I washed my hands and opened the dishwasher, still loaded with clean dishes. Nothing to worry about now. First we had to get through Thanksgiving. I yanked open a drawer to put the flatware away.
John shifted out of my way. “The teacher said their class is doing some kind of skit.”
I nodded. “Next month. They’re singing ‘Jingle Bells.’” We’d been practicing in the car all week. “With reindeer costumes.” The costumes were done, thank goodness, antler headbands and white bibs sewn onto brown sweatshirts. The twins looked adorable.
John grinned. “I’d like to see that. I told her I’d try to take an early lunch that day, catch the performance.”
I grabbed another handful from the dishwasher. “That’s great, honey.”
The teacherslovedit when fathers came to the preschool programs.
John came up behind me. “So it’s a date.”
“Sure.” I sorted flatware.Spoon, spoon, spoon, fork... “I’ll meet you there.”
He rested a hand on my waist. Nuzzled my neck. His lips were cool from the beer. “You feel great.” His standard opening line for fooling around.
I dropped a knife. “John,” I said. Amused. Protesting.
Daisy ran into the kitchen. “Elsa, Mommy. Elsa.”
I listened to the soundtrack from the family room. “The movie’s over, sweetie. It’s time to go upstairs now.” I stooped for the knife and laid it on the counter. “I’ll be back in a minute,” I promised John.
He scooped up Daisy. She clung to his shoulders as he pretend-chomped her fingers, making her squeal with delight. DJ ran in, drawn by their noise, jealous of John’s attention.
“Okay, everybody settle down,” I said mildly. “It’s bedtime.”
John grabbed DJ, tucking him like a football under his other arm. Our son’s head and feet dangled two feet above the floor. “I’ll put the kids to bed. You can finish dinner.”
I wavered, tempted. But taking care of the twins was my job. My only job, since our babies were born. John had left work twice in the past week to watch the twins while I dealt with Momma. It wasn’t fair to ask him to tackle bedtime, too. “I can do it.” I smiled to show him how much I appreciated his offer. “You’ll just get them all wound up. They’re used to things a certain way.”
His mouth compressed. “No, Meg, you’re used to things a certain way. Your way.”
I stared at him, stricken. That wasn’t it at all. Was it? Couldn’t he see I was trying to be considerate?
“Sorry, honey.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a full day.”
Hurt dissolved into guilt. “Then you should relax,” I said in my cheerful mommy voice. “Dinner’s almost done. I’ll be right back down.”
“Whatever you want,” he said.
He set the kids on their feet and kissed them good night. No kiss for me. But as I shepherded the twins toward the stairs, he asked, “Want me to open a bottle of wine?”
I smiled back, relieved.Forgiven.“That would be wonderful.”
Two stories later, I closed the book and smoothed back Daisy’s toothbrush bangs. “Sleepy time, my babies.”
Now that they were toddlers, John had suggested we move the kidsinto separate bedrooms. I knew how important it was for him to provide our children with their own space. Cheryl, John’s mom, told me that for the first year after her divorce, John and his brother had slept together on a pullout couch in their living room.
But I loved this room, our babies’ room. I’d painted the walls myself a soft green (“best color for a learning environment,”I’d read) and made the white curtains with Momma’s help. Amy, the artistic one, had added murals of the Hundred Acre Wood, sweet, old-fashioned line drawings of Piglet and Pooh based on the original illustrations. Along the opposite wall she’d painted a quote from Christopher Robin in flowing script:“Promise me you’ll always remember: You’re braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.”
I remembered how pleased I was, after years of sharing with Jo, to move into a room of my own. Filled with the dignity of my sixteen years, I’d picked out paint and grown-up curtains, pleased with my new status and closet space. But lying alone in bed at night, I’d listened to Beth and Amy in the other room, their whispers carrying through the wall at the head of my bed, and felt... Well. Wistful. Like I was missing out on something.
I wasn’t ready for my babies to grow up and into separate rooms. Not yet. Maybe not for a long time. I’d read all those articles about twins’ special bond. Anyway, we might need that third bedroom. If, say, I got pregnant again...
I clenched deep inside. I wasn’t ready for that, either.
DJ was warm and damp against my side. Maybe too warm and damp? I checked. Yep.
