Chapter 25 Penises,If You Will, Penii Cara
I MET MY SOULMATE WHEN I was three months shy of eighteen.
Five foot one, dark chocolate curls piled on her head, lugging a box nearly bigger than her, yet still managed to donkey-kick the man behind her right in the balls when he asked her if she could move her short legs any faster.
It was her brother.
I watched her drop the box to the ground, look around our dorm room with a mixture of fear and excitement, only for all that excitement to disappear when those dark eyes landed on me, nothing but fear remaining as she took in the length of me once, twice, and gulped.
“Look at the size difference,” her brother had snickered, and without missing a beat, she nailed him right in the balls again, without even glancing over her shoulder, like her foot had built-in dick detection.
I knew I loved her then, but when I picked up the bottle of tequila on my nightstand and filled two shot glasses?
When I held one out to her, grinning, and her eyes dipped to it before she said, “At ten a.m.?” When I repeated those three words back to her, and her eyes met mine again in a challenge, a spark that lit her from the inside out, stealing every ounce of that fear as she blew a curl off her face, shrugged, and threw that shot back without wincing?
That’s when I knew I’d found my soulmate.
It’s wild how you can be surrounded by people your entire life, only to meet a single person and suddenly realize you’ve gone all those years never knowing what true friendship feels like.
As different as Olivia and I are, she understood me on a level nobody else ever had.
She reminded me daily how capable I was, pushed me when she knew I could take it, and was soft with me when she knew I couldn’t.
I have spent my life being so sure of myself, speaking my truth without fear, and convincing myself I’m capable of all the hard things.
But when I look back on the ten-plus years of my life with Olivia, I am almost certain that those qualities wouldn’t have survived the perils of adulthood without her.
I was able to build my dream life because I had someone by my side every step of the way who never, not even for a second, let me stew in self-doubt.
And when I stroll through her front door, find Ireland wrapping Dublin, their dog, in toilet paper, and Olivia sprawled over the couch, looking like she hasn’t showered or slept in days, I fear that I’ve failed her.
“Sweet fuck,” I mutter, looking around the open space, cushions on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, an explosion of toys covering… well, everything.
Olivia’s huge brown eyes come to mine, filling rapidly. “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”
“What? No. No, it’s not, um… it’s not that—”
“I’m a failure!” she wails, slapping her hands across her face as her sobs break free. “I can’t do anything anymore!”
“Ollie, no. No, no, no. Come here.” I scoot beneath her legs, sitting on the couch and grabbing her wrists. “Come on. Let’s get you up.”
“Careful,” she sobs. “I’m so big, you might-might-might… you might throw your back out!”
“You know,” I say, grunting as I start hauling her up to me, “everyone says Carter’s the dramatic one. But there’s nobody alive as skilled at extravagant exaggerations as you are.”
She collapses against me when I right her, flinging her arms around my neck. “Carter calls me his dramatic wittle baby,” she cries. “The worst part is I secretly love it!”
Laughing, I smooth her curls off her damp face, tracing the puffy dark circles beneath her eyes. “You look exhausted, pretty mama.”
“I’m so tired, Cara. I’ve never, ever felt this type of exhaustion in my life, not even when Ireland went through her four-month sleep regression and was up twenty-seven thousand times a night.”
What was I saying about extravagant exaggerations?
“Ireland has Carter’s energy, and I love that, but when I’m thirty-six weeks pregnant with twins who are, somehow, measuring on track as if they were single babies?
” Eyes wide, she shakes her head. “I can’t keep up.
Literally, she’s faster than me. She beats me up the stairs, she’s ten steps ahead of me when we’re walking Dublin…
Yesterday she got so tired of watching me try to roll off the couch, she hauled a stool over to the fridge, climbed up, got her string cheese, and put the stool back, all before I’d made it out of the living room, and you know what she said when she sat down beside me?
‘Dada fast. Dublin fast. Ireland fast. Mama slooow.’ ”
Pressing my lips together, I swallow my snort as Ireland comes racing into the living room, Dublin trailing behind her, looking like Casper the Friendly Ghost, tail wagging. My brow rises as I take in Ireland’s outfit.
Clear plastic heels. Purple snowpants. Pink tulle princess dress. Rainbow cardigan, top button secured in the bottom hole. Bright yellow sunhat, elastic cord pulled right up to her chin.
“Did you dress yourself today, Ireland?”
“Uh…” She looks down at herself, then grins, patting her chest. “Yes!”
“Beautiful. And how many necklaces you got on there?”
“Two necklace,” she tells me, holding up five fingers, while I count a total of seven beaded necklaces decorating her neck. “I hungwy, Mama.”
“Yeah, it’s dinnertime. How about I—”
“I hab cookie.” Ireland sticks her hand into the pocket of her snowpants, pulling out a rough-looking Oreo.
“Dear God,” I mutter as she shoves the entire cookie into her mouth.
“It’s uncanny,” Olivia whispers back.
I gesture to her belly. “What if these two—”
“Don’t.” Olivia clamps her hand over my mouth. “Just… don’t.”
Prying her fingers from my grin, I stand. “Ireland, I brought you some Play-Doh. Wanna play while I get dinner set up?”
“Oh, yes!” She bounces up and down before dashing across the space, plastic heels clacking along the way. “I lub pay dough! Tank you, Auntie Cawa! Tank you!”
You’re a lifesaver, Olivia mouths as Ireland busies herself with the Play-Doh. She stands from the couch, two hands on her belly and a wince on her face as she groans. “What’s that?” she asks as I start unpacking everything else.
I hold up the rosemary-butter mushroom-and-cheese ravioli I made less than an hour ago, still hot in the warming tray.
“Dinner.” Opening the fridge, I unload a large cooler bag.
“Meals for you and Ireland tomorrow, and extra for when Carter gets home. Annnd…” I wink at her, dropping a greasy paper bag on the countertop.
“Crunchwrap Supremes for our favorite dramatic wittle baby.”
“Crunchwrap Supremes?” she whispers, inching closer. “Cara…”
“Oops, one more thing.” I hold out the blue cup to her. “Oreo Blizzard. The fancy one, with hot fudge in the middle.”
Brown eyes bounce from the Taco Bell bag to the Dairy Queen treat, settling on me, red-rimmed and wobbly.
“Oh, Christ.” I scrub a hand over my eyes. “Don’t start. For the love of God, Ollie, don’t start. Not over this. Not over Taco Bell and ice cream.”
Her chin quivers, hands balling at her sides. “I’m not gonna cry.”
“If you cry, I’ll cry, because composure? Doesn’t exist for me anymore.” I slap my hands down on the table for dramatic effect. “Do you hear me? I. Have. None.”
Her chest heaves. A strangled sound pierces the air.
“Olivia,” I warn, pointing at her. “Don’t.”
She shakes her head. “I won’t. I will not. I will not cry.” A choked and manic laugh as she slaps away the two silent tears that escape. “I will not cry over Taco Bell and ice cream.”
“Good.” I heave a sigh. “Thank you.”
“It’s just, you’re so, so, so thoughtful, and you l-l-love me so much, and I—I—I…
” She flaps frantically at her face for all of two seconds before she hauls fucking ass over to me, slamming me back against the counter as she claws at my shoulders, bursting into tears as she tries to get closer.
“I can’t even hug you properly! My belly’s too big! ”
I shift my body around hers as surreptitiously as I can manage, until I’m halfway behind her, hugging her as close as possible. “Shhh. It’s okay. Your belly is perfectly sized and beautiful.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so emotional lately.”
“Oh, Ollie.” I smooth my hand over her curls. “You’re always emotional.”
“You shut your filthy mouth.”
I smile, enjoying this quiet moment between us.
We rarely get these anymore. Once upon a time, Olivia was my only family here.
She was all I had, and I never felt like I was going without.
But as I look around her house, at how much she’s struggling to solo parent a toddler through the Vipers road trips while growing two babies, the guilt consumes me.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been more present during your pregnancy. You deserve better from me.”
She pulls back, utter disgust twisting her face. “I beg your finest fucking pardon?”
“I—”
“Have been going through the most difficult time of your life, and trying to keep your head above water?” Really, it’s the cocked brow, loaded with attitude while she rips open a Crunchwrap and takes one giant bite, staring me dead in the eyes.
I cross my arms over my chest, shifting my narrowed gaze away from her. “Not what I was gonna say, but whatever.”
“Exactly what you should’ve said, though.”
“It’s still not an excuse.”
“You’re right, it’s not. It’s an explanation, and while I appreciate that you want to give me one, it’s not necessary.”
“But—”
She presses her fingers to my lips, silencing me, holding them there and making me watch as she chews another bite.
“So fucking good,” she mumbles, eyes rolling.
When she’s done, she takes my hands, shuffles forward, and lays her head over my chest. “Cara, I need you to let it go. There’s so much going on in your head right now; don’t let this have any of that precious, brilliant space.
You’re used to giving a hundred and fifty percent, I get that.
But all I’ve ever needed is for you to show up in whatever capacity you’re able to, and you do that over and over. ”