Page 181 of Jordan

“They don’t,” I agree.

“They’re so small. How can humans be so small?” Enzo asks.

“Yours is the small one,” Rafael jokes. I roll my eyes.

He’s been teasing Enzo about his son being a whole four ounces bigger than Enzo’s daughter.

“It doesn’t matter,” I say. “They’re both beautiful.”

Lily and Landon were born fifty-three minutes apart from one another with a long and difficult vaginal birth that almost turned C-section. I’m grateful it didn’t happen that way because I wanted a vaginal birth. The doctor warned it may not be possible as most twins are born via C-section, but I wanted to at least try. It was wonderful. Amazing. Holding my babies for the first time was the best moment of my life.

Though Lily was born first, older by almost an hour, she is a little smaller than her brother. It’s amazing how they look so much the same, outside of their different shades of hair. Lily’s is dark while Landon’s is blond, like his father’s. They have the same button nose I recall from all my baby photos. The same almond-shaped eyes and perfect little lips.

“They’re perfect,” I say.

“I’ll agree with that,” Rafael says.

“Let’s get breakfast before they wake up,” Enzo says. He grabs the monitor, and we head down for breakfast.

The last six months have been steady. That’s the best way I can describe it. The three of us have been working hard on making our relationship work as a whole, while also keeping ourselves as individuals and maintaining relationships with each other separately. During all this, Rafael dealt with the death of his mother while Enzo dealt with all the changes in the territory around here and the new responsibility of being the head of a family, even if he’s doing it with his brothers, while I’ve had to deal with morning sickness that never went away, fierce headaches, and none of my clothes fitting me. The only thing that made it worth it was the way my little babies would kick and roll around. When one of their dads would talk to them, they’d wake and move. When I would talk, they’d do the same. All the rough days were worth it to know I’ve given them life. I protected them.

It may sound crazy, but since the babies have been born, it’s the calmest this house has been since I moved in.

Rafael has an appointment to get a vasectomy. Not because he’s decided he’ll be with us forever, but he’s decided he definitely doesn’t want any more children, even if he does love his son so very much. He did finally get rid of the contract though. Maybe I threatened him a little, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I know he’ll be with us for the near future because we’re happy. We’re making this work. And though Rafael won’t commit to forever, he’s committing to right now, on his own terms, and we can work with that.

Enzo has already whispered to me he wants more kids. A lot more. As many as I’ll allow him to put in me is how he worded it. I’d laughed, but he was serious.

I told him we can talk about it more when these two get through the toddler phase and see how we feel then. He may change his mind when he realizes how unruly they can be at that age. He thinks it’ll be all fun and games, but I’m pretty sure he’s going to have a pretty serious reality check.

“How are you feeling?” Enzo asks as he puts a plate of eggs and bacon in front of me.

“Happy,” I say.

Enzo smiles, putting another plate in front of Enzo before going to the kitchen and getting his own.

“Is that all?” he asks when he returns.

“I’m just content.” I sigh, picking up my bacon. “Everything is good. The babies are here, they’re happy and healthy. We’re happy. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“How are you with your father?” Rafael asks the question I know they were both thinking, since it hasn’t been long since I’ve found out the news. They’ve allowed me to take my space over the whole thing, but I knew it would come to an end.

“Fine,” I say.

“Jordan,” Enzo warns.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Talking about it is healthy,” Rafael says.

“Not over breakfast,” I argue. They both look at me with pity. I hate being looked at like this. “I’m sorry I don’t want to talk about my father killing himself and making it all seem like it was my fault over breakfast.”

“That’s not something to be sorry about, Jordan. We want to make sure you’re okay,” Rafael says.

“You haven’t talked about it at all,” Enzo adds

“Because I don’t want to,” I snap.

They share a concerned look. I know they aren’t going to let it go forever, but they need to let it go for now. I don’t want to talk about it.