When it was finally time to push, Emma gripped my hand so hard I felt bones shift. But she didn't scream. Just bore down with everything she had, her face red with exertion, her body doing what it was made to do.
And then James was there. Screaming his little head off and absolutely perfect.
They placed him on Emma's chest, and she looked down at him with such wonder, such immediate, fierce love, that it brought tears to my eyes.
Clara came five minutes later. Smaller, quieter, but just as perfect. The doctor placed her beside her brother, and Emma wrapped her arms around both of them, sobbing with relief and joy.
"We did it," she'd whispered. "Grant, we did it."
“You were amazing, baby,” I’d said and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.
Clara squirms in my arms now, starting to cry again. I rock her gently, swaying the way the nurse showed me, and she settles again.
"Your mom's sleeping, sweet pea," I tell her quietly. "She worked really hard to get you and your brother here. So we're going to let her rest, okay?"
James chooses that moment to wake up with a sharp cry that shatters the quiet.
I freeze.
Two babies. Two arms.
The panic is immediate.
How do people do this? How do you hold two infants at once? What if I drop one? What if?—
"Grant?" Emma's voice is sleep-rough and amused. "You okay?"
I turn to find her watching me, her eyes half-open but bright with laughter.
"James is crying, and I'm holding Clara, and I don't—how do I?—"
She shifts in the bed, wincing slightly as she sits up more. "I don’t know but I’m sure between the two of us we can figure it out."
The confidence in her voice steadies me. I carefully shift Clara to my left arm, cradling her head, then reach down to scoop up James with my right.
It's awkward. They're both so small, and my arms feel too big and clumsy. But I manage it—one baby in each arm, both of them settling against my chest.
James stops crying almost immediately, his little face relaxing as he feels the warmth of my body.
"See?" Emma's smile is soft. "You’re a natural."
"I don't feel like a natural right now. I’m afraid I’m going to drop them."
"You won't." She pats the edge of the bed. "Come sit. Let me see them."
I cross the room carefully, hyper-aware of my movements. When I reach the bed, I ease myself down on the edge, and Emma leans against my shoulder.
"Hi, babies," she whispers. Her hand comes up to stroke James's cheek, then Clara's. "I can’t believe you’re finally here."
We sit like that for a long moment, the four of us together in the quiet room. The city sprawls outside the window—Manhattan at dusk, lights beginning to twinkle as the sun sets.
"I was so scared. During the labor, when it hurt so much I thought I'd die from it, I kept thinking—what if something goes wrong? What if they're not okay?"
"But they are." I press a kiss to her temple. "They're perfect. And you were incredible."
She makes a dismissive sound. "I cried. I begged for the epidural. I'm pretty sure I threatened to murder you at least twice."
"Three times," I correct. "But who's counting?"
