Chapter 27 #2
Hours later, we stumble back into my—our—penthouse, both of us exhausted but happy. Emma kicks off her shoes with a groan of relief while I set down the bags containing smaller items we couldn't wait to have delivered.
"I don't think I can take another step," she announces, making her way to the sofa and sinking down with a dramatic sigh.
I follow her, collapsing beside her. "We just about bought out the store," I say, still amazed at how quickly our shopping expedition escalated. "I haven't made that many purchases in a single day since... actually, I don't think I ever have."
Emma laughs, leaning her head against my shoulder. "Are you having buyer's remorse already?"
"Not even close." I shift so she can stretch out more comfortably, lifting her feet onto my lap.
"Those new couches are going to be incredibly comfortable. And that mattress—the reviews for back support and comfort are off the charts. Your back pain doesn't stand a chance."
I begin massaging her feet, and she lets out a moan.
"Oh my God, that feels incredible," Emma sighs, sinking deeper into the couch as my thumbs work the arch of her foot. "I had no idea how much my feet were killing me until right this second."
"You were a trooper today," I say, focusing on the pressure points that make her toes curl with relief. "We must have walked five miles of showroom floors."
"Walking that much with twenty extra pounds is no joke."
I continue to rub her foot, working my way from her heel to her toes. "Ha! Yeah, I’ll bet. So, what do you think about cribs? Should we go with the ones we saw online?"
"I liked those, but I also want to check out that sustainable furniture place in Brooklyn. The one that uses reclaimed wood." Emma closes her eyes in contentment as I massage a particularly tender spot. "What do you think about changing tables? Do we need one or two?"
I laugh at the question. "I hadn't even thought about that. What if they both need to be changed at the same time?"
"Exactly!" Emma joins in my laughter. "Can you imagine? Both babies crying, both needing changes, and we're standing there playing rock-paper-scissors to see who gets the changing table?"
"We'd need to set up some kind of reservation system. Maybe a sign-up sheet?" I suggest, which makes her giggle.
The conversation about changing tables makes me think back to my early days of fatherhood, and I chuckle to myself.
"Talking about diaper changes reminds me of something that happened with Samantha when she was about three months old," I say, still massaging Emma's feet. "Victoria had some charity thing, so I took Samantha to the park by myself. I was trying to be Super Dad, you know?"
Emma's eyes light up with interest. "Oh yeah? How did that go?"
"It was a disaster," I admit with a laugh. "She had this massive diaper blowout while we were there—I'm talking nuclear level. It was everywhere. Up her back, down her legs. I had to carry her at arm's length back to the car."
"Oh no," Emma giggles, covering her mouth.
"So I'm frantically trying to change her in the backseat of my brand new Audi—this was back when I'd just made my first real money and that car was my pride and joy.
I get her all cleaned up, I'm about to put the fresh diaper on, and then—" I pause dramatically, "—she lets loose again.
Direct hit. All over the leather seats."
Emma bursts out laughing, her whole body shaking. "No! What did you do?"
"I was in shock. Just staring at my ruined car while Samantha looked up at me with those big baby eyes."
"It was everywhere," I continue, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.
"And the smell—my God, the smell. I got that car detailed seven different times after that.
Had the entire back seat professionally treated.
Nothing worked. Eventually, the smell kind of went away but, even the day I traded it in years later, I could still kind of smell it. "
"You're kidding!" Emma is full-on laughing now, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.”
I wish I were.”
“We’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” she says.
“Yeah, believe me, it’s not pretty.”
Emma wrinkles up her nose and then sighs again as I rub another knotted-up spot on her foot.
“I can’t wait for all the furniture to show up. It’s going to look amazing,” she says.
“We picked some beautiful pieces,” I reply.
"They're going to transform the space completely," Emma says, her eyes bright with enthusiasm.
"I'm excited to live with you. To make your place our place."
I feel my heart swell at her words. "Really?"
“Absolutely.” She smiles, a hint of wonder in her expression. "If you had told me a year ago that I'd be pregnant with twins, moving in with a man who—" she pauses, searching for the right words, "who challenges everything I thought I wanted, I would have said you were crazy."
"And now?" I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
"Now I can't imagine it any other way." Her voice softens. "I never thought I'd want this kind of life, you know? I was so determined to prove I could make it completely on my own. But this—us—it feels right in a way I never expected."
My chest tightens with emotion. "I feel the same way."
Emma's expression shifts slightly, a shadow crossing her features. "I just wish my dad could see that. Could understand how happy we are."
I resume massaging her feet, giving her the space to continue.
"I keep checking my phone, hoping he might text or call," she admits. "It's stupid, I know. After everything he said..."
"It's not stupid," I tell her. “He’s your dad. You want him to be there for you.”
"I just keep thinking that maybe when the twins are born, he might change his mind," Emma says, her voice soft but hopeful.
"When he sees his grandchildren, his actual flesh and blood.
.. how can he not feel something? Even if he's still angry with us, I can't imagine him turning his back on innocent babies. "
I consider her words carefully. David's rage was nuclear when he discovered our relationship, but Emma's right—there's got to be something transformative about seeing your own grandchildren for the first time.
"I think you might be right," I tell her, gently massaging her ankles now. "David's stubborn, but he's not heartless. And these kids—" I rest my hand on her belly, feeling a flutter of movement beneath my palm, "—they're going to be pretty hard to resist."
Emma places her hand over mine. "You really think so? You're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
"Your dad is prideful and set in his ways, but family has always mattered to him. It might take time, but I believe he'll come around eventually."
Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but they're hopeful tears now. "I want them to know their grandfather. I want him to be part of their lives."
"Then we'll keep the door open," I promise. "No matter how long it takes."