“I’m gross,” I tell him, gesturing at my attire. I have on a pair of his boxers, pushed down under my stomach, a stretched out Ink Addiction shirt with coffee stains from breakfast down the front, and my hair is a wild mess, coming out of my ponytail. If I had to guess, dust bunnies are clinging to me somewhere. I just can’t see past my boobs anymore.
“You’re fabulous. Now, come here and dance with me.” He pulls me in his arms and presses play on his phone, which is now residing in the Bluetooth speaker on the table. “You need to listen to some classics, Maggie, not that boy band bullshit you had on earlier.”
I laugh when I hear the familiar song coming through the speaker. “Seriously, Irish?”
He doesn’t say a word, he just holds me and we dance, albeit awkwardly thanks to my huge belly, to Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get it On’.
“I know it’s been a while, but this isn’t happening. You know we can’t. Doctor’s orders.”
I’ve started to dilate, so Dr. Redmond put me on pelvic rest at my appointment earlier in the week, much to Finn’s disappointment. We need these babies to stay put for several more weeks. I just hit 31 weeks, so we need them to keep cookin’.
“Hush, woman, and just dance with me. That’s all I want from you right now.”
As silly as it is, Finn and I dance in our living room, serenaded by Marvin Gaye. After a few tracks, his phone starts ringing.
“Aren’t you gonna answer that?” I ask when he makes no move to get it.
“Nope. The only person I want to talk to is right here in my arms.”
After the third time, I pull myself away from him and walk to the phone. My breath catches. “Finn, it’s a number from Ireland. It might be important.”
“Fuck,” he exhales.
When the number calls back a fourth time, he picks it up right away.
As soon as the person on the other end starts talking, I can see the panic flood his face. He takes off running down the hallway to his bedroom. I waddle behind him as fast as I can manage. He’s got the phone cradled between his shoulder and his ear, pulling a bag from the closet, throwing random articles of clothing into it. Every few seconds he mumbles a ‘yeah’ or an ‘okay’.
“Maggie, find my passport. It’s in my dresser somewhere.”
He hangs up the phone and throws it down on the bed, pulling his hands through his messy black hair. He clasps his hands on top of his head and collapses on the bed, defeated. I find his passport and walk over to him, noticing the tears in his eyes.
“Móraí?” I ask.
He nods. “That was my dear old Uncle Michael. She had a massive stroke last night. It’s not looking very good. I have to go,” he says. “Fuck,” he says, shooting off the bed, pacing back and forth in the tiny room.
“Finish packing. I’ll go book you a flight.” I grab his arm to stop his movements and pull his face into my hands. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head back and forth. “I don’t want to go without you. I promised her I’d bring you to meet her. I should have taken you earlier.”
“She’ll understand.”
His forehead drops down to rest on mine. “I don’t want to leave you. What if something happens? What if the babies come? They could come any day now. I don’t want to miss it.”
His eyes are wild, panicking. I know it would kill him to miss the arrival of our babies. I just hope he can get back before they get here.
“You can’t stay, Finn. You need to go and say your goodbyes. You’d never forgive yourself if you didn’t. I’ll be fine.”
He kisses me and I leave the room to grab my computer. Booking an international flight at the last minute isn’t an easy task. The soonest one is leaving out of Dallas, so he’ll have to drive several hours away to catch it, if he leaves right away.
“Are you sure you’re good to drive?” I ask him at the door. “I can take you.”
“I’m not letting you drive back home by yourself. I’m good. I’m mainly worried about you. I would feel better if you’d stay next door, or if you went to your mom’s or Lucy’s. I don’t like the idea of you staying by yourself. And don’t brush anything off, like you always do. If anything feels weird or off, you call the doctor.”
I nod, but that’s not good enough for Finn.
“Promise me, Maggie. I need to know you’ll be ok while I’m gone. I won’t be able to live with myself if anything happens to you or the babies while I’m gone.”
“I promise, Irish. Now, go, so you can come back. I love you.”
He kisses me, then leans down and kisses my protruding belly. “I love you, too, Magpie. So much it hurts.”
I stay at the door long after he drives away.
Two nights later, Móraí is gone. Finn is devastated, but there was nothing that could be done for her. I’m glad that he got there in time to say goodbye to the most important person in his family. If it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure what kind of person he would have turned out to be. She took him in every summer, taking him out of the environment and away from the two people he hated so much.
He’s having a difficult time in Ireland. His mother and uncle are both there, despite the family’s objections. They haven’t been welcome members of the O’Leary family since the tragic death of Thomas O’Leary all those years ago, but news of Móraí’s death brought them out of exile. I’m sure they were hoping to get some of the money they think they are entitled to. They, of course, are trying their hardest to rekindle the relationship with their son, but Finn’s trying his hardest to stay away from them and keep the peace.
I’m lying in bed, 4,000 miles away, trying my hardest to console Finn. I went to sleep earlier, but set an alarm to call and wake Finn up when it’s morning over in Galway. We’ve been talking about pretty mundane things the last few days to distract him from what’s happening around him, but he brings up something pretty significant tonight.
“Móraí’s will is being read in a few hours. Her solicitor says that she left everything to me, Maggie.” He lets out a weary breath. The exhaustion is almost tangible over the line. “I don’t want it. I just want to come back home and be with you.”
I’m shocked at what he’s telling me. I know from conversations we’ve had in the past that she ran several very successful businesses. Businesses that Finn knows nothing about.
“What are you going to do?”
I brace myself for his answer. I’m scared to hear it.
“I have to stay here until I can get something figured out. Obviously, I’m not in any sort of position to take over anything. These businesses have people in place that Móraí trusted to run them. They run like well-oiled machines. I will have to meet with them, let them know that their jobs are secure, and figure out who’s going to take her place in the overseeing of them all. I have lots of family here that worked closely with her. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’ll be in charge in name only. That doesn’t mean that we won’t be spending some time here in the future, though. Just not anytime soon. I think she knew that my life was with you, and provisions will be set up for that. Her solicitor says things will be clearer after we meet. I hope to God he’s right.”
“I’m sure he is. He’s the one that set everything up for her.”
“I know. Unfortunately, this means I’ll be here longer than I expected. I want nothing more than to hop on a plane and come home to you. I miss you so much I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“I know the feeling. I miss you, too. Just do what you need to do so you can get back to us.”
“I will. Now put me on speaker so I can read to my babies. I found some new stories here.”
Finn lulls me to sleep from 4,000 miles away with tales from his homeland.
I wake up in the middle of the night, stabbing pains ripping through my stomach. It’s a pain like I’ve never experienced before in my life.
I guess it’s show time.
Our babies are coming.
I push myself up to a sitting position, gasping fo
r air, and sweating profusely. I grab my phone from the pillow where Finn’s head usually resides and check the time. I’ve only been asleep for a few hours. It’s a little after two o’clock in the morning. I try to change positions, get more comfortable, but the pain isn’t getting any better. It’s starting in the bottom of my stomach near my pelvis and wrapping around my back. I thought contractions were supposed to come and go, but this pain is a constant, steady stream of hurt.
I call Troy’s phone, but it goes straight to voice mail. I try Landon’s next, but he doesn’t answer. I know they’re home. Before I called Finn tonight, I got up to get some water and saw both of their cars parked outside of their apartment. I decide to go over there and bang on their door to wake them up. Hoisting myself out of bed, I slowly make my way down the hall, using the wall to support myself. The pain is so intense I can barely catch my breath. I can’t even hold myself upright. I’m hunched over, holding the bottom of my stomach in hopes that it will help with some of the mind-numbing pain.
I don’t’ think I’ll be able to make it all the way over to their apartment. I pull up Goose’s number and hit ‘call’. It starts ringing and I hear her tired voice come over the line, but I can’t say anything back. A huge flow of red-tinged liquid gushes from between my legs and I collapse against the wall, dropping the phone on the floor, screaming out in agony. I can hear Goose yelling on the other end of the phone, but my brain can’t make my arm pick the phone back up. With each weak movement of my babies inside of me, I watch in desperation as more of the dark liquid leaves my body. Each surge of liquid is growing darker and darker, looking more like blood. My vision is tunneling, and soon I’m sprawled on the ground, my body helpless to do anything.
I open my eyes briefly when I feel Bennett over my body, checking my pulse and talking to me. I can’t understand what he’s saying; none of this is making any sense.
“Finn,” I manage to get out as my head falls back against his shoulder. He’s getting in the backseat of a car with me, barking directions at the driver.
I grab his shirt, intending to pull it, but I can barely force my hand to form a fist.
“Irish,” I cry, tears running down my face.
My body is shaking. I’m freezing, my teeth are chattering. Why is it so cold? I close my eyes again, wanting to go to sleep. Maybe the pain will get better if I can just fall asleep.
“Stay with me, Mags. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
He’s slapping at my cheek, moving me around. I can hear him talking to someone about me, but I don’t understand. He’s using big words. Doctor words.
The car comes to an abrupt stop and Bennett is putting me down. Lights are being shined in my eyes, people are running, poking me, and asking me things I can’t understand. A mask is stuck over my mouth and nose. A needle is inserted into my arm. I can hear my sister’s voice, but she sounds like she’s in a tunnel, getter further and further away from me with each incoherent word she speaks.
“Irish,” I cry over and over, clutching my stomach.
The pain is becoming unbearable.
Where’s Finn? Why isn’t he here with me?
I close my eyes, trying to summon him to my side.
Finn doesn’t appear. A welcoming darkness appears instead, wiping out all thoughts of Finn, the excruciating pain, and my unborn children.
I can feel tugging and pulling, hear voices, some familiar and some unfamiliar, and smell those much hated hospital smells, but I can’t make myself wake up. I can hear Momma and Lucy telling me about my sons, how handsome and flawless and tiny they are, but I can’t make myself wake up. I can feel the movements of the hospital bed taking me to a different location in the hospital. The nurses and doctors are talking about my condition, just waiting for me to open my eyes, but I can’t make myself wake up. With each passing measure of time, the voices urging me to wake up get a little more desperate, a little more frantic. I want to let each voice know that I’m trying my hardest. I hear everything they are saying. I want nothing more than to open my eyes and let them know that I’m alright. I want to see my babies they are all telling me about. I want to hold them in my arms and kiss their tiny little faces and tell them that I love them.
But I can’t make myself wake up.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
When I was a little girl playing at the beach one summer, I face-planted right into a huge pile of sand Goose was preparing for sand castle construction. I was holding some pretty cool shells so I didn’t want to drop them to put my hands down to catch myself. Sand got in my eyes, in my mouth, in my nose; I even sucked some down my throat.
I’m experiencing a sensation that is quite similar to that. My eyelids are scratchy and feel like sandpaper rubbing back and forth against my eyes with each slow blink. My throat and mouth are so dry I can’t swallow.
I’m awake.
Memories come flooding back, crashing into my foggy brain. All at once, I remember being at the apartment, falling down in a pool of blood, Bennett coming to get me, and then that’s when the details get hazy. I look down at my body. My belly is still big, but not nearly as big as it was.
Where are my babies?
I try to sit up so I can look around the room for them, but I’m hit with terrible pain. I rest my head against the pillow, panting, crying.
Where are they? What happened?
Monitors are beeping and screeching, and a nurse comes pushing through my door, with Troy hot on her heels.
“Calm down, Sleeping Beauty. We leave you alone for the first time in days and you start freaking out,” he says, laughing, the look of relief spread across his face.
“Days? What’s going on?” I ask, my question directed at my best friend, but I’m more than willing to take the answer from either one of them. “Where are my babies? Are they okay? Where’s Finn?”
“Hold on, honey. One thing at a time,” the nurse says, tinkering with the various machines and monitors on the side of my bed.
Attaching a cuff to my arm and pushing her stethoscope against my chest, she says, “Your babies are doing fine. They are downstairs in the NICU so they can finish growing and get a little stronger. As soon as we can get you checked out you can go peek in on them.” She finishes what she’s doing and rests a hand on my bedrail. “Do you remember anything from the last three days?”
I look at her in complete shock. Three days? I shake my head back and forth, feeling the panic coming back. Troy’s at my side, holding my hand.
“You were brought in with a placental abruption. Your water broke in the middle of the night, you were in labor, and the babies were in distress. Dr. Redmond had to perform an emergency C-section. If you wouldn’t have called your big sister when you did, you may not have survived. It was a close call. You’re lucky to be alive.”
“What about my babies? I don’t even know what I had,” I cry, upset that I’ve missed out on their first three days of life.
Troy takes over. “Two baby boys. They are the spitting image of Finn. All that’s missing are the tattoos. I think at least one of them needs one, so we can tell them apart. If someone takes their hats or bracelets off, we’re all screwed.”
I smile, and then freak out, again. “Finn. Oh shit. He’s still in Ireland.”
Troy shakes his head and gives my hand a light squeeze. “He’s back. He rushed back home as soon as your sister called him. He’s downstairs with the babies right now. I texted him to let him know you’re awake, so he’ll be in here any se-”
“Christ, woman, don’t ever scare me like that again,” Finn says as he makes his way over to the bed, running his hands through his hair.
Ever so gently, he pulls my upper body into his arms and holds onto me, pouring strength and love into my aching body through his hug. I sag against him and cry, purging myself of all the pent up emotion I’m feeling.
“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you. I can’t believe you had to go through that alone. I should have never left you, Magpie.” I ca
n feel his tears hitting the crown of my head.
“How are they?” I whisper, my voice still scratchy and shaky.
He pulls back from me, his eyes watery, slightly swollen, and bloodshot, and pulls out his phone, pulling up a picture. It’s of him in a glider, wearing a button down shirt halfway undone, a baby tucked into each side. His arms are wrapped protectively around each little bundle, a look of pure contentment on his face. It’s hard to see the babies; they are surrounded with wires, tubes, and hoses.
“They are so small, Maggie, but they are utter perfection. We can only hold them for an hour each day. They need to stay in their incubators under lights for jaundice. Other than that, they just need to grow and learn to breathe on their own. Their lungs aren’t very strong yet.”
“I want to go see them,” I say, desperate to get out of this bed and go see my babies.
The nurse asks if I’m sure I’m up for it and I shoot her a look.
“OK, Momma,” she says, raising her hands in defense. “I just wanted to be sure. I need to get you unhooked from all of this commotion and get you a wheel chair. You can start walking down there tomorrow; it will do you some good and help with the healing. But not today. I don’t trust those legs of yours yet.”
After she gets me untangled from monitor leads and IVs, Finn helps me to the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready to go. What should be a five minute ordeal at most takes about forty-five minutes and is totally mortifying and humiliating. I guess all sense of modesty goes out the window when you have babies and can’t even manage to pee by yourself.
As Finn wheels me down to the NICU, he fills me in on what I missed while I was out to the world. He got the call from Goose as soon as we got to the hospital. He was adamant about not missing the birth of our babies, so, thanks to FaceTime, he was able to see our sons come into the world. They were whisked off right after the birth because they were having trouble breathing by themselves. They got them stable in the NICU, which is where they’ll remain for as long as it takes to get them up to speed. They didn’t need ventilators, which is a huge plus.
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