“How about I offer Dad a whisky?”
“Perfect.”
Always able to work a room, Terry gives me an aggravated look that says he isn't a fan of Dad's, but he loves me enough as a brother to help out–but man, is this a pain.
All in one glance.
My quick nod says back, I acknowledge your sacrifice, and thanks for saving me from doing it.
Grace gives Terry a hug as he approaches Dad, who is suddenly focused on them and not on me. Leo, meanwhile, stands nervously next to Amanda. I'm on her other side, holding my son, who snurgles as he settles into the crook of my neck.
“You okay, Mandy? I can go.”
“Stay,” she says, looking up at the baby. “Stay and meet Charlie and Will.”
“Those are the names you gave them?”
Her cheeks go pink as she nods.
“Fine names. Good, solid ones. No one ever picks on a Charlie or a Will.” Tentative, Leo puts his hand on Amanda's shoulder. She gives him an apologetic smile.
“I'd stand up again, but that hurt.”
“Hurt?” He pauses. “Oh. Right.”
“I had a c-section. My incision is still really raw.”
“Had to cut the babies out? That's tough.”
“Want to meet him?” I ask as Leo looks at his watch.
“I–maybe I should go. My buddy really does need his car back soon.”
“Not before holding your grandsons,” I say firmly.
The juxtaposition of my own dad in the room with Amanda's dad, and the fury my father has for a guy he's never met, makes me realize their abandonment wasn't all that different. Dad parented from an extreme distance when it came to the emotional and day-to-day stuff, but up close when it came to high expectations and peak performance.
Which drove us away emotionally.
Leo tried, but like my father, he has limitations.
Don't we all?
What will mine be when it comes to being a good parent?
Handing Charlie off to Leo makes Amanda's eyes fill with tears, Leo's mouth quivering just as Charlie wiggles in his arms, the baby's head in the crook of his arm, Leo's shirt sleeve pulling up over his shoulder.
“Haven't held one of these since you,” he says in a thick voice, talking to Amanda but not looking at her.
Just then, Pam comes back into the room, holding a sleeping Will. She comes to a dead halt as she spots Leo, as if she still can't believe he's here. Spritzy dances at her feet, doing the pee performance pet owners know all too well.
“I've got the dog,” Gerald says, scooping him up and taking him unceremoniously out to the kitchen. A door slams and Pam opens her mouth.
Then shuts it, like closing a time capsule.
“Thank you, Pammy,” Leo says, humble and hard-won, his arms dark with a tan, the shoulder cap white as a newborn's butt. The farmer's tan speaks to long, hard labor, and I wonder how much of that took place in prison.
“For what?” she asks, shoulders dropping with sadness.
“For raising a good girl. A good girl who is a mom now.” He turns. “You done good, Mandy. You done real good, and I thank you for being kind to me.”
Terry, Dad, and Grace are watching, all in a row, triplets holding highball glasses with amber liquid coping skills. Dad's mouth drops open as Terry gives a soft-hearted smile, and Grace tilts her head, taking it all in, her hand going to James's forearm.
Dad just clears his throat and kicks back another mouthful.
“Why wouldn't I be kind?” Amanda asks as Pam moves next to Leo, holding Will next to Charlie.
“Trade?” Pam asks before Leo can reply to Amanda.
“Sure. Whatever you want, Pammy. “
Amanda's crying openly on the sofa, watching her parents together like it's the greatest fireworks display ever, like she's watching a meteor, like a triple rainbow lights up her favorite waterfall. Luminous and ethereal, she's observing a wonder of the world, but a very flawed, human one.
Her parents trade babies and I hear a click.
It's Grace, an actual camera in her hand.
“Habit,” she says as Dad rolls his eyes, but nostalgically. His hand goes to her shoulder in an affectionate gesture.
“You always took the photos and videos I wanted while I was at work,” he whispers.
Terry and I catch the comment and Grace smiles at me, as if to say, There's more to the story.
I look at Leo and Pam, then Amanda.
There always is, I want to answer.
There always is.
Epilogue
Ten Weeks After the Birth
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“The water doesn’t have too many chemicals?”
“The doctor said it’s fine.”
“And you turned up the temperature?”
“It’s ninety-three.”
“Maybe that’s too hot?’
“ANDREW!”
For a guy who is so commanding and sure in business, he’s a softy and a worrywart with the babies.
I set Will down on the cushion of the chaise lounge, his body curled still, the startle reflex beginning to fade as he ages. They’re ten weeks old now, and my C-section wound has healed enough that the doctors say I can swim.
So today, our boys swim for the first time in our indoor lap pool.
And not in front of their grandfather. This isn't the Olympic tryouts.
Andrew’s in his suit, though he thinks it’s silly, a formality we don’t need in private. But I have a camera and for the sake of posterity, no one needs to see Dad or Grandpa in the buff.
One day, if all goes well, Andrew will be a grandpa, and I’ll be a grandma. I think about this more and more as time passes.
As I get used to being Mom.
No one calls me that, yet, but the twins signal it in every way, from the latch that comes more naturally now as breastfeeding continues, to the quieting of cries when I pick them up at night. Two nannies and a night nurse means our life lives according to structure, schedules, and a sameness that is comforting, freeing me to heal.
Today is for us, though. The house is empty, the nannies off for the day, and my husband is fully present for this precious ritual.
A ritual bath of a different kind.
Charlie is in Andrew’s hands, stripped
