Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Even with the grainy gray images now stuck to our fridge, it still takes a while after the appointment for any of us to fully realize the implications of having twins. Those weeks blur into something that doesn’t even feel like real life.
At least, not any version of life I’ve known before Roxie. Everything slows down in this peaceful, domestic kind of way. A protective lull. The calm before… well, twins.
We spend our days running the business and keeping Roxie safe, and our evenings spoiling the hell out of her. If she so much as sighs too loudly, three grown men snap to attention like she’s royalty.
Boone takes over all the heavy lifting around the house. Dillon structures her vitamins and meal schedule like he’s prepping for NASA. I hover shamelessly, my eyes almost constantly on our security monitors while I formulate backup plans for our backup plans.
Every night, one of us ends up massaging her feet while we sit on the couch with some holiday movie playing in the background. Apparently, the entire world has decided it’s Christmas despite the calendar insisting it’s still a month away.
“It’s not Christmas,” I protest for the third night in a row. “It’s barely November. People need to calm the hell down.”
Boone doesn’t look up from assembling some complicated rocking chair he refuses to admit is defeating him. “It’s festive, man. Let people have joy.”
“Joy has a date,” I shoot back. “It’s in December.”
Roxie curls against my shoulder, eating pickles, then nudges me. “You’re the only person in this house acting like the Grinch. Joining us would be much easier because you aren’t gonna beat us.”
“I’m not a Grinch,” I grumble.
Dillon snorts from where he sits cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by eight open baby-care books, three laptops, and at least twenty tabs of best crib mattresses of the year open. “Dude, you’re two complaints away from living in a cave and yelling at carolers.”
“I don’t yell,” I say.
Roxie raises a brow. “Baby, you absolutely do yell.”
I glare at all of them, but the next thing I know, I’m grinning. I can’t help it, because the truth is that I like the lights and the music. It’s been a long time since I’ve had any reason to look forward to the holidays, but this year, it feels like everything we’ve ever been missing is finally within reach.
As the days tick on, the nursery becomes our collective obsession. We aren’t ready to paint yet, but that doesn’t stop us from having very intense, deeply stupid arguments about color palettes.
“We need something classic,” Boone says firmly. “Like navy and white. There’s a reason it’s always been popular.”
“No, what we need are cognitively stimulating colors, like soft greens and neutrals,” Dillon says. “I’ve read at least three articles about how color psychology can determine the twins’ entire personalities.”
“You’re all wrong,” I say, crossing my arms as I stare them down. “It should be yellow. A nice, bright sunshiny yellow.”
“Yellow is too aggressive,” Dillon says without looking up from a developmental chart.
“It’s not aggressive,” I fire back. “It’s happy.”
“It’s blinding,” Boone adds helpfully.
Roxie sits on the rug, folding the tiny clothes she ordered online that were delivered a couple of days ago. “You’re all insane. Besides, we don’t need to make the decision today.”
As she says it, she’s smiling like she loves us all the more for it, and I stride over, bending down to plant a kiss on top of her head. “Yeah, we know, but it’s a nice distraction, don’t you think? Also, might I remind you that you’re currently folding clothes you ordered for babies that won’t be here for another six? We’re not the only ones jumping the gun.”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling as she glances up at me. “Sure, but I’m going to be the size of a whale by then, and I probably won’t be able to sit and fold them by then. I’m being practical.”
“And we’re not?”
She arches an eyebrow at me. “You ordered three cribs because no one could agree.”
“But we only kept two and returned the other one.” I wink at her. “Unless Boone stashed it in the basement just in case.”
Aside from the nursery, Dillon joins six different parenting forums under fake usernames. Boone helps him assemble an unnecessary number of baby gadgets while pretending he knows what half of them are. I read baby books when no one is looking.
Every night, as I lie beside Roxie with her back pressed to me and her belly warm under my palm, I feel that same tight, glowing in my chest that isn’t fear or nervous anticipation. Instead, it feels like hope.
I’m not complaining about it, even though I keep loudly insisting that the town putting up wreaths in November is borderline illegal. Christmas really is coming, though, and for once, I’m actually excited.