Chapter 14 Aristides
In Athens, even at this hour, there would be staff moving through the lower floors of the estate. Here, I was surrounded by the quiet of middle-class American domesticity.
I didn’t linger in bed. I never did unless there was a woman beside me. The absence of Dede’s warmth beside me was a miscalculation I intended to correct through strategy.
But as I stood, stretching out the stiffness from a mattress softer than I preferred, I noticed the boxes stacked in the corner. There was a double stroller, two infant car seats and two convertible cribs. Unopened. All of them.
Moving closer, I cataloged the contents visible through clear plastic bins. Blankets in soft neutrals. Stuffed animals still tagged. Onesies folded in neat stacks, organized by size.
A butter-yellow onesie lay on top of one of the bins with sunflowers embroidered across its chest. I lifted it; the fabric was delicate between my fingers. The garment was minuscule, yet it would house a complete human being.
Chrysanthos had once been this small. I recalled how his hand barely encircled my thumb, and his weight was negligible against my chest.
His sister had been even smaller. She’d never worn the pink onesie with white rabbits we’d chosen for her.
I refolded the yellow garment and stepped back from the boxes, placing it exactly as I had found it. The melancholy threatened to expand, but I forced it down.
Sentiment was unproductive when it served the past rather than the future. The past could not be altered; only the future warranted attention.
My daughter—this daughter, the one Dede carried—would be different. She would wear these clothes. She would outgrow them and require larger sizes. She would live beyond Dede’s womb.
Another box caught my attention. It was filled with what appeared to be parenting books.
However, the titles gave me pause. Double Trouble, Single Handed, Me, Myself & Twins, CEO of Twin LLC, The Executive’s Approach to Single Parenting Two at Once.
Every volume presumed single motherhood. Every title reinforced a premise I found fundamentally unacceptable.
I gathered the books—all five of them—and carried them downstairs. The large trash bin stood beside the kitchen island. I lifted the lid, then I dumped them.
Back upstairs, I retrieved my phone and opened my preferred bookstore application. If Dede were going to research parenting, she’d do it with accurate materials.
I started searching, and the results populated. I began adding to the cart:
The New Parents’ Guide to Marriage: Keeping Your Relationship Strong While Raising Children
Added to cart.
Baby Makes Three: The Six-Step Plan for Preserving Marital Intimacy and Rekindling Romance After Baby Arrives
That one was important, given my goal to share her bed permanently. Added to cart.
The First Year of Marriage with Multiples: A Survival Guide for New Parents
Perfect. Added to cart.
Sex After Baby: Maintaining Romance and Partnership
Essential reading, considering the pregnancy had only heightened my awareness of her fuller breasts, the way she moved with new languor, and the glow emanating from her skin. Added to cart.
Marriage Before Maternity: The Time-Tested Formula
I paused on that one. The cover showed a couple with their hands forming a heart over a pregnant belly. Saccharine, but the reviews were solid.
My cart now contained five books. The same number I’d thrown away.
I entered her address and chose express delivery. The replacements would arrive the next morning.
With that taken care of, I gathered my toiletries bag and proceeded to the bathroom across the hall. The space was small but efficient, decorated in the same understated style as the rest of the house.
I showered using my products before shaving. I dressed in dark, tailored trousers and a crisp white shirt. I applied a small amount of styling product to my hair, and then returned to the bedroom, made the bed, and organized my belongings.
At 6:30, I descended the stairs, following the sound of Dede’s voice. She sat at the kitchen island, laptop open, and phone pressed to her ear.
“No, Chauncey, the demographic analysis shows—” She paused, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Yes, I have the data. I’ll email it within the hour.”
Dede glanced up as I entered, acknowledging me with a small smile before returning her attention to the call. Even at five months pregnant, she was impossible to ignore.
She’d pulled her hair back in a loose ponytail and wore a burgundy robe that complemented her skin. Her professional competence was attractive, but it was the way she absently stroked her belly while talking and the breathlessness in her voice making my hands itch to touch her.
I moved toward the coffee maker on the counter. It was a compact machine with an array of buttons and settings, but I figured it out.
While the coffee brewed, I took in the kitchen properly. The cabinets were painted a soft gray-blue. There were no servants’ call buttons, no separate prep kitchen, no professional-grade appliances.
This was a space designed for family life rather than for entertaining. It suited her.
Photographs covered the refrigerator, held by an array of magnets. Dede and Tia—at various ages. Birthday parties. Graduations. Tia and Chrysanthos on their wedding day two weeks ago.
Dede ended her call and closed her laptop. “I have a doctor’s appointment this morning. You’re welcome to come if you’re not busy.”
“I will be there, yes.”
“Okay then. We’ll leave in an hour.”
We entered the health center ten minutes before her scheduled appointment. The space was decorated with cream walls, pale wood accents, and watercolor prints of botanical illustrations.
Dede approached the reception desk, and the woman behind it looked up with a smile. “Hey girl!”
“Hey yourself,” Dede replied.
The receptionist’s attention shifted to me.
“This is Aris,” Dede said. “The Greek fling.”
The dismissive term grated. I stepped forward before she could continue, extending my hand to the receptionist. “Aristides Christakis. Father of Dede’s children. And her future husband, yes.”
The receptionist’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, I like him.”
“That makes one of you,” Dede muttered.
I kept my attention on the receptionist. “A pleasure to meet you, Ms...?”
“Kandi.” She was vibrating with excitement. “Dee’s best friend. We would have met at Tia’s wedding, but my daughter was about to give birth.”
“Congratulations on becoming grandmother,” I said smoothly. “I hope mother and child, they are well.”
“They’re perfect. And you…” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “You’ve got your work cut out for you with this one.”
“I am aware, yes. Fortunately, I enjoy challenge.”
Kandi laughed outright, turning to Dede, who was giving her the death stare. Before Dede could respond, a petite Asian woman in a white coat appeared in the doorway. “Deanna, perfect timing. Come on back.”
Dede gave Kandi a we will discuss this later look, then turned on her heel and strode toward the examination room.
I nodded to Kandi, who was still grinning, and followed.
“Future husband?” she hissed the moment the door closed behind us.
“You introduced me as a fling.” I kept my tone light. “I corrected the inaccuracy.”
“By claiming we’re getting married?”
“We are.”
“I said no.”
“You said no in Switzerland last year. This, it is new year, and different country.”
“Your audacity—”
The doctor cleared her throat. “Should I... step out for a moment?”
“No, he’s just leaving.”
“I am not leaving.”
“Aris—”
“I am staying.” I didn’t move from my position near the door. “Unless you physically remove me.”
“Don’t tempt me.”
“Dede,” I softened my tone. “Please. I want to see my children.”
“We’ll discuss this later.” She climbed onto the examination table.
“I look forward to it.”
The doctor, whose name tag read Dr. Bedi, had been watching this exchange with poorly concealed amusement. She stepped closer. “Well then. If you could lift your shirt, please.”
Dede complied, exposing the rounded swell of her belly. My gaze caught on her breasts, noticeably fuller, and they made my mouth go dry. The changes pregnancy had brought did not dim my attraction to her.
I forced my attention back to the ultrasound as the doctor applied the gel. “Shall we see how the babies are doing?”
I moved to the head of the table as Dede settled back. The screen flickered to life, and there they were. Two distinct shapes, curled and suspended in darkness. My children.
The sound hit me next. Two heartbeats, overlapping but distinct. My heartbeat seemed to synchronize with theirs.
“Head measurements look good,” the doctor narrated, clicking and marking the image. “Spinal development is excellent.” She glanced at Dede with a smile. “Twenty fingers and twenty toes total, not each.”
Dede laughed. “Thank God. I’m not sure I could handle forty digits worth of nail trimming.”
The doctor grinned. “You’d be surprised what you can handle.”
I barely registered their exchange. My attention remained fixed on the screen, on the two small forms that represented everything I thought I’d never have again.
“My daughter, where is she?” My voice emerged rough.
The doctor gave me a curious look, then indicated a shape on the left side of the screen. “This one is the girl.”
I studied the image with mounting anxiety. “She’s smaller.”
“It’s common for one twin to be slightly larger,” Dr. Bedi assured me. “Both are growing appropriately for their gestational age.”
Her reassurance did nothing to quiet the alarm building in my chest. “Are you certain there are no complications? For either of them? For Dede?”
“Everything looks good. This is a textbook twin pregnancy.” Her tone gentled. “We’re monitoring closely.”
“What exactly are you monitoring? What measurements are considered normal? When do complications usually show up?” I leaned closer to the screen, as if I could see more details that way. “What should we watch for between appointments?”
“Aris,” Dede’s voice held a warning.
“I need to understand protocols,” I insisted, still watching the screen. “What is normal growth? When does the size difference become a problem?”
“Currently, Baby A—your son—is measuring in the fifty-eighth percentile. Baby B—your daughter—is in the forty-second percentile. Anything between the tenth and ninetieth percentiles is considered normal range. I would become concerned if one twin falls below the tenth percentile or if there’s a significant discordance—typically more than twenty-five percent difference in estimated weight. ”
I performed the calculation immediately. “Sixteen percent difference. Well within normal range.”
“Exactly.”
“But you will continue monitoring, yes?”
“At every appointment,” she confirmed. “I promise you, sir, if there were any cause for concern, you’d be the second person to know.”
“Second?”
Dr. Bedi gestured to Dede. “Mom would be first.”
I nodded and stepped back, though I wanted to demand more tests and second opinions. The logical part of my mind knew I was projecting old fears onto the present, but the father in me, who had already buried a wife and child, didn’t care about logic.
Dr. Bedi printed several images from the ultrasound and handed them to Dede, then excused herself for her next patient.
Dede reached for the paper towels, but I was faster. “Allow me.”
“I can do it myself.”
“I know you can.” I took the towel and began cleaning the gel. “Let me anyway, yes?”
When I finished, she pulled her shirt down. I offered my hand to help her down from the examination table. She hesitated before taking it.
I followed her to the reception area, watching as she confirmed her next appointment with Kandi, who was watching us with fascination. Kandi caught my eye and mouthed, “Good luck.” Then we proceeded to the elevator in loaded silence.
I studied the ultrasound images of my children. The reality of them felt simultaneously abstract and overwhelming.
I traced my thumb over the smaller shape. My little girl. “Would you object to naming her Yianna?”
Dede looked at me curiously. “Does it have any significance?”
“It means God, He is gracious.” And He has been, by giving me this second chance.
I braced for resistance. Dede seemed constitutionally opposed to agreeing with any suggestion I made.
“Yianna. Yianna and Tia.” A small smile touched her lips. “I like it.”
Relief flooded through me, though I merely nodded my acknowledgment.
Dede reached for my hand, pressing it against the swell of her abdomen. “She just moved. I think she approves.”
I covered her hand with mine, feeling the connection between us and our children. The warmth of her skin, the movement under my palm, and the way she looked at me with tenderness drew me toward her.
I leaned closer, my gaze dropping to her lips—
The elevator doors opened with a sharp ding. Two teenage boys tumbled in, laughing at something on a phone screen. They glanced our way with knowing smirks before resuming their conversation in loud whispers.
I straightened reluctantly, but kept her hand in mine, threading our fingers together.