Chapter 14 Martin
MARTIN
I hear the key in the lock, and Mathilda’s head whips around like she’s heard a meteor plunging in from outer space.
“Is that your mammy?” I ask, ruffling the mop of dark hair on her head. She and Ross both let out coos of excitement as I stride over to the door and, sure enough, there she is—Lila.
She looks a little beaten-down when she opens the door, but as soon as she looks past me and toward the twins, her face clears, and she rushes over to greet them.
“Oh, that’s the longest I’ve been without seeing you two since you were born,” she exclaims, kneeling down next to them on the playmat laid out in the cramped living room. “Were you good…?”
“They were great,” I reply. “Had something to eat and I think they’ll be ready for a nap soon. You want a hand getting them down?”
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she replies, waving her hand. “I’ve already asked enough of you as it is.”
“It’s no problem,” I assure her, crossing my arms over my chest and leaning against the doorframe for a moment.
I don’t know how to put it into words, but I’m not ready to leave yet.
Even just spending a few hours with them has sparked that feeling in me, the memory of it that I tried to snuff out for so long.
The knowledge that these little creatures are mine, and that I will do anything in my power to make sure they’re taken care of and loved and spoiled just like they deserve.
“Are you sure?” she asks, biting her lip, and I nod.
“I could make some dinner too, if you want,” I offer. “I’m a pretty good cook, if I say so myself.”
She eyes me for a second, and I can tell part of her isn’t sure if it’s safe to have me alone in her apartment like this, just us and the twins. But her tiredness seems to get the better of her, and at last, she nods.
“You know, that would be great,” she replies. “I was just going to order takeout for the tenth night in a row, but it’s probably better for my health and my wallet…”
“I’m on it,” I reply, and I shuffle into her tiny kitchen to see what she has in the cupboards that I can make something out of. I might not be a Michelin-star chef, but I can make us dinner, and honestly, I’m just glad for the chance to spend a little more time with them.
I can see the living room from the kitchen, and as I put together a simple pasta dish, I steal glances back at Lila and the twins every now and then.
She’s kneeling on the ground before them, still wearing her coat, too interested in them to even notice that she’s still dressed for the outside world.
Ross reaches out his hand for her hair, and she laughs and gently extricates his fingers from her locks before she kisses him on the head once more.
She’s wonderful with them; I can tell that much even from what little I’ve seen.
They are so confident and curious about the world, and that proves to me that she has given them every reason to be—she wants them to explore, to know themselves as well as they can.
My mind drifts to what she said to me before about being in the foster system, and I wonder if that has any kind of influence on the way she is with them.
Perhaps she didn’t get this when she was a kid, and this is her way of making up for it.
“Should be ready in about half an hour,” I tell her as I wipe off my hands and step out of the kitchen.
“Perfect amount of time to get them washed up and ready for bed,” she remarks. “Could you—uh, since you’re here, would you mind tidying up their cribs a little? I haven’t had a chance to fix them up today.”
“Yeah, no problem.”
I head next door to do as I’m told, and find her small bedroom with the cribs sitting next to the bed.
There’s hardly enough room to get in, and I have to turn sideways to slide between the bedframe and the door, but there’s something oddly intimate about being inside her room like this.
A few pictures are pinned to the wall above the bed—of Lila and the girl I assume is her cousin, Sofia, along with some landscape shots of beaches and mountains.
Trips she’s taken, or trips she wants to take?
I don’t know if I can come out and ask her about them, but I can’t help but find myself a little curious.
I straighten up the twins’ beds, re-tucking the sheets and making sure they have plenty of room to roll around without getting stuck. In the bathroom, I can hear her speaking to them, talking them through their nighttime bath.
“…and then I put the lotion on and you slip into your little sleep sack,” she tells one of them. “See, isn’t that easy? Isn’t that nice? Don’t you just want to do Mommy a favor and sleep all night now…?”
I chuckle as I make my way back to the kitchen to check on the food.
This apartment might be tiny, but there’s something I like about being here.
Something peaceful and comforting, familial, even.
She tucks the twins away in bed just as I serve up dinner for the two of us, and she emerges a few moments later with a baby monitor in hand.
“That,” she remarks, as she looks at the plates on the low coffee table in front of the couches, “looks amazing.”
“I don’t know if I would go that far,” I reply, and she shrugs.
“I never learned how to cook, so being able to make anything at all is impressive to me.” She flashes me a grin. “I know I’m going to have to learn as the twins get a bit older, but at least I can stick to formula and breastfeeding for now.”
She sinks down onto the couch next to me and reaches for a plate, planting the baby monitor where she can see it so she can keep an eye on the twins as we eat.
“Did they settle down quickly?”
“Yeah, you must have tired them out with all that playtime,” she replies. “I’m going to need you here every night after this. Just to keep them busy.”
I smile slightly. “I could see my way to that.”
She glances at me out of the corner of her eyes, clearly trying to make sense of whether I actually mean it or not.
I don’t even know if I do. A part of me likes the idea of making this a regular thing, but another part of me, a part of me that damn well knows better, is all too aware of what happened the last time I tried to live the classic family life like this.
“Did your mom teach you to cook?” she asks, changing the subject slightly.
I nod. “Yeah, but nothing like this,” I reply, gesturing to the tomato pasta before us as she takes a bite. “She taught me all those classic Irish recipes. Potato scones, soda bread, stuff like that—”
“Soda bread?” she replies, wrinkling her nose in confusion. “What, like bread made of soda?”
“Not exactly,” I reply. “I can show you how to make it, if you like. It’s pretty easy, and it goes well with everything, especially soup.”
“Hmm, I think I’ll start with the simpler stuff first,” she replies. “This is just as good as it looks, by the way. Thanks for sparing me another night of takeout.”
“You’re welcome.”
We eat together in silence for a moment, the companionable quiet between us filling the air. It’s not like when we went to dinner last week, when I was doing everything I could to keep things aboveboard and focused on the twins.
No, this feels…this feels distinctly new.
Distinctly comfortable. Like this is what I should have been doing from the start.
I might want to think I can keep my distance and play the logical game, but I’m not the kind of guy who can just check out of the emotional side of things, no matter how hard I try.
And there’s something about this that I have really missed.
Something I couldn’t have put into words before this moment, but that I’m glad I no longer have to.
It’s not that I wish I could go back in time and do this family stuff all over again with Thomas and Martha.
No, the memories of the tension and discomfort are still too fresh in my brain for anything like that.
But sharing a space with someone, the simple act of sitting on the couch and eating a meal and talking about nothing in particular while we both watch the babies on the monitor before us…
it’s like a gap I didn’t even know I had in me has been filled, if only for tonight.
“I saw the pictures in your room,” I remark. “Travel photos?”
“Yeah, just not mine,” she replies with a slight laugh.
“You haven’t been to those places?”
“Are you kidding?” she exclaims, her eyebrows shooting upward. “The furthest I ever got out of New York was your cabin. And with the twins, I don’t think I’m going to be taking any more trips anytime soon…”
“You can travel with kids,” I reason. “Might take a little more planning, but it’s possible.”
“Oh, it’s not the kids I’m worried about,” she replies, gesturing toward the room next door where they’re sleeping. “I’m more worried about the fact that I can hardly afford this apartment, let alone to fly them off across the country.”
“You know, I meant it when I said I would help out in any way I could,” I remind her, and she twists her mouth to the side, staring down at her plate for a moment.
“Yeah, but it’s not fair for me to ask you to pay for things like that,” she mutters. “It’s—those are luxuries. We don’t need them. As long as we can get by, that’s what matters.” She takes another bite of her food, clearly turning the notion over in her head.
“I’m offering, though,” I point out gently. “You’re not asking me to pay for that stuff. And these are my kids too. I want them to have all the experiences they can, at least, if that’s available to them.”
She glances up at me, her eyes perking up a little. “You…you think that might be possible? Sometime down the line, I mean? Traveling with them?”
“Pick a destination,” I reply with a shrug. “I’ll figure out a way to make it happen.”
“You really have the money for that?”
“Lila, I’ve been working as a medical specialist for decades,” I remind her. “I don’t spend my money on much. I’ve saved up plenty over the years.”
“Damn, maybe I should ask for more, then,” she jokes, but I grin.
“Maybe you should.”
She grabs another forkful of pasta, glancing up at the monitor for a moment before she takes a bite.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I’m just—I’m not used to relying on anyone else. Not if I can help it.”
“Because of how you grew up?”
She nods. “I mean, aside from Sofia, I didn’t have anyone I could turn to when I needed stuff,” she confesses.
“I learned to rely on myself. And I figured it would be the same after I got pregnant too, especially since I didn’t even know your name.
I thought—I thought I would just have to find a way through it on my own, but… ”
“I don’t know anyone who could manage taking care of newborn twins on their own the first time they got pregnant,” I reply. “And trust me, I’ve seen plenty of people having kids.”
“Yeah, I think I was probably being a little naive, looking back,” she agrees with a giggle. “If I didn’t have Sofia here, I probably would have lost it already. And if you hadn’t—”
She stops herself in her tracks, like she doesn’t want to come out with any more than she already has. But I lift my chin, silently telling her that she can go on. She swallows her food, and continues, speaking more carefully this time.
“If you hadn’t been there when I came into the hospital,” she admits. “I don’t know what I would have done. Even just knowing you’re out there, when things get tough, it’s…it’s made it easier to handle the difficult stuff, you know? Easier to take it on.”
“And you know I’m here for whatever you need,” I promise her. “You don’t have to hold back. This is their future we’re talking about. I don’t need you to prove anything about how easily you can handle it on your own, okay?”
“I get it,” she replies. “I mean, I’m starting to. Going to take a while to convince myself, you know?”
“I know,” I agree. For a moment, she just looks at me, as though there’s something else on her mind, something she wants to tell me, but whatever it is, she thinks better of it and returns her attention to the food.
We finish up, and she insists on doing the dishes. I follow her to the kitchen so I can dry and put them away, and soon we’re standing practically side by side at the sink as she sets about cleaning up.
“You did the cooking, so you don’t have to clean,” she tells me, trying to shoo me back through to the living room.
“And you did the pregnancy and childbirth, so you don’t have to do anything again as long as you live,” I retort.
She laughs, shaking her head at me. “You’re impossible.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever known someone to be so stubborn about washing the dishes themselves,” I tease her, as she hands me another plate.
“Like I said, force of habit,” she replies. “Hard to remember that anyone else is there for you when you’ve spent so much time doing everything yourself.”
We clean up together, the only sound that of the running water and the plates clinking as I carefully stack them back in the cupboard.
Now that we’re so near to each other again, all I can think of is what we started in that alleyway over the weekend—and just how much I want more, more, more of her.
The scent of her skin, clean like fresh laundry and a little sweet, squirms into every part of me till there’s nothing else I can think of.
Is she oblivious to it, the effect she has on me?
As she turns her back to reach for the last of the plates, my eyes stray down to her jeans, the way her generous ass fills out the denim.
My fingers flex, and I can almost make out how she would feel beneath my fingertips.
“I think that’s us nearly—oh!”
She lets out a slightly surprised noise as she goes to hand me the last plate, only to find me just an inch or two away from her. I take it from her without breaking eye contact, slipping it into the open cupboard door before I close it pointedly.
We’re standing so near to each other now that I can almost feel the warmth of her body coursing off of her in waves, the heat of her practically burning through my system.
Slowly, her gaze traces down my body, until it lands on the firmness stirring behind my jeans.
When she looks back up at me, I can see the desire flickering in her eyes, the same kind that burned there when we were alone in that alley together.
But now, we have all the privacy in the world, and I intend to do everything I can to make the most of it.
“Martin…” she murmurs. But before she can say another word, I loop my arms around her waist, pull her against me, and kiss her hard.