Chapter 22
We were having dinner at our favorite restaurant, the one we’d gone to on our first date. The kids were with my father, having a sleepover with their cousins. It was just the two of us, holding hands across the table, drinking wine, talking about the last five years.
“I have something for you,” Clara said, pulling a small envelope out of her purse.
I opened it. Inside was a photo of a tiny ultrasound, with two little blobs in the middle.
“Twins,” she said, smiling. “Due in the fall.”
I stared at the photo, then at her, then back at the photo.
“Twins,” I repeated.
She nodded, laughing. “Two more. We’re going to be outnumbered.”
I stood up, walking around the table, pulling her into my arms and kissing her, right there in the middle of the restaurant. Everyone cheered, but I didn’t care. I was going to be a dad again. Two more babies. Two more reasons to be happy, to fight, to love.
“Two more,” I said, when we pulled apart. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she said.
We went home that night, and I called everyone, telling them the good news. My father screamed with joy. Uncle Martin started planning a bigger playroom. James said he’d be the godfather of both, no arguments. Daniel said we were crazy, but he was happy for us.
The pregnancy was hard on Clara. She was sick for months, tired all the time, but she was tough. She kept working, kept taking care of Lily and Jamie, kept being the amazing woman I’d married. I did everything I could—cooking, cleaning, taking the kids to school, rubbing her feet at night, anything she needed.
We had the twins in October, a boy and a girl. We named them Rose, after the garden where we’d gotten married, and Thomas, after Clara’s father. They were tiny, perfect, and Lily and Jamie were obsessed with them, fighting over who got to hold them first, who got to pick out their clothes, who got to sing them lullabies.
Our house was even louder now, even messier, even more full of love. We had to hire more nannies, more maids, more cooks, but it was worth it. Every night, after all the kids were asleep, Clara and I would sit on the couch, exhausted, drinking tea, looking at photos of the babies, and we’d laugh, because we couldn’t believe how lucky we were.
The twins’ first birthday was a huge party, with a bounce house and a petting zoo and a cake big enough for a hundred people. All our friends and family were there, all the kids running around screaming, covered in cake. My father held the twins, one on each knee, and he cried, because he’d never thought he’d have four grandkids, never thought he’d be this happy.
That night, after everyone left, Clara and I sat on the porch, watching the stars, just like we had so many times before.
“Remember when you were faking paralysis, and I was just a maid?” she said.
I laughed. “How could I forget? That was the worst and best time of my life. Worst, because I was surrounded by people who hated me. Best, because it made me open my eyes and see you.”
May you like
She leaned her head on my shoulder. “I’d go through it all again, a thousand times, if it meant I got to end up here. With you. With our kids. With this life.”
“Me too,” I said, kissing her. “Me too.”
