab his face in my hands. “Oh, Jonas. Whatever happens, it’s going to be perfect. You’re gonna be a great father, whether we have boys or girls or one of each. In the end, all that matters is that we’re together—that we’re a family. Nothing else matters, baby.”
“You’re gonna be the best mother, baby.” He pulls me into him and kisses me softly.
“Let’s find out the babies’ genders in the morning,” I say. “Whichever one of us is right, that’ll be it, once and for all, and the other will have a few weeks to wrap their head around it.”
He nods. “Okay. Good.” He kisses my nose. “No more fucking around.”
“You’re gonna be glad we found out, I promise. Hey, maybe it’s one of each.”
He turns and looks at the clock on the nightstand. “What time’s your appointment?”
“Eight.”
“Nine hours.” He exhales. “Fuck me.”
“Patience,” I say.
Jonas scoffs. “Not my strong suit.”
“I know.” I kiss his cheek. “Okay, my sweet Jonas. Now it’s your turn. What are your girl names?”
“I don’t have any.”
“You just said you envisioned two little girls.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know their names.”
“Come on. Tit for tat. I told you my boy names.”
He exhales. “Well...” He pauses, biting his beautiful lip. “I would have wanted to name a daughter Grace.” He shrugs. “But Josh beat me to it, so, that’s off the table.”
My heart suddenly aches. Of course Jonas would have wanted to name his daughter after his late mother. “Oh, Jonas,” I say.
“No, it’s all good. Gracie’s the perfect person to carry my mother’s name.” He swallows hard and then noticeably switches gears. “So tell me your picks. I know you must have some—you’ve never been unprepared for a damned thing in your life.”
“Well, I was totally unprepared for you.”
“No woman could ever prepare herself for the one and only woman wizard.”
“True.”
“The woman wizard with the yawn-inspiring boner, apparently,” Jonas adds.
“Aw, jeez, cut me some slack. I’m as big as a house.”
“Exceptionally large condo. So tell me your names already,” he says. “No more stalling.”
I take a deep breath. “Actually, I’ve known my girl-names since I was a kid.”
“Since you were a kid? Well, that’s not weird or anything.”
“It’s not weird. Lots of girls think about baby names.”
“No, they don’t. No kid does that. Weirdo.”
“Yes, they do. Girls do. While playing with Barbies or baby dolls or thinking about marrying Justin Timberlake or Harry Styles. I’m not the only one.”
He shakes his head. “Women are such endlessly fascinating creatures.”
“By ‘endlessly fascinating’ I’m assuming you mean ‘freaking awesome’?”
“Of course.” He nips at my ear. “Always.” He runs his hands over my ass. “I love this ass.” He grunts in my ear. “So tell me the names. I’ll listen intently while groping your ass.”
“Marisol and Luna,” I say. “But we’d call them Sol and Luna.”
“The sun and the moon.”
“Claro que sí. Because my baby girls would be todo mi mundo. My whole world.”
“I love that.” He pulls me into him for a kiss. “Todo mi mundo,” he says softly, and I know he’s talking about me.
“You like those names?” I ask.
“Yeah. They’re perfect. Poetic.”
I feel a lump in my throat. “I know it sounds crazy, but I feel like I love them all. Jeremiah and Jack. Sol and Luna. I feel like they’re all a part of me—which is impossible.”
“That’s because you’ve already shared your soul with them in the ideal realm. Your soul doesn’t even need them to be in the physical world for you to love them.” He looks at me sympathetically. “That reminds me of something Aristotle says about love.” His eyes darken with sudden anxiety. “God, you look really tired, baby.”
“That’s what Aristotle says about love? Gosh, no wonder Plato’s your main man—Aristotle’s a tool.”
“I’m so glad we’re seeing the doctor first thing in the morning. I’m worried.”
“I’m just tired.”
“Have you felt the babies moving lately?”
“They both moved a minute ago.”
“Good.” He exhales loudly and rubs his face with his hands. “Fuck me,” he mutters softly. “I’m never going to survive this.”
I put my head on his chest and wedge a pillow under my belly. “I can’t wait to get started on the mural in the nursery,” I say, but the word nursery comes out like a garbled mumble. I can already feel myself drifting into serene blackness.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispers, rubbing my back.
“Mmm.”
“Todo mi mundo,” he says softly, his chest rising and falling under my cheek, his fingers skimming my spine.
His bare chest against my cheek feels like it’s part of my own body. “Jonas?”
“Hmm?” He strokes my hair.
The sound of his heartbeat under my ear is l
ulling me to sleep. “What did he say about love?”
“Hmm?”
“Aristotle?” I whisper, the word barely audible. My heart has started beating in synchronicity with his.
“‘Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies,’” he whispers.
His heart is beating with mine. Darkness is descending upon me. “Hmm,” I say softly. “That’s... “
Chapter 9
Jonas
I’m jolted awake. It’s the dark of night.
“Oh my God,” Sarah says. Something in her tone sends a shiver down my spine.
I sit up, my heart clanging fiercely, and reach for her. I feel warm wetness next to me in the bed. Did she knock over a glass of hot tea? “Sarah?”
Sarah gasps. “Oh my God. Oh my God. Jonas!”
I pat the bed next to me. What the fuck is so wet? I turn on the lamp on the nightstand and when I turn back around, I see Sarah’s heaving body twisted atop bloodied sheets. My heart explodes in my chest. Our white sheets are stained a deep, crimson red. “Oh my God, Sarah,” I sputter.
Blood on the sheets.
Sarah looks down, sees the blood pooling between her legs, and lets out a bloodcurdling scream.
I fumble for the phone, my heart leaping wildly in my chest.
Blood on the sheets.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?”
Sarah’s wailing in my ear.
“We need an ambulance,” I blurt. I spit out the address.
“What’s your emergency?”
Sarah’s in a full-blown panic. “Please God, no,” she cries. “No, no, no!”
I take a deep breath. Blood on the sheets. I can’t link my thoughts together. Blood on the sheets. “My wife—there’s blood,” I gasp. “Blood on the sheets. So much blood.” My voice is not my own. “She’s my wife.”
Blood on the sheets.
Sarah’s sobbing uncontrollably.
“Hang on, baby,” I say, grabbing her hand.
“Jonas,” Sarah cries. “Oh my God, no. The babies.” She’s wailing.
Blood on the carpet.
“I’m dispatching an ambulance right now, sir. What’s your name?”
Blood on the white tiles. “Hang on, baby. They’re coming right now.”
“What’s your name, sir?”
“Jonas Faraday. Please hurry.”
“What’s your wife’s name?”
Blood on the sheets.
“Hang on, Sarah. They’re coming.”
“Your wife’s name is Sarah?”
Sarah shrieks something incoherent.
“They’re coming, Sarah. Right now.”
“Your wife’s name is Sarah?”
“Yes. Sarah Faraday. Please, please hurry. It’s an emergency. There’s so much blood. Oh my God, no.” A tidal wave of emotion is threatening to overwhelm me, but I stuff it down. Blood on the sheets. Blood on the carpet. Blood on the white tiles. Blood on the sheets. My life’s come full circle. This is how it started. And now this is how it ends.
“The babies, Jonas. The babies. Please, God, no.”
“What happened to your wife?” the operator asks. “Why is there blood on the sheets?”
Because everything I touch turns to blood.
“She’s pregnant.” I choke back a sob. “With twins.” I stifle another sob. “Please hurry.”
“Jonas, is there blood because your wife’s in labor—or because she’s been injured somehow?”
Sarah lets out another pained wail.
“I’m right here, baby.” I squeeze Sarah’s hand. “I... I don’t know. Sarah, are you in labor?”
“I don’t know,” she sobs, here eyes wide. “I don’t know!”
“We don’t know what’s happening—there’s blood all over the bed—so much blood—we were sleeping, and then, oh my God, there’s so much blood, and it’s not stopping—”
“Okay, I understand. Help is on the way. Tell your wife help is coming. Tell her she’s got to try to stay calm.”
Blood on the sheets. Blood on the carpet. Blood on the tiles. Blood on the sheets.
A sob is rising in my throat. I can’t contain it. It lurches out of me.
“Jonas,” the operator says sharply. “Listen to my voice. You need to stay calm for Sarah. Do you understand?”
I don’t reply. Sarah’s screaming. I can’t breathe. I can’t talk. I glance down at the bed. The puddle of blood pooling underneath Sarah hips is getting bigger. It’s literally gurgling out of her. Her thighs are covered in slick, red wetness. The sheet is soaked clean through.
“Tell Sarah help is on the way,” the operator says. “Jonas, tell her that right now.”
“Help is on the way,” I blurt to Sarah. I tighten my grip on her hand, but she doesn’t squeeze back. Her eyes are closed.
“The babies,” Sarah whimpers. She’s becoming still and quiet.
“I hear a siren,” I say into the phone, my heart suddenly leaping. “They’re close.” I grip Sarah’s hand again, but she doesn’t grip back. “They’re coming, baby.”
“Save the babies,” Sarah says. Her eyes are still closed. She’s not thrashing around anymore. Her face is pale.
“Sarah? Oh my God! Sarah?”
She opens her eyes slowly and looks at me calmly. “Tell them to save the babies.”
I open my mouth to reply to her, but nothing comes out. My chest tightens. My stomach convulses. I cup the phone to my mouth and turn my head away from her. “I can’t live without Sarah,” I whisper fiercely into the phone. “Make sure you tell them—save Sarah no matter what.”
“Jonas, they’re gonna do everything they can for all of them,” the operator says.
“No, no, you don’t understand. You need to tell them—I can’t live without my wife. Make sure they understand the situation. I can’t live without Sarah. Nothing matters without Sarah. She’s my everything.”
The operator pauses. “Jonas, they’ll do everything they can—”
“Listen to me,” I shout. “I can’t live without her!” I can’t keep a sob from lurching out of me. “Tell them to save her,” I scream. I grip the phone with white knuckles, tears streaming down my face. “Tell them to save my Sarah no matter what!”
Chapter 10
Jonas
“Blood pressure ninety over fifty,” the EMT says. He’s holding an oxygen mask over Sarah’s face. Another EMT is bent over her, securing an IV to her arm. They’re crowded around her, monopolizing her, edging me out. I’m sitting down by her feet, clutching her ankle, bug-eyed, practically convulsing with anxiety and dread. This can’t be happening. Surely, I’m going to wake up any minute, warm and calm next to Sarah in our bed. I’ll grab her and hold her close and tell her I love her and she’ll run her hands through my hair.
Sarah mumbles something that sounds like, “Jonas.”
I lean past the EMT and shove my face into Sarah’s. Her eyes are wide with terror. She’s pale—holy fuck, she’s so pale. The last time she looked like this she was lying on a bathroom floor.
A tear falls out the corner of her eye and down her temple. Her teeth are chattering.
“I’m here, baby,” I say. I grab her hand.
“The babies.” The words are muffled by the oxygen mask, but I know exactly what she’s saying. Her body lurches with a sob.
“Sit back a little, sir.”
I lean in, an inch from her face. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”
“The babies,” she whimpers. Her face contorts into sheer agony. “The babies, Jonas.” She breaks down into a sob. “The babies.” She’s becoming agitated.
“Sit back, sir. Right now.”
“It’s gonna be okay, Sarah.” I contain a sob that’s threatening to overtake me.
She pulls the oxygen mask down. Her eyes are bugging out. “Jonas, the babies. Tell them.”
“No.” My entire body jolts. “No, Sarah.”
“No matter what—”
“No.” I choke bac
k another sob.
“Promise me.”
I grip her hand and squeeze—but I don’t promise. I never make promises I don’t plan to keep. Her hand in mine goes limp.
“Heart rate dropping,” the EMT next to me says. “Sit back now,” he barks at me.
I sit back and stare at Sarah’s unconscious body in front of me. Blood is pooling onto the stretcher between her legs, oozing, spreading. Her legs are drenched in blood, all the way down to her feet. Even her socks—the fuzzy wool socks I put onto her icy feet to keep them warm—are soaked with crimson blood.
“Sarah?” the EMT prompts her, but she doesn’t reply. “Sarah? Stay with me, Sarah,” the EMT says.
He leans into her, right up to her mouth. I can’t tell if she’s talking to him or if he’s just listening for sounds.
I’m shaking violently.
The back doors swing open. The paramedics push Sarah’s stretcher out the back of the ambulance and a throng of people in scrubs immediately surrounds her.
One of the paramedics is shouting a rapid-fire laundry list of information to someone at the front of the procession. There’s a back-and-forth exchange, but I don’t understand what they’re saying.
“Hypovolemic shock,” someone says as they whisk her away.
“Suspected abruption,” another one of them says.
I leap out the back of the ambulance and jog behind the armada surrounding Sarah, my heart beating wildly, as they whisk her along the length of the entire hallway. My movement isn’t conscious. My legs aren’t my own. I’m vaguely aware I’m screaming Sarah’s name as I run, but I can’t stop myself.
“Twins,” I hear someone say.
“Transfusion,” someone else says. “Unconscious.”
“Anesthesiologist.”
“Abruption.”
“Stat.”
“... the husband out of here.”
My heart is shattering. I’m having a hard time breathing.
They shuttle her through swinging doors and I attempt to follow.
“Sir, you’re gonna have to wait out here.” It’s a petite woman in scrubs. She’s got her hand on my chest.
“I have to go with her.” I move toward the doors again, but she grabs my arm and moves in front of me.
“Mr. Faraday, your wife has lost a tremendous amount of blood. She’s likely had a placental abruption. With the amount of blood she’s lost, there’s no question we need to deliver the babies immediately—”
