“I know. Can you believe we made them ourselves?” I ask, lifting James so I can kiss his little cheek.
“Crazy, right? And not to be rude, but they really are so much better than other people’s babies, aren’t they?”
“Obviously, but we should probably keep that thought to ourselves.”
“So, I shouldn’t spout that opinion in public, like at the salon, for instance?”
“Probably not. If you did, we’d have to hire Dylan back.”
“Mum’s the word, I promise.”
A knock at the door interrupts the moment, and Tessa and I both give each other looks of shared annoyance at the crowd that's about to descend upon us. The door opens a crack, and Evi pops her head in, wearing a huge grin, her face bright pink with excitement.
"Are you ready for some company? You have a lot of people out here waiting to meet the new babies."
Tessa nods and gestures for them to come in, and within a few short seconds the room is filled with her parents, brothers and their wives, and all of the Sharpe children, along with my Gran, Arabella and much to my surprise, my father. The children seem to know that right now is a moment for quiet, which makes sense because they've all been through this so many times before.
Now everyone's tearing up, even Tessa's awful brothers, who rush to her side. I stand by, ready to put a halt to any snide comment or criticism. Instead, I hear their words mixed together, but they’re saying things like ‘well-done’ and ‘so glad you're okay’ and ‘you scared the shit out of us, don't ever do that again’.
Gran walks over to Tessa and takes her hand. “So, emergency C-section? The birthing hips were just false advertising, then?”
“Apparently so. I guess they’re narrow on the inside,” Tessa says.
“Oh, well never mind. You got the job done anyway.” She smiles at Tessa, then walks over to pat me on the cheek. “You look awful, Arthur dear.”
Arabella steps in and gives me a big, squeezy hug, tears in her eyes, then does the same to Tessa. “I’m so glad you’re all right,” she whispers. “And the babies, too.”
Suddenly, it feels like one hundred Christmas mornings all rolled into one perfectly wonderful moment. At once, I’m struck by the fact that this is what family is supposed to be. These people, in this room, who can drive us nuts and hurt our feelings and disappoint so badly at times are also the ones who know us best and love us most. This group of people would do anything for us, so I don't mind being hugged by sticky-fingered children or Irene, who has a slightly strange obsession with me, or Isa, who today seems not to hate me quite as much at the moment, which in its own way is a Christmas miracle.
Evi takes our son from me and runs her finger down his tiny face. Gran has a seat in the chair in the corner, then summons Evi to bring the child to her. Evi walks over and starts to lower him toward my Gran, but Gran holds up one hand and says, “I don’t hold babies. I just want to take a look."
"Nonsense," Evi says, putting him into her arms. "Of course you want to hold him. He's your great-grandson. Besides, I need a picture for the scrapbook."
Gran rolls her eyes and then smiles for the photo. I'm expecting her to tell Evi to pick the baby up now, but she doesn't. She just stares at him, her face lighting up in a peaceful smile that makes her look twenty years younger.
"Oh, let's get one with her holding both the babies," Nina says, handing her our daughter. She and Evi rearrange the babies on my Gran's lap. Arabella and I exchange surprised looks as Gran puts up with this. She lets out a low chuckle, then says, "Which one do you suppose is the evil one?"
Mouths drop around the room, and I have to bite my lip to stop from laughing.
Arabella gasps. “What an awful thing to say, Gran. Neither of them is evil. They're tiny, innocent babies."
"Yes, but one of them has to be more evil than the other. They can’t be equally nice or kind,” Gran says.
Evi bustles over and picks up James, followed swiftly by Isa, who is apparently not only offended by people assuming she's pregnant, but also by people who make jokes about evil babies.
Ruben takes his new granddaughter from Isa, tearing up as he nods, and clears his throat. “Look at this little sweetheart. She’s going to make a remarkable queen one day. You can tell she’s smart as a whip just by looking at her.”
My father peers over Ruben’s shoulder and snaps a photo. “She’s quite regal, isn’t she?”
“You hold her,” Ruben says.
“I don’t think I know how anymore. It’s been...well, since Arabella was born,” he says, smiling over at my sister.
“It’s like riding a bike,” Ruben says, carefully transferring Flora to my dad.
“Much better, I’d say.” My dad tears up as he stares down at her tiny face. Looking at Tessa, he says, “Well done, Tessa. I know this can’t have been easy.”
Tessa shrugs and waves her hand. “Total breeze.”
