Page 69 of Savior
“Almost there,” the nurse says, standing and slipping her glove off. “You’re right at ten centimeters.” The nurse turns to write something on a clipboard.
“I’m trying to tell you—”
“No,” I say and kiss her. “It doesn’t matter. I have everything I’ve ever wanted right here in this room. I want it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, it’s definitely going to be a surprise,” the nurse murmurs, giving us a small smile as she slips from the room.
“You’re so frustrating,” Sienna says.
“But you love me.”
She leans up to kiss me. “I do.”
“So let’s have a baby,” I say.
An eternity later, pandemonium erupts inside the little hospital room as Sienna does the impossible and brings our child into this world. I used to be convinced nothing would ever be more beautiful than she was when when she walked down the aisle the day we were married, but I was wrong. The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen is the moment they place the squirmy, squalling, red-faced baby onto her stomach with her looking down, tears streaming down her face.
I put my hand on the baby’s back and lean down to kiss Sienna’s forehead. She’s a wreck, her hair is sticking in a million different directions, and she’s sweated off all the makeup she’d applied before she went into labor. She’s absolutely stunning. My angel.
There’s a flurry of activity, and then the baby is whisked away to be wiped down, measured, weighed, and then wrapped up. I describe all of the actions in Sienna’s ear as I watch from my place by her side. Finally, they call me over, and I take a sleepy bundle in my arms.
“It’s a boy,” one of the nurses tells me.
I look down at the new life in my arms in awe. “A boy,” I whisper, and then I look at Sienna. “We have a son.” Her face is brilliant with a huge smile, but then pain flashes in her eyes. “Baby?”
“Here we go,” the nurse says as she rushes by me.
“Baby? Are you okay?” With the sleeping boy cradled in my arms, I crouch by her side.
“Yes,” she says through panted breaths. “His brother is just impatient.”
I stare at her, unable to comprehend simple English. Finally, my brain catches up with her words. “Brother?”
“I tried”—pause—“to tell you”—pause—“but you didn’t”—pause—“want to know.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“If you think I’m saying you’re about to be a father again, then you’re right.”
I’m struck dumb and only manage to hold onto her hands as she works a miracle for the second time in one night.
While they repeat the same procedure for the second baby, I turn to Sienna. “Twins?”
She laughs softly and holds out her hands. “I tried to tell you a million times, but you wouldn’t let me.”
I can’t find words.
“Here you are, Daddy,” a nurse says and then places another baby in my arms. “Ten fingers and ten toes,” she announces happily.
The baby in my arms is identical to his brother. It hits me like a shockwave and I look up to my wife, who’s smiling softly at the baby in her arms. “Twins,” I say.
“Twins.”
“Two boys.”
She laughs. “That’s right.”
“I should have known.”