She took three steps back into the yard, her skirt billowing in the air. “I wore my pretty dress.”
“You sure did.”
I went to the nursery to grab Euston and change his diaper. He wasn’t going to be happy waking up from his nap early, but it had to be done. It was getting close to the time when we had to leave and being late wasn’t an option. Thankfully, when I went in, he was already sitting up, smiling away. He was always such a happy boy. It was hard to believe he was nearly eighteen months old.
“Pretty soon, you’re going to start using your big boy bed for naps.” I picked him up and showed him his car bed. We weren’t going to push him, but my father-in-law said that when the new babies were born, he’d probably want a sign that we thought he was big and this was one way to do that.
He hugged me close, “I up, Papa.”
“And now it’s time to put on your fancy clothes.” For him meant not pajamas.
I kissed the top of his head and got him changed and dressed, and by the time I made it into the living room, my mate was there with our first-born Maverick, though we all called him Mav. They were ready to go.
“Looking good, mate.” I kissed his cheek, settling my hand on his belly.
We hadn’t planned on having another one so soon, but when the goddess blessed us with twins, we were excited. Although I had a feeling Heston was less excited now that his belly reached the doorway before he did. He looked sexy as heck to me, but carrying two humans 24/7 was a lot.
“It’s time.” I grabbed my keys.
We bundled everyone into the minivan, taking far longer to get everybody buckled into their car seat harnesses than I’d like, and drove the short distance to the hospital, where my mural was about to be revealed. When they added a new children’s wing in honor of what they called their NICU warriors and asked for my contribution, I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather do. Our sweet girl Francesca had spent time in the NICU, and we saw how wonderful the staff were first hand. She was lucky and only needed a couple of days with them, but so many of those babies spent weeks, even months. And the nurses? They were the heart of the place.
I was at the point in my career where I was now making a really good living with my work, but I vowed from the beginning that I would never stop doing what was important in favor of making a profit. This was one of those projects.
My father and my mate’s dad were already there, along with some extended family and friends. I loved that they were all there to celebrate with us. Obviously Roy was in jail, but Duke put in an appearance.
When we arrived, the painting wasn’t covered or blocked off. It was there for all to take in and took up the entire wall. Thesecond we walked in, everybody gushed at how beautiful and powerful it was. I wasn’t sure if either of those were the best terms for it, but it did carry my heart. I suppose there was power in that.
There was a little ceremony and lots of cake and many of the nurses remembered Francesca from when she was a baby. They said that this was one of their favorite parts of their work, seeing the little ones living their lives. Francesca soaked up the attention, twirling for any one who was willing to watch.
The local media was in attendance, snapping pictures and snagging pieces of cake and glasses of punch for themselves. It was the warmest, most inviting celebration I’d ever attended for art, mine or anyone else’s.
Once upon a time, when I’d thought about what success would look like for me as an artist, this hadn’t been it. I wanted to be in prestigious galleries across the nation, to make a name for myself, to have the success my mother should’ve.
No wonder I never made it down the path to my goals because my goals were wrong. This should have been them; creating beauty that would enrich the lives of those who needed it most at the time. This here was my success, not the money or the invites and commissions I often received.
“Since we’re already here,” my mate grabbed my arm, “what do you think about maybe having the babies so we don’t need to make another trip?”
It took me a few seconds to understand what he was saying. It was baby time. Now.
“Really? Now?”
“I think so.” He bent over, his hand on the side of his belly. “No, I know so.”
It was a whirlwind from there. The grandfathers took the kids so that I could be there for my mate, and we were whisked away to triage. The nurses, as we left, said they hoped that we didn’t see our babies on their floor, but they would come visit.
Triage was quick, but the moment we stepped into the labor room, Heston’s hand shook in mine. I knew this wasn’t the plan and he’d had one, a well-detailed one sitting in a folder at home.
“I wanted... I wanted the water,” he closed his eyes. “We had a plan.”
The nurse who led us in offered a smile. “Let me see what I can do.”
We’d been given a thousand excuses as to why the water birth wasn’t going to be possible today. We accepted that, but when the nurse righted her shoulders before she left, I suspected she wasn’t going to be as compliant as we’d been.
“Hey,” I whispered, running my thumb over the back of his hands. “She’ll make it happen. Something tells me people don’t deny her.”
And I was right. Ten minutes later, she returned and told us we had an hour before we could get in, but the water birthing suite was ours. Apparently it needed cleaning and some of our ICU friends stepped up to make it happen.
The new room was just like we remembered it from our tour, the birthing tub taking center stage. Heston visibly relaxed for a second and then a stronger, longer contraction hit and he bent forward, leaning on my chest.
