Page 61 of A Me and You Thing
“Yes. Yes,” I say in response.
I notice the pile of books at our feet are all children’s books. I pull away, staring down at them. “My babies.” I turn to Sawyer and he holds me close. “Our babies. Where are they?”
“I... I just put them to bed,” Bree says. “We just finished having story time.”
“So they’re not asleep yet?”
“Well, uh, no... I doubt it,” Bree stammers.
“Can I see them? Please?”
“Go get them,” Sawyer says softly. “Please, Bree. They need to see their mother. And their mother needs to see them.”
I watch as Bree’s troubled eyes meet Sawyer’s. There’s a question in her gaze, but I’m overwhelmed. I don’t understand it. He’s still pale, his eyes glossy and crazy with untamed emotion.
While we wait for Bree to bring Jordyn and Josie downstairs, Sawyer and I simply languish in another unbearably tight embrace. There are no words. Just wild feelings and angst-filled touch, as if we can’t get enough of each other. Every once in a while, Sawyer whispers my name under his breath. “Quinn. Quinn.”
I hear the weight of footsteps pound on the stairs. I look up to see Bree with two beautiful blond little girls, one at each side, holding her hands. They’re soft and cuddly in their cute little pajamas.
My heart—because it’s not my mouth—releases a deep sound that even I don’t recognize as coming from myself.
My babies. My precious little twin girls. They’re so beautiful, the most beautiful creatures I’ve ever seen. My eyes can’t get enough of them, as if they’re starving and their hunger will never be satisfied.
They look at me with those huge doe-like eyes and I melt. I fall to my knees, but Sawyer’s strong arms soften my descent.
I watch them walk down the stairs, looking a little hesitant and scared, made worse by the fact that they thought they were going to bed and have now been toldjust kidding.
They don’t know me. I feel myself die a little on the inside. Their eyes hold no recognition whatsoever. I’m just a crazy frazzled lady who can’t stop crying at the mere sight of them.
They’re not babies anymore. They’re toddlers, pushing toward their third birthday, walking and talking. I didn’t get to see them take their first steps or hear them start to string sentences together or cut their baby teeth and I hate that so much I physically hurt.
At the bottom of the stairs, Bree lets go of their hands. Through her tears, she says, “Jordyn, Josie, this is your mommy. Go and give her a hug.”
I hold out my shaking hands to them, but they balk and hang on to Bree’s legs, burying their heads.
She gently pushes them toward me. “Girls, give your mom a hug. She’s so happy to see you.”
I let my hands fall to my sides as disappointment runs through me, hot and heavy. “No, it’s okay. Don’t make them. It will come with time.” That’s my Early Childhood Education degree speaking. I’m a firm believer in never making a child hug an adult they don’t want to hug. It’s their body and their right to decide. I won’t make them do something they don’t want to do when it comes to physical affection. That’s how victims are made. My girls won’t be victims. I won’t turn them into ones.
I try to contain my emotions so I don’t scare them. “Hi, Josie. Hi, Jordyn. I’m so happy to see you.” I’m not very successful as the last word ends on a sob.
Sawyer helps me to my feet. “Come ‘ere, girls,” Sawyer says, his voice husky.
They run to their Daddy, their little feet pitter-pattering on the hardwood floor. He picks them both up, one in each arm, and faces me. “Our family...” His voice cracks. He can’t complete his sentence. I know he’s still fighting emotions.
Me too.
The girls bury their faces in his shoulder, again acting shy. My heart breaks a little more. I hold out my hands, aching to touch them, then let them fall to my side again. I want to hold them and never let them go. I want to kiss their sweet little faces and stroke their blond heads. I want to talk to them, tickle them, and hear their sweet giggles. I want to rock them to sleep in the nursery rocking chair and fall asleep with them in my arms.
I blink my eyes heavily. It will all have to wait. I’m a stranger to my babies. I don’t want to scare them. But letting them go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done to date. And that’s saying a lot.
Instead, I whisper, “I love you, girls. I love you so, so much.”
They both look up at me and I notice a spark of interest in their eyes. They’re wondering about me. I smile, and they grant me shy smiles right back—a heaven sent gift.
“I’d better put them back down,” Bree interrupts, sounding a tad firm. “They need their sleep.” Her voice sounds as though it’s a million miles away.
The girls go with her willingly. I watch, feeling like a stranger in my own home. “Bree?”
