hands together, face shining.
“Did you see them?” she asked wonderingly. “Oh, Eugenie. They’re so beautiful.”
They were, I realized. My glimpses had been quick, but those images were etched permanently in my memory. I wanted to see them again, as soon as possible. I was forced to wait, though, while the staff did whatever it was the babies needed in the NICU. Tests were run, and there was nothing I could do but bide my time until the obstetrician sat down with me again.
“They’re both nearly three pounds each,” she said. “Which is fantastic. Twenty-nine weeks is definitely viable, but it’s always better the more weight they’ve got.” That would be Candace’s cooking and food agenda, I supposed. “Their lungs aren’t as developed as a full-term baby’s would be, of course, but we’re able to help with that. All in all, they’re in remarkably good shape. They’ll need to stay here for a while, but at this point, I’m really pleased with the prognosis.”
After a little more medical talk, they finally let me go to the twins. I was wheeled down, which seemed like overkill, but the nurses assured me I’d understand once some of my pain medication wore off. Candace and Charles accompanied me. He said something about having called Evan, but I didn’t pay much attention. My only thought was that the nurse needed to get me to NICU faster. When we reached it, I wasn’t fully prepared for what I found.
The twins were there, each in their own glass-encased bed. They weren’t the only things in the box. Each twin was connected to feeding tubes and a ventilator, a world of dizzying machinery. It all seemed too big and too scary for such little people. Something caught in my throat.
“I didn’t know there’d be so much ... stuff,” I managed to say.
The nurse had a kind, compassionate face. Exactly what you’d want from someone in this job. “I know the machinery’s intimidating, but don’t focus on that. Focus on what it’s doing. It’s helping make sure they’ll both get healthy and strong so they can go home with you.”
I gave a weak nod and hastily ran a hand over my eyes. Had I really been afraid of these two? And how could anyone have wanted to harm them? They were so tiny, like little dolls, and looked so terribly helpless. I felt guilty and ineffectual, like I should have done something to delay their birth. Or like I should be doing something
They didn’t look like the downy, cherublike babies on TV. There was a fragility to their limbs, hands, and feet that, again, reminded me of dolls. Their skin was pink and blotchy, yet I could tell I was the parent they’d taken after. They had my coloring and didn’t appear to have inherited any of Kiyo’s features. Small blessings.
“What will you call them?” asked Charles.
Unlike everything else in this ordeal, I actually had an answer for that. My long days had given me a lot of time to ponder names, which were a much safer mental challenge than the rest of my life. It would be nice to say I’d come up with really symbolic names or names of great people who’d left some impact on my life. Nope. It was a much simpler matter than that. I simply gave them names I liked. Ordinary names. The kinds of names a person shaped—not ones that shaped a person.
“Ivy and Isaac,” I said. I was a fan of alliteration.
Candace and Charles seemed pleased by the choices. I’d once heard her go off on “the ridiculous things people name their children these days,” so I think she was relieved I hadn’t made up some weird monstrosity for them.
“These are amazing times we live in,” she said, looking down at Ivy. “Imagine having these little ones a hundred years ago. What would’ve happened then?”
Or, I thought, what would’ve happened if they’d been born in the Otherworld? Because I had to assume they would’ve come early there too, in a position not suitable for natural birth. Dorian had seemed confident of his healers’ magic to handle anything, but I wasn’t so sure—especially considering the gentry track record with infants. I couldn’t believe anything the Otherworld could offer would match the care the twins were getting now. And I knew in that moment that everything I’d been through—turning my back on the Otherworld, coping with boredom, keeping away from magic—had all been worth it.
I gazed at my children and sighed happily. “We’re exactly where we need to be.”
Chapter 10
The next few weeks were surreal, and for the first time since coming to Alabama, I no longer worried about the Otherworld or filling my time. Isaac and Ivy consumed my life.
Not that there was much I could do for them. They were in the hands of the doctors and NICU nurses. Initially, I was able to pump breast milk for the twins to supplement the high-calorie formula they were also being fed. I was a little weirded out by being hooked up to a machine, but it was worth it to feel like I was contributing something. In time, it became clear I was one of those women who simply couldn’t produce milk very well, and I wondered if it was the result of my half-gentry heritage, since their women often had similar problems. Regardless, after two weeks, I stopped my attempts, and the twins went on a strictly formula diet. Some of the nurses tried to reassure me that the best antibodies came in the early days and that I’d done a good job in giving what I could. I knew current thinking recommended breast-feeding for much longer, however, again making me feel woefully inadequate.
So, my contribution simply became frequent, daily visits. I watched my children and the machines that supported them, silently counting each breath and heartbeat. I liked to think that Isaac and Ivy could sense my presence, even from inside their boxes. Maybe that was just wishful thinking, but it gave me some hope. I was rarely alone in my visits. One of the Reeds was almost always with me, and I took comfort from that too.
It was probably one of the most stressful times in my life, but progress was made in tiny, agonizing steps. The twins’ prognosis remained good, and before long I was allowed to touch them inside their compartments. The first time I did it, brushing Ivy’s hand, was like a miracle unfolding before me. I was certain I’d never felt anything so soft. And as the one-month mark neared, I was told Isaac and Ivy might have to stay for only one more month, based on their progress. I barely heard that part because it was immediately followed by two pieces of good news. The doctors expected the ventilators to come off soon and also that the twins would be in good enough condition that I could hold them.
“I can’t even imagine that,” I said to Evan as he drove me home that evening. “From the minute they were born, they’ve been these fragile, unreal little things.... To be able to hold them ...” I sighed and leaned my head back. “I can’t wait.”
He flashed me a quick smile. “I hope you’ll let the rest of us have a turn.” I smiled back. In the beginning, I’d thought his visits were simply as a kindness to me. Soon, I’d realized he was coming to regard the twins with as much affection as his aunt and uncle did. He’d gaze at them wonderingly, eyes shining as he let himself get lost in thought.
“Well, there are two of them,” I joked. “The problem might be having enough hands to hold them.”
“Not in this family,” he said, chuckling. “You’re going to have to fight us off.”
We reached Candace and Charles’s house, and I felt like I was floating ten feet off the ground. My mood was brighter than it had been in some time, and my physical condition was equally good. Spending so much time sitting and waiting had given me a chance to heal from most of the side effects of surgery. My staples had been removed ages ago, and I’d even gone back on birth control pills out of habit, though sex was pretty far off my radar just now. The waiting and inactivity were probably the only positive parts of the twins being confined to the NICU. I had no doubt that had things been different with them, I would’ve been out foolishly taxing my body long before its time.
“Looks like a visitor,” said Evan, turning the car off.
I followed his gaze. I’d been so consumed by my own joy that I hadn’t even noticed a strange car parked in the driveway. It was nothing I recognized, though I did spot a rental sticker on it. I wasn’t particularly concerned, since Candace’s clients sometimes came by in person. Plus, if there’d been some danger, I knew she would have called us and warned us away.
We walked inside, and I could hear voices from the kitchen. I practically sprinted in, anxious to share the
