by T. J. Klune
Ty looks at me. “Why aren’t you crying? If anyone should be crying, it should be you. Everything is being thrown off-kilter! Fix this!”
“Hey! I don’t always cry.”
“Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercials,” Izzie says.
My eyes start burning. “That is so unfair,” I snap at her. “I mean, really, Sarah? You just have to play that damn song in the background while focusing on a puppy with eyes as big as cantaloupes? Really?”
“Okay,” Ty says, taking a breath. “That feels a little better. Things are slowly righting themselves.”
Otter’s still clinging to his father, breath hitching, rubbing his face on Jerry’s shoulder. Regardless of whether Ty’s being a dick about it, it’s sort of true. Otter’s never like this. It’s not that he’s never emotional. Of course not. No one wears their heart on their sleeve like Otter Thompson. But I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen him cry since I’ve known him, the last time being when we found out we were pregnant, and the time before that being our wedding day. Years can go by with absolutely nothing, but here he is, crying on his dad, and god, does it make my heart ache.
“Oh no.” Ty’s staring at me. “Bear’s starting to get that look on his face.”
“What look?” Izzie asks, studying me curiously.
“The one where he’s having a lot of feelings about something and either wants to sob, hug something, or climb Otter like a tree. Maybe even all three at the same time.”
Izzie, Creed, and Anna all take a step back at the same time.
“You guys are so dumb,” I mutter, rubbing Otter’s back.
“I don’t even know why this is happening,” Otter says, voice cracking. “I’m fine. I’m happy.”
“It’s because of the pregnancy hormones,” I tell him. “They’ve infected you. Maybe you should listen to me next time.” He glares at me, so I add hastily, “Or we can just chalk this up to being a very exciting day. That works too.”
“Jerry cried,” Alice says, smiling at her husband and son. “With Oliver. Even really before everything started. I was having these horrible contractions, and he’s got these tears streaming down his face. I thought I was hurting him, squeezing his hand too tightly.”
“But I was just happy,” Jerry hums. “And nervous and exhausted and oh so excited. That’s all this is.”
“Creed cried too,” Anna says.
“I can admit it,” Creed says. “I’m man enough. I bawled like a little bitch. And then JJ came. We’re so lucky that we—JJ, I swear to god, if you even go near that fire alarm, I will cancel Christmas this year and give all your presents to orphans.”
“Orphans get everything,” JJ grumbles, backing away from the fire alarm.
“Pretty much how it is,” Ian says. “It just catches up with you when it starts.”
“And then everything starts happening so fast that it’s over before you know it,” Dom says.
“I’m not crying,” I say. “I must be broken.”
“Sarah McLachlan thinks you should donate more—”
“Goddammit, Izzie! Why are you like this?”
MARTY AND Megan are walking up and down the hall an hour later, Megan’s hand at her stomach. Marty told Otter and me that we have to maintain at least a ten-foot distance because he’s trying to get her into her birthing space, whatever the fuck that means.
So instead, we’re sitting on the floor, our backs to the wall, watching them from a distance. Marty’s got such a hold on her, like she’s the most precious thing in the world. She’s gripping him tightly, and he’s whispering in her ear, and for a moment, I allow myself to think just how amazing Marty is. But only for a moment.
Otter’s sitting cross-legged next to me, clutching my hand in his lap. His grip is a little clammy, and it’s uncomfortable, but there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, so I don’t say much on it. I think he’s embarrassed, at least a little, about crying in front of everyone like that. I don’t know how to tell him that it just made me love him more without probably setting one or both of us off all over again.
“It’s weird, right?” he says quietly, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” I say promptly. Then, “What is?”
“That we’re here. Now. In this position. In this moment. After everything.”
“Good weird?”
He smiles a little. “The best weird. It’s just….”
I wait, knowing this is important. I don’t want to rush him.
He says, “After I… left, back then, I—it wasn’t good. For me. I was running from something I don’t think I quite understood. I felt—it’s not your fault, okay? That’s not what I’m trying to say. But I thought if I stayed, it would kill me. Seeing you. As you were. And it was wrong, because you were so young, and I was nothing. To you. I was your best friend’s older brother, and who was I to get to have anything from you?”
“You know that’s not true. You were never just my best—”
“I know. I’ve known that for a long time. But back then? It wasn’t—you know things were off. Mom and Dad hadn’t taken my coming out very well, I was crushing on this kid whose whole world had just imploded, and I just… couldn’t.” He squeezes my hand. “And there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think of you. I told myself it was stupid. That it was probably borderline creepy. That I was just wallowing in guilt for breaking a promise to you that I’d always be there.”
He shakes his head ruefully. “I thought I could be happy, you know? I went to parties. I met famous people. I met… Jonah. And for a long time, I thought it would be enough. I put that picture I had of you away and told myself I didn’t need to look at it.”
“The one of me standing at the beach. With the storm coming in.” It’s hanging in the Green Monstrosity, Otter having set it almost reverently on the wall after we’d first moved in.
“Yeah. That’s the one. Because that’s how you’ve always been to me. This great big storm, all flash and rumbling and kinetic energy. And I just—I couldn’t do it anymore. I used Jonah’s cheating on me as an excuse, I think. Even if it hadn’t happened, I was always going to come home.”
“And you did.”
“And I did,” he agrees. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”
“I still have that letter.”
He laughs, sounding a little startled. He knows what I’m talking about. “You do? Still?”
I lay my head on his shoulder. “Still. It’s in the drawer in the nightstand next to the bed. The paper is yellowed. It’s a little ripped, and the edges are curled, but yeah. It’s there.”
“Huh,” he says. “How about that.”
“It’s part of us.”
“I guess it is. Remember when you threw it at me?”
“We were sitting in your car. In the rain.”
He rubs his chin against the top of my head. “You were so mad at me, and I was just damn happy to even be near you again. That you saw me. Really saw me. You hated me a little, but I was going to take everything I could.”
“I didn’t hate you, Otter. Even when I was at my angriest, I never hated you. I don’t think I ever could.”
He loosens his hold on my hand, bringing his big arm up and around my shoulders, pulling me close. My forehead is pressed against his neck as I watch Marty and Megan walk farther down the hall, Megan laughing at something Marty has whispered in her ear.
“I was happy,” he says quietly. “I told myself it was enough, and I think it would have been. You were scared and angry, but it was enough. It would have been enough.”
“But it didn’t turn out that way.”
“No,” he says. “It didn’t. And I’m okay with that.”
“Just okay?” I tease.
“Maybe a little more than okay. You kissed me and let me love you, and even with everything, all of the good and all of the bad, I wouldn’t change a single thing about this. All that we’ve done has led to this, Bear. You know? This has made us who we are.”
“And who are we?”
“Do you see that lady down there?”
I do. She’s beautiful, and she’s giving us the greatest gift.
“We’re you and me,” he says, pressing a kiss into my hair. “Bear and Otter. There’s a Kid in the waiting room that we did a damn good job with. There’s a little girl who found her way home to us. There’s our family who would do anything to make sure we’re happy. And there’s that lady, that weird, funny lady who just fits like she’s always been a part of us. Marty too.”
“Let’s not go that far,” I grumble.
He chuckles and jostles me a little. “You know they’re here to stay, right?”
“The thought crossed my mind.”
“Ty told me something once. About him and Dom. He said he thought they were inevitable. And that got me thinking for a long time. To him, even when he was at his worst, some small part of him thought that he and Dom would always be. I don’t know if it works like that always. It did for him… but it’s—I don’t think that about us.”
“You don’t?”
I feel him shake his head. “No. Because we’ve fought tooth and nail for this. We’ve clawed our way through everything slung at us. I don’t think all of this was inevitable. I think we’ve earned this. We’ve earned this because we made this. This is who we are, okay? We have built this life, built this family, and in a little while, there are going to be two more that we get, and sometimes I can’t even breathe with how thankful I am for that. You’ve given me this, Bear. This life. This chance. Everything. You’ve given me everything, and I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”
But that’s not right, is it? Because all I ever did was love him with my whole heart. I would do anything for Otter. I tell him as much, and he laughs wetly. “I know, Papa Bear. And I know you don’t see it like I do, but that’s how I feel.”
“You don’t need to repay me for anything. We did this together.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Together. We’re gonna be dads, huh?”
“Looks like. Probably a little late to back out now.”
“And we’re gonna be good dads?”
“Yeah. At least better than Creed.”
“JJ hasn’t electrocuted himself, so I don’t know that that’s true.”
“It’s like he has eyes in the back of his head. I don’t know how he does it.”
Otter laughs at me.
“I’m serious!”
“Hi, Serious. I’m—”
“Oh my god. You are not allowed to do this now. Not at the goddamn hospital. Someone might hear you!”
“I love you,” he says suddenly, fiercely. “No matter what happens. No matter where this road takes us. I’m gonna love you forever, Bear.”
I roll my eyes. “I know that. I’ve trapped you with kids now. You aren’t ever leaving.”
His shoulders shake as he holds me closer.
Megan waves at us from down the hall.
We wave back as we watch them. For a time.
“I love you too,” I eventually tell Otter.
“It’s pretty great, right?”
And it is. I remember being scared. For a long time, I was scared. Of being alone. Of failing the Kid. Of everyone else leaving us too.
But I’m not scared of that anymore.
Bad things can happen.
Then there are times like this. Times when I have Otter at my side and a hippie holding up his girlfriend that I impregnated in front of us.
Mrs. Paquinn would be laughing her ass off right now.
“We should get some flowers,” I tell Otter. “When we get a chance. Take them to Mrs. P. We can—”
Megan’s knees buckle.
Marty catches her before she falls.
She’s groaning, clutching her stomach.
Otter and I are on our feet and running.
Her skin is slick with sweat, eyes scrunched closed, breathing in deeply through her nose and out through her mouth.
I’m scared again.
I’m fucking terrified.
But Marty’s smiling, and he says, “I think it’s almost time.”
THE LEAD-UP felt like it went on for days.
We did nothing but wait and wait and wait.
And then it happens quickly. So fucking quickly.
There are people rushing around us, shoving us into scrubs, telling us that we need to stand back, keep out of the way. I’m too stunned to remind them that I don’t even want to be in here, but Otter’s got a solid grip on my hand, and I can’t even get my feet to work.
Megan’s on the bed, sitting up and hunched over her stomach, and she’s grunting, tears on her face. Marty’s at her side, whispering in her ear, throwing us a wink every now and then.
And it does go on for hours. I’m told later that altogether, we were in the room for another seven hours. But I barely move, and even though I see things that I probably won’t ever get out of my head, I don’t leave. I can’t leave.
I’m thinking, Please let everything go okay. Because Otter’s right. We’ve earned this. After everything we’ve been through. We’ve earned this.
We have lived. We have lost. We have loved with every single beat of our hearts, and we have fucking earned this.
“And here we go,” the OB says. “I can see the head. I need you to push, Megan. Can you do that for me? I need you to push.”
She cries out but does what the doctor tells her.
“There we go,” she says. “You’re doing so well. You’re doing just fine. Push, Megan.”
“You got this, baby,” Marty says. “I’m so proud of you.”
Otter and I have lost the ability to speak.
In time, Megan gives a great gasp of relief.
The room falls quiet.
And then—
A little cry.
It’s weak and shrill and oh so fucking bright, and as soon as I hear it, as soon as the first little noise fills the room, it slams into me, and I take a staggering step back, because that noise, that crazy noise is the most perfect thing I’ve ever heard in my life.
“A boy,” the OB says easily, as if it’s not the most life-changing moment in the history of the world. “A beautiful little boy.”
“Oh my god,” Otter croaks out next to me, and I can see him, his little arms, his little legs, and he’s kicking, covered in blood and slime and other things I probably have no desire to know what they are. His little foot is kicking, and he’s wailing, and I didn’t think it was possible to love someone at first sight, to love a person so completely that it makes your heart split right down the middle.
I know that it’s possible now.
They hand our son off to a nurse, who wraps him in a towel, and I want to demand they give him to us right this fucking second, but the doctor says, “You up for round two?” and for a moment, I’m confused. I’m confused, because I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about.
And then I remember that it’s not over.
There’s another one.
“Holy fucking shit,” I breathe. “We’re having twins.”
“Did you think I was joking?” Megan asks, sounding as annoyed as I’ve ever heard her.
“No! I guess I didn’t think it was real until this moment. Otter! We’re having fucking twins.”
“You can’t say fucking in front of our children,” Otter hisses at me. “What if they hear you?”
“This is their first time,” Marty tells the OB. “Aren’t they delightful?”
The OB glances back at us, eyes twinkling. “I think they’ll do just fine.”
And it starts all over again.
It’s quicker this time, and I’m trying not to think about the fact that our son paved the way for the second kid, because that’s just fucked up, and Otter gapes at me when I whisper that to him, like I’ve said something offensive, but then we’re both distracted by the fact that another child starts screaming, thin and reedy, and then the doctor says three words that cause
me to slump against the wall, barely able to stand on my own.
“It’s a girl.”
THERE ARE moments in life so profound, they forever burn themselves into your mind.
I know this, because I have so many of them.
Coming home from school and reading a letter from a woman who should never have been a mother.
The Kid sitting on my lap, asking what was going to happen to him, that he was such a little guy.
Facing Otter in a darkened hallway, wondering why my heart skipped beats in my chest at the sight of him.
Sitting at a dinner table, getting embarrassed when I thought a sign on a boy named Oliver’s door said something different.
A kid coming up to me, saying, “Who are you? I’m Creed. We should be friends forever.”
Anna Grant kissing me for the first time, her lips soft and sticky with cherry ChapStick.
Julie telling me to get her a glass of Jack. “Two ice cubes, Derrick. You know how I like it.”
Being told I had a sister named Izzie.
Mrs. Paquinn telling me that everything was going to be okay, that her husband, Joseph, God love him, left her too, but she got on all right.
The slow mechanical hiss of a machine that helped Otter to breathe.
Sitting in a car across from a man I loved, not knowing I loved him, throwing his own words back in his face.
Finding empty orange prescription bottles in Ty’s room.
Meeting Kori for the first time.
Meeting Corey for the first time.
“His name is Dominic, and he doesn’t talk much, but he’s my friend now, and he helped me follow the ants, and I’ve never had a friend on my own, so can he please have lunch with us?”
Staring out the side mirror, watching the Green Monstrosity shrink behind us, wondering when I’d ever see it again.
Creed saying Otter had moved to California.
The last breath Theresa Jean Paquinn ever took.
Anna asking me why she couldn’t be enough for me as we stood on the balcony of a shitty fucking apartment.
The first time Otter was beneath me.
The first time I was beneath him.