Chapter 82
982words
She had called me when I was leaving the office about a week ago and told me to pick up a tub of ice cream for her on my way home, but there was an accident on the main road so traffic was diverted. I didn't pass the route to the supermarkets so I forgot all about her ice cream. But when I showed up without it, she threw a hair dryer at me and shouted: 'How can you forget the damn ice-cream? I called you and reminded you!'
'Baby, I'm sorry but there was an accident so--'
She cut me off by throwing an eye shadow palette at me. I wondered why was she only throwing her feminine things at me? I was not a chick; I was not interested in makeup and hair dryers.
'Baby, I'll go back and get your ice cream. Just, please, calm down and relax.'
'I am calm! You wouldn't like to see me when I'm angry. I want my ice cream, and I want it now!'
'Okay.'
It was the fastest I'd ever turned on my heels and driven to a supermarket, and she wouldn't allowed anyone else to get it but me.
'I got the ice cream,' I said as I came back, panting.
'Oh, I don't want ice cream anymore. I want a yogurt instead.'
The steam inside me was passing through my ears but I managed to smile, shove the ice cream into the fridge with a frown, and bring a yogurt to her.
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'Baby, do you want anything to drink?' she asked, opening the fridge I had placed in the room, which was very convenient.
'Um, I want some orange juice.' I never liked it but when I found it was her favorite thing to drink, I began drinking it.
'You don't want some coffee?'
'Okay. Sure.'
She went over to the coffee machine that I also had installed in the room when she was eight months pregnant. She'd thrown a tantrum when I told her that Halley would make my coffee because I didn't want her downstairs in the kitchen where a busy chef was preparing meals with knives, hot ovens and blazing burners; she could've gotten injured or knocked over or something. I installed a coffee maker in the room like the one I had at the office. I didn't want her on swollen feet making coffee for me each morning but she insisted. The only way to satisfy her was to just let her make the coffee.
'Here,' she said.
I remembered the first time I tasted her coffee in the office. It took my breath away and, right then, I knew I needed her in my life.
'Are you alright?' she asked, combing my hair with her fingers.
'Yeah.'
'Okay. I'm going and take a bath.' She got up and went to the bathroom.
I heard small cooing noises shortly after. They were awake already. I stayed out of their sight. I didn't want them to see me and start acting up again. But that definitely wasn't the solution because they both started crying again, louder and louder.
'Emma!' I shouted.
'Just give them attention instead of hiding!' she called from the bathroom.
I walked over to the crib, their eyes latched on me and they stopped crying. They began smiling and moving their little hands around. My daughter and my son, my new pride and joy. I loved them.
Emma's POV
'I don't want a birthday party,' I said to him as we attended to the children.
'Baby why?'
'Because I don't want a bunch of people meeting the twins at just a week old. I want to just have dinner here with the staff and Nana.'
'Okay.'
'Ethan, you're going to spoil Evan if you keep raising him every time he cries for affection.' I watched as my soon-to-be husband took the baby boy out of the crib and placed him against his hard chest.
Evan stopped cried and began to smile in the arms of his father. He was already spoiled by Ethan and it amazed me how much he was attached to him instantly, like he had been waiting to meet his dad.
'I love him and he smells so nice,' he said sniffing him, which made me laugh.
I picked up Emily and cuddled her in my arms. She was more attached to me than Evan. Evan only wanted my milk but longed for his father's time and attention. I didn't know what I'd do when Ethan went back to work and Evan realized he was gone.
I dreaded today because Ethan was leaving to go back to the office.
He kissed the children and gave me a long sweet one before going out the door.
I watched them slept soundly.
Thank goodness they haven't woken up yet.
I took a bath and began to read a book. At the eighth chapter of the novel when his voice came from outside my bedroom door.
I laid her on the bed and changed her pampers and her clothes, remembering when I was taking classes on how to raise a baby.
Seven months ago Ethan had organized for me to attend a baby class to learn how to care for a baby-- or babies-- in the correct way. They taught how to hold them, bath them, dress them, brush their hair, nurse them, show them affection, lay them down after nursing, make them burp, even if they fell asleep, what you should wear to have easier access for breast feeding, what not to use on your skin, and what to do when they started growing up.
