“None,” I report. I’m not usually on jobs that beget much drama these days. Maxim either. We’ve been practicing the art ofdelegation. “Nate called and told me it was unkind to say I didn’t want to go bowling with him, though. Says he’s pulling the birthday card so we all have to go with him.”
“Afraid you’ll score less points than him?” Maxim asks.
“Absolutely,” I respond solemnly.
Sasha steps back into the living room, though I hadn’t noticed him leave, and stuffs his phone in his pocket. “I’m off to the Brickyard. Need anything?”
“No, but thank you,” I tell him. He smiles at me and the kids, shaking Illya’s little hand before heading for the elevator. He’s still single, still has a roster of dates he can call at any time, none of them serious. It’s so obvious to me that he craves a family. Leo is the same. I think they probably just spend too much time around a small army of babies—that would make anyone either want their own, or never want one at all.
“I missed you,” I tell Maxim.
“I always miss you,” he says. “Has anyone ever told you how easy it is to love you?”
“Rarely,” I whisper, and smile against his mouth as he kisses me again. “Which is a surprise, because I am just so friendly and approachable.”
“You are,” he mutters against my mouth. It’s then that both boys determine they’ve had enough of this. Well, Enzo decides first, and Iliya follows what Enzo does, so within seconds they’re both fussing.
“Alright, alright, food time,” I say, bouncing the baby until he settles. “If you make E a bottle, I’ll nurse Iliya.”
“Deal.” Maxim kisses my nose and heads for the kitchen after clipping Enzo into his bouncer. I settle on the couch with Iliya and Greta bumps her head against me before plopping down next to my leg. Today is a good day, though not all are.
My fear and anxiety hasn’t decreased since birth, and in some ways it’s worse. My mind still trips over every what-if and those are threefold now that I have two little lives I brought into the world.
But I manage it, and I never have to manage it alone.
I started going to see a therapist after everything went down last year. The nightmares were getting bad again and Maxim’s little sister recommended a trauma therapist in the city. It took me two months to finally agree to see someone, and then three weeks to finally start opening up to the kind woman Vera recommended. It’s helped immensely.
She diagnosed me with OCD, which I resented at first. I didn’t want to believe her, didn’t want to label myself in such a tangible way, but she was exceptionally patient with me. With every subsequent session, I learned more about the way I think, about why I might feel the ways I do. I unpacked trauma, wrestled with thought patterns I’ve had for years, and complained to Maxim when it was hard.
I’ve learned that nothing is broken about me, I’m not damaged goods, and above all, I don’t have to bear the weight of things on my own.
So when the what-ifs come, I let them. I haven’t had a panic attack since the boys were born, and when my mind is insistent on imagining the horrors that could befall them, Maxim listens.
I think that part of me must’ve known that Maxim would be the perfect partner for me; patient, strong, and so unbearably tender. When I went to his club on Christmas Eve and panicked in the alley, and he crouched in front of me, I must’ve known. Or maybe it was luck.Fate, Sasha would say.
I’ll never not be grateful for the invisible string that led me there, and for him for picking up the other end.
“My mother wants to visit,” Maxim says as he sits on the other side of the couch with Enzo. “Maybe to stay longer this time.”
I raise my eyebrows at the news. His mother hates this city, and braved a visit for a week after the twins were born. I liked her immensely.
“I hope she does,” I say. I used to fear getting too close to any of his family.Too many people to care about, not enough mental capacity to do so effectively.
But I’ve learned that loving people doesn’t make you fragile; if anything it grows your capacity to lovemore. I won’t pretend to understand it.
We feed the babies, each telling the other about our days, then rock them to sleep. When they’re both set into their bassinets and both asleep (a rare, miraculous occasion), I rest my head on Maxim’s shoulder. He reads, I doze off, and the cat races around the house like a demon.
Everything is exactly as it should be.
BONUS EPILOGUE
MAXIM
“This place is like a daycare,”Sasha says. He’s softly bouncing one of the boys, Enzo, who drools on Sasha’s shoulder, fast asleep.
He’s right, Vanessa Morelli’s backyard is overrun with children, Willa’s little girl in a floaty in the pool with Vanessa’s baby, both splashing as their moms pull them around in their circular floaties.
Marianna is in the pool, clapping and making the little ones laugh by splashing water in her face and acting shocked every time. It’s their favorite game.
