Page 144 of What if It's Us

My son already thinks I’m full of shit.

“I know, kid. I know.”

“Congratulations, Mom and Dad. Do these precious sweethearts have names?”

Marlee and I had talked about it so many times, running every permutation, but suddenly I can’t remember a single one. My brain is just a staticky shower of emotion, and nothing lands. The nurse stands there, patient, purple baby in her hands. I’m supposed to be a grown man, a father, and I can’t even speak. Marlee saves me. She says the names, clear and holy, the way a priestess might announce the rising of the sun.

“Ellis Rose. Juniper Lee. Rowan Ledger,” she says, the syllables soft and sure, each one an invocation.

That’s when I lose it for real.

The names tangle in my throat so that when I try to repeat them for the nurse, it comes out as a garbled chant, “Ellis, Juniper, Rowan,” over and over, like the only spell I’ll ever need in this life.

“Beautiful choices,” the nurse says, smiling at us both, her words shining with approval. I want to hug her so hard her skeleton cracks. I want to hug everyone. I want to punch the air, cry until I’m empty, laugh until I rupture a lung.

My son has a name.

My daughters have names.

And they have tiny faces, and mouths, and noses, and fingers, and toes, and wrinkled little fists that I get to spend the rest of my life bumping. The more I gaze at them, the more this world, this life, solidifies from a wild and crazy texted favor into something with gravity. With a realness that I can touch. Something I can fuck up a dozen times before lunch and still come back from.

This is my family now.

And I’d happily lay down my life for them if I needed to.

Eventually the doctor steps in to tell us the surgery is done, that Marlee has done beautifully and that all three babies are, “As stable as any set of triplets I’ve seen.” She says that last part with the inflection people use when they say, “You’ve won the lottery” and she’s right.

I did win the lottery.

And I’ll never take it for granted.

CHAPTER THIRTY

LEDGER

The living room looks like a baby boutique exploded.

Three baby swings, a mountain of burp cloths, and diapers everywhere. More baby bottles than I can count in various states of use scattered throughout the living room and kitchen. The coffee table is now a makeshift changing station and someone’s half-eaten protein bar is dangerously close to a pacifier.

Marlee sits curled on the couch, holding Ellis, who’s finally asleep after what felt like two full hockey periods of fussing.

I’ve been pacing back and forthwith Rowan, who has decided he’ll only stop crying if he bounces exactly every three point five seconds. Juniper on the other hand, is the calmest baby on the face of the earth. Cradled in Griffin’s arms, the team’s usually unshakable defenseman, dressed in his brand-new pajama pants with pacifiers all over them, looks like he’s defusing a bomb that could detonate at any moment.

“She looked me in the eyes and hiccupped,” he says, wiping a tear from his eye. “I think we’re bonded now.”

“You know that smile is probably just gas, right, bro?” August says to him.

“Shut your pie hole, Auggie,” Griffin responds, mocking Ella’s nickname for him. “This sweet baby knows she’s in the arms of the world’s best uncle. And she’s got me wrapped around this tiny little finger about a thousand times.” He looks down at a sleeping Juniper and asks, “What’s that sweetheart? You want a pony? How about six? I’ll buy you the whole damn farm. You just say the words, princess.”

“You better be saying those words when you knock me up with your spawn, Mr. Ollenberg,” Layken scoffs. My eyes skate between my two friends and I don’t miss the dirty smirk that passes between them. I know how much Griffin loves his family. If anyone will be a great dad one day, it’ll be him.

“There’sthreeof them,” Bodhi says for the third time since he’s gotten here. “You literally made three tiny humans, dude. That’s…” He shakes his head bewildered. “Absolutely wild.”

“No kidding. My dog peed on my rug when he was a puppy and I cried,” Harrison shares. “How are you even still standing?”

I give him an exhausted laugh. “I’m not. My soul left my body at 3 A.M. when Ellis projectile vomited all over me right after Rowan decided the middle of the night was a great time to have a blowout.”

Bodhi looks at me, his eyes wide, and then shudders with sympathy. “Goddamn, I’d have to salt the earth and move out.” He caps my shoulder. “You’re a hero.”

---