Emma's eyes light up. "Yes, we'll need to think about a color scheme that works for both of the babies."
"Whatever you want," I say, squeezing her hand. "I want you to make the penthouse yours too. Change anything that doesn't feel right."
She laughs. "Even that ridiculous modern art piece in your entryway that looks like someone spilled paint?"
"Especially that. I've always hated it, but my interior designer insisted that I buy it."
We're both laughing now, and it feels so good—this lightness between us.
"So," I say, "Restoration Hardware first, then maybe we can look at some baby stores? Start getting ideas for cribs and changing tables?"
Emma nods, her smile so bright it makes my chest ache. "Yes. Though maybe we should eat lunch first? The twins are demanding food."
"There’s actually an incredible restaurant at the top of Restoration Hardware. Let’s start there and take it floor by floor to see what we like.”
After an incredible lunch, we spend the afternoon going floor by floor through the massive Restoration Hardware store. Emma's enthusiasm is infectious as she points out pieces she loves, her eyes lighting up at each new discovery. By the time we finish our shopping spree, I've arranged for delivery of more furniture than I initially planned, but seeing her excitement makes it all worthwhile.
Hours later, we stumble back into my—our—penthouse, both of us exhausted but happy. Emma kicks off her shoes with a groan of relief while I set down the bags containing smaller items we couldn't wait to have delivered.
"I don't think I can take another step," she announces, making her way to the sofa and sinking down with a dramatic sigh.
I follow her, collapsing beside her. "We just about bought out the store," I say, still amazed at how quickly our shopping expedition escalated. "I haven't made that many purchases in a single day since... actually, I don't think I ever have."
Emma laughs, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Are you having buyer's remorse already?"
"Not even close." I shift so she can stretch out more comfortably, lifting her feet onto my lap.
"Those new couches are going to be incredibly comfortable. And that mattress—the reviews for back support and comfort are off the charts. Your back pain doesn't stand a chance."
I begin massaging her feet, and she lets out a moan.
"Oh my God, that feels incredible," Emma sighs, sinking deeper into the couch as my thumbs work the arch of her foot. "I had no idea how much my feet were killing me until right this second."
"You were a trooper today," I say, focusing on the pressure points that make her toes curl with relief. "We must have walked five miles of showroom floors."
"Walking that much with twenty extra pounds is no joke."
I continue to rub her foot, working my way from her heel to her toes. "Ha! Yeah, I’ll bet. So, what do you think about cribs? Should we go with the ones we saw online?"
"I liked those, but I also want to check out that sustainable furniture place in Brooklyn. The one that uses reclaimed wood." Emma closes her eyes in contentment as I massage a particularly tender spot. "What do you think about changing tables? Do we need one or two?"
I laugh at the question. "I hadn't even thought about that. What if they both need to be changed at the same time?"
"Exactly!" Emma joins in my laughter. "Can you imagine? Both babies crying, both needing changes, and we're standing there playing rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the changing table?"
"We'd need to set up some kind of reservation system. Maybe a sign-up sheet?" I suggest, which makes her giggle.
The conversation about changing tables makes me think back to my early days of fatherhood, and I chuckle to myself.
"Talking about diaper changes reminds me of something that happened with Samantha when she was about three months old," I say, still massaging Emma's feet. "Victoria had some charity thing, so I took Samantha to the park by myself. I was trying to be Super Dad, you know?"
Emma's eyes light up with interest. "Oh yeah? How did that go?"
"It was a disaster," I admit with a laugh. "She had this massive diaper blowout while we were there—I'm talking nuclear level. It was everywhere. Up her back, down her legs. I had to carry her at arm's length back to the car."
"Oh no," Emma giggles, covering her mouth.
"So I'm frantically trying to change her in the backseat of my brand new Audi—this was back when I'd just made my first real money and that car was my pride and joy. I get her all cleaned up, I'm about to put the fresh diaper on, and then—" I pause dramatically, "—she lets loose again. Direct hit. All over the leather seats."
