My voice sharpens. “Okay. Enough.”
“Everyone calm down.” Da raises a hand.
Mum turns to me, trembling. “You’re my son. My beautiful boy. I thought you’d come home and settle. Not drag us into somethin’unnatural.”
“There’s nothing unnatural about our love.” I take Avonna’s hand.
“I don’t care what anyone says.” Mum shakes her head, trying to rattle the thought loose. “This isn’t normal.”
Da finally speaks. “How does this even work?”
“Simple. We parent together,” I say. “We live together. We love each other.”
“You think this is going to last?” Mum snaps. “You think this is forever? What happens when it blows up?”
“It won’t.”
She gestures to Liam. “What is he? The third wheel? The extra?”
“I love your son.” Liam’s voice is low but clear. “I love them both.”
Mum pushes her chair back. “Well, I hope you all enjoy explainin’ this to your children one day. I truly do. I want nothin’ to do with youse.”
Da exhales. “Molly.”
She storms out.
“I need to check on her.” Da follows her out.
We leave our plates unfinished. Outside, the Dublin sun is sharp and cold.
Liam walks beside me in silence. Avonna threads her fingers through mine.
It was a disaster.
And a blessing too.
It was truth.
For now, it’s all we can give them.
fifty-two
Liam
Seven Months Later
Quinnspitsherpacifierout again.
I hook it back in place with one hand while shaking her bottle with the other. Sloane sleeps in her bassinet, one tiny fist up near her cheek. She always looks peaceful. Quinn is ready to fight.
Fraternal twins. Same birthday. Different rules entirely.
My spine aches from standing. My eyes burn with a rawness no amount of sleep fixes. I smell old coffee on my shirt and something vaguely sour I’m pretty sure is puke.
Avonna hovers nearby in a pair of sweats she hasn’t changed in a few days, hair piled on her head. She scans both girls like she’s running surveillance. She taps the babymonitor screen with tense fingers, even though she can see Sloane is breathing fine with her own eyes.
Her doctor calls it postpartum anxiety. She rarely sleeps for more than an hour at a time. Her mind treats everything as a danger she has to ward off before it gets near our babies. We’re working out the med levels to get her over the hump. So far, we haven’t found the right balance.
