Page 13 of 10 Days to Surrender

Spat. Spat. Spat.

“And Baba was ours. Look how that worked out.”

“So you think turning your back on the whole concept of a dad is the right response?”

Heat pricks behind my eyes. “We had a deal, Jas.”

She holds up her hands. “Silence.Verboten.I remember. I’m sorry; I’ll drop it.”

She sighs, the sound swallowed by the crash of waves. We’ve had this argument weekly since I showed up on her doorstep. Heroptimism versus my spite, round one million. Neither one gets out alive.

“You don’t have to forgive him,” she says carefully, unable to help herself. “But those babies… they deserve more than half a story.”

I swipe at my face with the back of my hand. “Since when are you the wise one?”

“Since I realized running only works if you unpack the baggage first.” She tucks a curl behind my ear. “You’re still carrying his.”

That night, I dream of the library.

Sasha’s breath hot on my neck, his hands spanning my hips.“Marry me now,”I’d whispered.“With nothing to gain.”

In the dream, he says yes.

I wake up pawing at sweat-damp sheets, the twins somersaulting like they’re trying to kick the memory out.

I shove myself to my feet and go tiptoeing down the hallway. Through the crack in her door, I see Jasmine is still sleeping. I keep going, into the kitchen, where my laptop rests on the table.

When I open it, a folder titledThing1&Thing2stares back at me. It’s filled with half-written lullabies, scanned sonogram selfies, and lists of potential godparents (Gina, Feliks, a startled-looking barista from Rue de France who made me the best chicory root coffee I’ve ever had in my life; I almost proposed on the spot).

I open a new document. I feel like telling stories tonight.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who loved a wolf…

The cursor blinks.

She knew his teeth. Knew his hunger. Knew she should stay away. But one day, the wolf said?—

I highlight the lines. Delete.

Another draft:

A queen once told her daughter, “Love is war waged softly.” The princess didn’t listen. She followed a soldier into the fog. When she returned, her crown had rusted, but her sword…

Delete.

Third try:

Dear Sasha,

They have your nose.

I shut the laptop.

Outside, waves erase the shore. Somewhere beyond them, my father’s body cools in a grave. Maybe Sasha’s is beside him, or maybe not. Maybe Dragan has killed him, or maybe not. It’s impossible to know.

What I do know is this: here, in the dark, two heartbeats sync with mine.

Spat.

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