I can’t help it. I need to be involved.
Leaning down, I lick the other tip. That, too, starts leaking, and I’m amazed by the flavor. It’s unlike anything else, and watching my husband suck on my wife’s tits is making me want to do the same.
“Oh, wow, guys,” Bree says, surprised. “You like that?”
Bennett chuckles behind the couch as Arthur refuses to respond, too busy getting milk all over his lips. “I think that’s a yes.”
Sure enough, it’s only a few days later that I’m at the office and get a phone call from Arthur.
“Jack,” he says as soon as I pick up, before I can even say “hello.” “Meet us at the hospital. I’m taking Bree there right now.”
“What? Why?” I’m hoping it’s for the reason I think it is.
“First contractions. The fawns are coming!”
I shout with glee in my office, and my boss pokes her head in to see what’s wrong.
“Remember that paternity leave we talked about?” I say, hopping from one hoof to the other. “Well, that starts today.”
Then I’m off, speeding toward the hospital. I get there around the same time Bennett does, and we both rush to the front desk so we can see her.
The hospital staff are surprised by three different satyrs claiming to be the father, but we’re all allowed in. Arthur’s already sitting at Bree’s bedside, holding her hand when we thunder into the room.
Bree’s fond smile is all I need. Then she winces, and I’m certain that the next part of this is going to be the worst part, because there’s nothing I hate more than seeing my wife in pain.
Twenty-Nine
Bennett
There’s nothing I can do to help Bree, and that’s worse than anything else.
At first, she tries to muscle through the agony, but it’s too much for her. After a few hours, she begs for an epidural. I wipe the sweat from her forehead and hold her hand, which she squeezes with all the strength in her body as she cries out.
More hours pass. Most of the time we sit with her, simply telling fantasy stories about what our life with the fawns will be like—how their room is ready and waiting, how we’re going to build the best playset possible in the new backyard, even what colleges we want them to attend. Bree tries her hardest to focus, but as her labor progresses, there are tears streaking down her face and I wish I could help.
We take turns sleeping so one of us is always by her side. Then, at last, the nurse informs us that Bree is almost fully dilated and the fawns are ready to come out. That’s when Bree’s pain almost becomes unbearable, as if I can feel it in my own body.
“Push!” the doctor insists from her place between Bree’s legs. Our wife sobs, then grips my hand even tighter as she does what she’s told.
“I can’t believe you put two of them in me,” she moans as she pushes as hard as she can.
“Sorry,” Arthur says, his hands on my shoulders. “Wasn’t intentional.”
The seconds that tick by are agonizing until, at last, I hear the fawn’s voice.
“One down,” the doctor calls out as the nurses gather around. Quickly, they snip the umbilical cord, and our wailing infant emerges into the world. But it’s not over.
Bree’s entire face is red, her eyes filled with tears as she’s told to push once again.
“I can’t,” she whimpers, and it’s clear her strength is faltering.
“Just a few more.” The doctor pats her knee. “You can do this.”
Bree pushes again, her eyes squeezing closed as she cries out. My chest constricts, hoping that she makes it.
“There’s a head,” announces Arthur. “A little more, love!”
Once again, Bree does what she’s told, as much as it pains her. She screams, and I feel like I might pass out.
