Chapter 9 Emma
Chapter nine
Emma
When They Were Little
“Why do they make these things so difficult?” Steven grunts, snapping Sawyer’s onesie closed with a sharp click, wrestling against flailing arms and bicycling legs.
“User error?” I tease from the rocking chair, cradling Easton against my chest as he melts into me.
The twins are opposites down to the bone. Sawyer, always in motion, always testing limits, is all Steven. Bold, impulsive, a little wild. But Easton watches the world carefully, like it’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. He’s all me.
Yet, somehow, my love for them is the same, evenly split.
My heart beating outside of my chest was something I never thought possible, let alone beating twice over in two tiny bodies.
When we found out we were having twins, I was terrified.
I don’t know why we were surprised; Steven has two sets of twin siblings.
Genetics had practically left us a roadmap.
Those early months were long and fragile.
Most days, I couldn’t leave the house for fear of losing them at the gas station.
My anxiety was constantly buzzing beneath the surface like static, always there.
My emotions were becoming a disruption to our life, no matter how hard I tried to work through them.
But eventually, medication ended up being the answer, even though I swore I would never need it.
Now, here we are, two years later, and we’re still standing.
We’re leaving the house every day. We’re thriving.
“Ugh, there!” Steven announces with triumph, finally securing the last snap, Sawyer still wiggling.
Well, most of us are thriving.
Steven’s been working extra shifts to ensure I have a way to stay home with the boys.
That means bedtime is often the most time he gets with them.
He handles this well, but some nights, I can feel the weight of that distance clinging to him.
There are so many reasons for him to close off and retreat, but he pushes through—most of the time.
Though, some days, when it’s all of us, doing the simple life things together, it’s not enough.
The exhaustion of his responsibilities gets the best of him, distracting him, pulling him away.
Even when there isn’t anything to do but just be together, I can see in his dark eyes that he’s everywhere but here with us. With me.
But tonight, he is here, in the thick of it with me.
“Alright, boys,” he declares, like he’s summoning the cavalry. “Bedtime story.”
Like soldiers listening to command, they scramble to their beds, one on either side of the room, with Steven taking up every inch of the narrow space between them. I settle back in the recliner, wedged between the dresser and wall. There’s not much walking room when we’re all in here.
Steven says we’re outgrowing this house, and I know he’s right.
But I can’t bring myself to look for anything else.
This is our first home. Where we came after our wedding instead of some fancy hotel.
Where we celebrated Steven matching at the ER residency five miles away.
Where we brought our boys home. So many memories have happened here.
I fight the whirl of emotions that comes with remembering and focus on Steven’s words as he spins magic in real time.
“Is there a princess?” Easton asks, smirking beneath his blanket.
“Of course there is,” Steven says, his eyes drifting to mine. “The most beautiful perfect princess in all the land.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long, like he’s forgotten where he is for a moment, and the heat of it travels down to my toes.
“There was once a knight,” he goes on, voice lifting with excitement. “Big and strong. The mightiest of knights.” He puffs his chest out ridiculously wide. The boys are captivated.
“He slayed dragons, and giants, and protected his kingdom from…the muddy dwellers.”
I arch a brow in silent question. Muddy dwellers?
He shrugs as his eyes twinkle with delight. He doesn’t know either, but he’s committed.
“One day, the knight decided he would travel to a faraway place called Wisconsin.”
I snort out a laugh as he launches further into the epic tale.
His voice is dramatic, telling of the fearless knight battling his sworn enemy, defeating the king of the giants, scaling the towering cliffs of cheese to rescue the princess.
His glee is palpable as his story comes to its epic conclusion, and by the end, the boys’ gentle snores fill the room, and my eyes can barely stay open.
I hear the soft click of the lamp being switched off, and then Steven’s arms are sliding around me.
His hands move gently, instinctively, pulling me in.
He scoops me up like I weigh nothing and guides my legs around his waist. I rest my check against the warm hollow of his shoulder as my hair spills messily across both of us.
The house is dark and cool as I listen to his feet pad against the slippery hardwood as he slips us into our bedroom. The curtains stir in the breeze coming through the open window, and the soft glow from the hallway dies behind us.
He lays me down in our bed, hovering over me with heavy eyes.
Exhaustion settles over us like a current.
I know what he wants, what he needs. I need it too.
Not just the touch or closeness of our skin, but something deeper.
The tether that has held us together since the beginning…
we need it back. To feel like there’s still an us in the middle of this chaos.
But the busyness of our world makes it feel impossible to get.
Even in this bed, with him right here with me, he feels so far away.
And the space between us stretches wider each day.
As if he’s heard the ache in my bones, he presses his lips to my neck and whispers, “I promise we’ll get back to us one day.”
That’s all it takes.
I fold into him, and something inside me comes undone.
I break, quietly at first, then all at once.
Messy tears come fast, and somewhere in the sobs, there are kisses.
Soft and tender ones. And then promises, big ones and small, apologies tangled in our breaths for how distant we’ve become.
Everything we’ve been too tired or scared to speak.
Words we’ve lost in the noise of parenthood and responsibility finally rise to the surface until finally we get lost in the quiet reverence of each other.