The Long and Winding Road

by TJ Klune

The first time I was beneath him.

  That smile, that crooked smile that never stops taking my breath away.

  The Kid telling me that it’d be okay, that everyone was waiting for us at home.

  Otter and I being told that it worked, that we were going to be parents.

  A thousand other moments. All the bits and pieces that make up a life.

  We have lived. We have lived through so much.

  We have made this life our own, this strange family of ours.

  Because family isn’t always defined by blood.

  It’s defined by those who make us whole.

  Those who make us who we are.

  And here, now, is a moment I never thought I’d see. That I never thought I’d get to have.

  A nurse says, “Would you like to hold your children?”

  And Otter’s voice breaks when he says, “Please. Yes. Yes, please.”

  There’s a blue bundle in her arms that she passes to him, oh so gently. There’s a little cry that comes from it, and Otter’s eyes are wide and wet, and he’s looking down at the life in his arms, and he says, “Hi. Hello. Hello there. I am so happy to meet you. I’m your daddy. You are the best thing in this whole wide world. And I promise you, we are going to love you with everything we have.”

  And then he looks up at me and just smiles.

  I think I’m in shock, because I don’t know what to do.

  Then I hear, “Sir?”

  Everything feels hazy as I look in the direction of the voice.

  Another nurse is in front of me, and she’s got a similar bundle in her arms, except this one is pink.

  “Are you ready?” she asks me kindly.

  No. No, I’m not. I’m not ready for any of this.

  But I don’t even care. I want this so goddamn bad.

  I manage to make a noise that sounds like yes, my arms coming up mechanically.

  Then there’s a weight placed in my arms, a heft, and I’m devastated by it, even as the nurse adjusts my forearm a little to support her head. It doesn’t feel like anything I’ve ever held before, and I’m struggling to breathe, heart stumbling in my chest, as I look down and for the first time, I see her.

  My daughter.

  She’s… wrinkled.

  Like a hairless pug.

  And she’s really red.

  And her face is scrunched.

  But she’s got this little hand with little fingers, and it raises up and bumps against my chin, and I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything like it before. She’s got a few dark hairs on her head, matted down under a tiny pink cap, little tufts poking out, and her eyes are squinted shut, and she’s making these weird fucking noises like she’s broken, but it’s… it’s—

  The first words I ever say to my daughter are, “I’m so glad you’re not still covered in gunk. I don’t think I could have handled you looking like a Halloween decoration.”

  Goddammit.

  Otter snorts and comes to stand beside me, and he looks over at the kid in my arms, and I look over at the one in his, and he looks the same, this little tiny blob of wrinkled skin, but he’s gorgeous, just like his sister.

  “I make the best-looking children,” I tell Otter, sounding slightly hysterical.

  “You did good,” he said, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek. His face is wet, but it’s still spectacular.

  “I made these,” I tell the nurses, who are watching us, looking amused. “I didn’t mean to make two, but I did, and I did it.”

  They share a knowing look that says, Idiot.

  I look down at the little girl in my arms.

  “I made you,” I tell her. “I made you.”

  She hits my chin again.

  MEGAN IS exhausted, but she’s smiling at us, Marty rubbing a cool cloth over her face. “Good?” she asks us, voice a little rough.

  “So good,” Otter says, not having looked up from his daughter since we’ve switched. “I just—I don’t know how we could ever repay you. You’ve—”

  She rolls her eyes. “I told you guys at the beginning. I love this. For this moment, right here. Right now. This is why I do it. You guys are going to be so good at this.”

  “You think?” I ask hopefully.

  “Yeah, man,” Marty says easily. “The best, probably. You guys have got this aura about you, you know? You glow.”

  “You are so strange,” I tell him.

  He shrugs. “Probably. But it’s true.”

  “We’re keeping you.”

  He grins. “Yeah? We’d make a pretty good aunt and uncle. I could teach them yoga poses, get their chi sorted when—”

  “Don’t make me take that back.”

  He winks at me.

  “You want to hold them?” Otter asks Megan.

  She shakes her head slowly. “They’re not mine. They’re yours. Later, sure. But now, before they need to take them to take footprints for the birth certificate and the like, they should be with you. I’ll see them after I get some sleep.”

  I want to protest, seeing as how Megan did all the work, but Marty’s shaking his head at me, so we just let it go.

  I don’t know that I’d have been able to give my son up anyway.

  Well. Until Otter and I switch again, that is.

  WE WALK hand in hand out to the waiting room. It’s early morning, and everyone is in the waiting room, looking refreshed and bright-eyed from being able to stay in a nearby hotel. I’m sure Otter and I look like shit, but we’re grinning so wide it hurts.

  Ty sees us first. He’s up and running, and his arms are around me, holding me tight. He’s breathing heavily, and he says, “Yeah? Okay? Is it—”

  “Okay,” I tell him quietly. “It’s all okay.”

  He sags in my arms, sighing in relief. “They told us you were still back there and—”

  “Oh my god,” Izzie says, startling me with how much she sounds like us. “Can you please just tell us what they are?”

  “Babies,” Otter says seriously.

  Everyone groans, because why.

  I try to open my mouth and tell them, but I have to swallow around the lump in my throat. The Kid backs away, hands on my shoulders, looking a little worried.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, looking a little fearful.

  I shake my head.

  “Bear’s a little overwhelmed,” Otter says, sounding smug.

  All the fathers in the room nod knowingly. All the mothers roll their eyes.

  God, I love them.

  “You want me to tell them?” Otter asks me, lips scraping against my cheek.

  “Yeah,” I manage to say.

  They all look at him expectantly.

  He smiles that crooked smile, the gold-green in his eyes shining. “A boy,” he says. “And a girl. Both are good. And strong. And tiny.”

  There are tears then from most everyone as they explode in noise.

  All except for JJ.

  JJ is slumped on the chair, fast asleep, mouth open and drooling on his shoulder.

  He’s such a weird kid.

  THEY’RE ALL lined up in front of the nursery, cooing through the glass, telling us that they look exactly like me, which I’m not quite sure if is an insult or not, given that the last time I checked, I was not a hairless pug.

  Otter and I, of course, are standing next to them, chests puffed out, preening because we’re goddamn fathers and this is our moment.

  “You guys did a good job, Papa Bear,” Creed says, knocking his shoulder against mine.

  “We did, didn’t we?” Otter says, that smile never leaving his face.

  “Very good,” Anna agrees. “Though I’m a little jealous that you have a girl now, whereas I have none.”

  “I am a boy!” JJ says, doing a dance that makes him look like he’s either possessed or has had his spine removed.

  “Yah-guh,” AJ shouts.

  “We could try again,” Creed says, waggling his eyebrows. “All of this has made me want to put another baby in you.�
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  “You come near me with that thing with the intention of getting me pregnant again,” Anna says sweetly, “and you’ll probably lose it.”

  “I give it six months before she folds,” Creed whispers loudly to me.

  “We want more,” Stephanie says, staring at her daughter. “This isn’t enough.”

  “Oh boy,” Anna mutters.

  “If you think about it,” Alice says, “this is a first for all of us. Having a girl.”

  “That’s right,” Jerry says, arm around his wife’s waist. “It’s been all boys for this family. Except for Izzie here.”

  “Please don’t lump me in with them,” Izzie begs.

  “This is going to get interesting,” Ian says. “Wait until she gets older.”

  “Her milkshake will probably bring all the boys to the yard,” Tyson says solemnly.

  “What is wrong with all of you?” I growl at them. “She is a baby. And why can’t my son’s milkshake bring boys to the yard? God, don’t be sexist.”

  They all gape at me.

  I frown. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that—”

  “Holy shit!” Dom says, and we all turn slowly to look at him, because he never cusses. Ever.

  “What is it?” Ty asks.

  “You never even told us their names,” Dom says to Otter and me. “None of us even thought to ask.”

  Everyone focuses on us eagerly.

  It’s funny, this. Here. Now. Out of everything that’s happened, it feels like this moment is both an ending and a beginning.

  “You ready for this?” Otter asks, putting his arms around my shoulders.

  “More than you know,” I tell him, kissing his jaw. “Want to do the honors?”

  “Okay,” Otter says, looking out at our family. “Everyone, we’d like you to meet—”

  FUTURE

  The youth is the hope of our future.

  —José Rizal

  14. The Long and Winding Road

  “WHY ARE you freaking out?” Otter asks me, looking amused as he leans against our bedroom doorway. “If anything, I would think it’d be Ty that would—”

  “I’m not freaking out,” I snap at him, trying to fix this stupid fucking tie that is obviously broken because it’s not working.

  “You look like you’re about to choke yourself.”

  “I’m about to choke you.”

  “That… wasn’t as threatening as you think it was. It definitely didn’t help that I think you’re adorable when you get angry.”

  “Otter, I swear to god that I’m going to—”

  He laughs, pushing himself up off the doorway, walking toward me. And since Otter Thompson is in a tailored gray suit, I might stare at his reflection in the mirror just a little, doing my best to keep from drooling. Or, even worse, tearing off both our suits and bending him over the bed and fucking him senseless.

  He must see it somehow in my eyes, because he smiles that crooked little smile as he comes to stand behind me, his front pressed firmly against my back. His lips scrape against my ear in a move that has to be nothing but intentional as he reaches around me, knocking my hands away as he starts to fiddle with the tie that I apparently don’t know how to work.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he says.

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Huh.”

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “Just doesn’t sound like you know, is all.”

  “I just want everything to go well.”

  “It will,” he says. “And even if it doesn’t, it’ll be perfect.”

  I sigh, looking away from his knowing gaze. “He’s nervous. It makes me nervous.”

  “That’s because you guys share a brain.”

  “I think it’s a good nervous, though.”

  “I know it is. It’s how I was.”

  I look back up at him. “Really?”

  He finishes tying my tie. It looks perfect, of course. He brushes off my shoulders. There’s nothing there, but he doesn’t need an excuse to touch me. “Yeah.”

  “Which time?”

  “Both.”

  I laugh quietly. “I was a sure bet.”

  “Both times?”

  I shrug. “Sure. I pretty much like everything about you.”

  He wraps his arms around my waist, hands clasped over my stomach. He hooks his chin over my shoulder, staring at my reflection with a quiet smile. “We did good, didn’t we?”

  “Yes,” I say promptly. Then, “With what?”

  “This. Everything. Our lives.”

  “Yeah. We did good.”

  And we have. We’re a little older, and maybe there are more lines around our eyes and mouths (but I am not losing my hair, no matter what my shit of a little brother says), but look at us now. We’ve beaten everything stacked against us, and we’ve made it this far. We’re still standing.

  A lot of this has to do with this man who’s watching me like I could be his whole world. I know that’s not true—not when we’ve got all that we have—but it sure feels like it in this moment.

  “Today’s a good day,” Otter says, kissing my ear, making me squirm just a little. “You’re allowed to be happy.”

  “I’m not going to cry.”

  Otter snorts. “That’s bullshit and we both know it.”

  “We don’t have to—”

  A loud crash comes from somewhere in the house.

  Otter and I both sigh at the same time. We’re very practiced at it.

  “What do you think it is this time?” he asks me.

  “I’m going to go with ‘we’re trying to be architects because Uncle Ty said we could be anything and we tried to stack everything we own on top of each other just to see what would happen.’”

  “I’m gonna go with ‘we’re playing surgery because of that one time Uncle Creed forgot to change the channel and we watched the hospital show that was probably not age appropriate.’”

  “They’re so weird,” I mutter, smoothing down my suit jacket as Otter steps back. “And if they’ve messed up their outfits, we’re putting them up for adoption.”

  “Nah,” Otter says easily. “You’d miss them too much.”

  I roll my eyes, but he knows me too well and sees right through it. “You want to start this one, or should I?”

  “Knock yourself out.”

  “You’re just saying that so I’m distracted.”

  “Probably.”

  “Manipulative jerk.”

  “Love you too.”

  I kiss him quickly, shake my head, and go into Papa Bear mode. I raise my voice so it carries down the hall. “That better not have been something breaking. I’d hate to think what would happen if two little kids weren’t capable of having nice things.”

  Two squeals come from down the hall, followed by hushed whispers.

  “They’re not even subtle, are they?”

  “Well, they are related to you,” Otter says. “I don’t know that you have a subtle bone in your body.” He pauses, considering. “Well, except for when I’m inside of—”

  “Unless you plan to do something about it right now, you better not even finish that. Seriously, Otter. What the hell.”

  He waggles his eyebrows at me.

  He’s such an asshole. I’m the luckiest man in the world.

  He follows me down the hallway to a door covered in My Little Pony stickers and diagrams of the skeletons of a blue whale and a flying lemur.

  “Yep,” I mutter before I push open the door. “Those are our children, all right.”

  The room has changed in the last few years. Oh sure, it’s still that same pale blue as it was before, with the clouds painted on it. But gone are the stenciled tigers and elephants that had once pranced in a field of green grass and pretty flowers. The sun is still painted in the corner, and the stars still glow on the ceiling at night when the lights are low.

  Now the room might as well be split right down the middle
. On the left, the bed is made immaculately, books shelved, toys put away in the blue chest that sits on the floor. The walls are covered in the same My Little Pony stickers that were on the door, and it’s the only thing that looks slightly out of place, but Noah Thompson loves them more than life itself, and he had begged for us to allow him to put them there, insisting that they would help him sleep because they scared away the monster that lived under his bed. And when your son is staring at you with wide, earnest eyes and talking to you about his precious My Little Pony stickers, it’s pretty much a given that you’ll give in without even the smallest of arguments. In fact, when he told me that, I went a little overboard and bought him a stuffed pillow of his favorite pony, Princess Celestia, because there was no way a damn monster would ever put its claws on my child.

  “You know he’s pulling your chain, right?” Otter asked me as Noah squealed, hugging the pillow close to his chest.

  “There are monsters,” I told Otter as if he was stupid.

  “Oh boy,” Otter said.

  The other half of the room looks like a hurricane struck it, the bed disheveled, toys strewn across the floor. (“They’re not toys, Papa! I am not a child.”) The walls are covered in carefully clipped photos from National Geographic and, randomly, a photograph of Bach printed online because Lily Thompson is so damn weird like that.

  And currently, she is standing above her brother, who is lying on the floor, a pink surgical mask wrapped around her face, a flat red case open on her bed filled with plastic medical equipment meant for kids, something she had gotten last Christmas. She had screamed long and loud when she’d opened it, wrapping paper flying furiously around her, thanking Santa for finally giving her what she wanted, Otter and I blinking blearily as it was only five in the morning.

  Lily is wearing the dress Anna and Izzie took her shopping for, having told the both of us that she wanted to go with the girls if she had to wear a dress. “I don’t like dresses,” she told me in that tone she did so well. “But if I have to wear one, I wanna go with Anna and Izzie.”

  Which led to Noah loudly proclaiming that he too wanted to go with Anna and Izzie, but not because he wanted to wear a dress. He just always wanted to go wherever his sister was. Lily had rolled her eyes but had gripped his hand tightly, and Otter and I both knew what was going to happen then, whether we liked it or not. Wherever Lily went, Noah was sure to follow.