Chapter 15 #2
“These two beauties wanted to see their mama,” the nurse announced, her voice cheerful. “They both passed their examinations with flying colors. Perfect Apgar scores, healthy weights. Charlotte is five pounds, twelve ounces, and Alexander is six pounds, one ounce. Very good sizes for twins.”
Gabriel was on his feet instantly, moving to help wheel the bassinets closer to the bed. The nurse positioned them so Beth could see both babies, their small faces visible above the swaddled blankets.
“They're going to want to nurse again soon,” the nurse added. “I'll send the lactation consultant back in about an hour to help you with tandem feeding.”
“Tandem feeding?” Beth repeated.
“Nursing both babies at the same time. It takes some practice, but it can be a real time-saver with twins.”
The thought of nursing two babies simultaneously seemed impossible, but Beth nodded anyway. She would figure it out. She had to figure it out.
“Oh,” Brea breathed, rising from her chair to look at the babies. “Oh, Beth. They're beautiful.”
Charlotte was awake, her dark eyes blinking slowly, her tiny mouth working as if she were trying to figure out this strange new world. Alexander slept peacefully beside her, his face relaxed, one small fist pressed against his cheek.
“This is Charlotte Victoria,” Beth said, reaching down to touch her daughter's cheek. The skin was impossibly soft, like silk against her fingertips. “And this is Alexander Thomas.”
“Victoria,” Michael repeated. “That's beautiful. After Gabriel's mother?”
“Yes.” Beth glanced at Gabriel, who nodded. “And it's also Grandma Sarah's mother's name. We didn't plan it that way, but when we found out, it seemed perfect.”
“Grandma's going to lose her mind,” Michael said with a grin. “In the best way.”
“That's what we're hoping. She's driving up with Lauren and Sarah. They should be here in a day or two.”
“Driving? In the RV?”
“Yup, the Garrison Getaway. You know Grandma. She does things her own way.”
Maggie appeared at Michael's elbow, her eyes fixed on the babies with an expression of pure wonder. “May I?” she asked Beth.
“Of course.”
Maggie reached into Charlotte's bassinet and lifted her granddaughter with the practiced ease of a woman who had held many babies in her lifetime. Charlotte fussed briefly, then settled against Maggie's chest, her small body fitting perfectly into the curve of her grandmother's arms.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Maggie murmured. “Hello, my beautiful girl. I'm your grandma. We're going to be great friends, you and I.”
Beth watched her mother hold her daughter, and something inside her shifted.
This was the cycle, she realized. The endless chain of mothers and daughters, of love passed down through generations.
Maggie had held her like this once, had whispered the same words, had felt the same overwhelming surge of love and responsibility.
And now it was Beth's turn.
“Can I hold Alexander?” Michael asked.
Gabriel lifted Alexander from his bassinet and transferred him carefully into Michael's arms. The big man looked almost comically large holding such a tiny baby, his broad hands cradling the infant with exquisite gentleness.
“Hey, little guy,” Michael said softly. “I'm your Uncle Michael. I'm going to teach you all the things your mom doesn't want you to know. How to throw a football. How to sneak cookies before dinner. How to annoy your sister in the most effective ways.”
“That's exactly what I was afraid of,” Beth said, but she was smiling.
Brea moved to stand beside her husband, looking down at the baby in his arms. Something passed between them, a private moment of connection that Beth recognized.
The shared memory of their own children as infants, perhaps.
Or the bittersweetness of watching someone else begin a journey they knew so well.
“He looks like Gabriel,” Brea observed. “The chin. And the eyebrows.”
“I think so, too.” Gabriel sounded pleased. “But I think he has Beth's nose.”
“He has his own nose,” Beth said. “He's been alive for four hours. Let's not assign features yet.”
The room filled with quiet laughter, the easy warmth of family gathered around new life. Chelsea appeared in the doorway eager for her turn to hold the babies. The bassinets were passed from person to person, the twins examined and admired and pronounced perfect by everyone who held them.
“Paolo and Emily are on their way,” she said.
Beth lay back against the pillows and let the scene wash over her. Her body still ached. Her stitches still throbbed. She was still exhausted in a way that went beyond physical tiredness, a bone-deep weariness that she suspected would take weeks to recover from.
But none of that mattered. Not really. Because her family was here, crowded into this small hospital room, passing her children from one set of arms to another.
As soon as Beth had called out for her mother, Maggie was right by her side.
Her brother, who had survived a trauma that could have killed him and was now cradling her son like he was the most precious thing in the world.
Her husband, who had been terrified and determined in equal measure, who had held her hand through every contraction and wept when their children were born.
This was what she had wanted. This was what she had been working toward, even when she didn't know it. A family of her own, surrounded by the family she had been born into.
“Beth?” Maggie's voice broke through her reverie. “Are you okay?”
“I'm perfect,” Beth said. “Absolutely perfect.”
A nurse came to check Beth's vitals and remind everyone that the new mother needed rest. She helped Beth to the bathroom, a slow and painful journey that required support and patience.
The mesh underwear, the ice packs, the spray bottle for cleaning, all the unglamorous realities of postpartum recovery that no one talked about in polite company.
“You're doing great,” the nurse assured her. “First day is always the hardest. It gets easier.”
Beth wasn't sure she believed that, but she nodded anyway.
The room began to empty slowly, people offering final congratulations and promises to return tomorrow. Michael and Brea were the last to go, Michael pausing at the door to look back at his sister.
“I'm proud of you,” he said. “You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“Good. Because I don't say it enough.” He smiled, that familiar crooked smile that had been getting him out of trouble since childhood. “Get some sleep. You're going to need it.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.”
He left, and the room fell quiet. Gabriel had settled into the chair beside Beth's bed, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. The twins slept in their bassinets, their breathing soft and synchronized. Maggie had gone to find coffee and call the rest of the family with updates.
Beth lay in the silence and listened to her babies breathe. Such a small sound. Such an enormous miracle.
She thought about the months ahead, the challenges and the exhaustion and the moments of doubt that were surely coming.
She thought about Emily, who had arrived at the farm yesterday and was probably wondering what she had gotten herself into.
She thought about the house in Andover, waiting to be emptied and sold, waiting for the family to gather one last time.
So much was changing. So much was beginning.
But right now, in this moment, none of that mattered. Right now, there was only this room, this quiet, these two tiny people who had changed everything by simply existing.
Beth closed her eyes and let herself drift toward sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own demands, more nursing, more visitors, more learning how to care for two newborns at once. Tonight, she would rest in the knowledge that she had done something extraordinary.
She had brought two lives into the world. She had become a mother twice over in a single morning. And nothing, absolutely nothing, would ever be the same.