Something Blue (27 page)

Shortly after that, an anesthesiologist brought my epidural. I’d never been so excited to see a needle, anticipating a marvelous high, something akin to laughing gas at the dentist. Instead of a tingly, floating sensation, however, the epidural only caused the absence of pain. But on the heels of my vicious contractions, the absence of pain felt downright euphoric.

Everything happened very quickly after that. I remember Ethan holding one leg, under my knee, my midwife gripping the other, while Mr. Smith coached me to bear down and push. I did—as hard as I could. Again and again. I remember panting and sweating like mad, and making all kinds of ugly faces and guttural cries. After a very long time, my doctor announced that the first baby was crowning. I sat up, straining to see, catching a glimpse of dark, matted hair, then shoulders, torso, and two skinny legs.

“It’s a boy,” Mr. Smith confirmed.

Then I heard my son’s first plaintive note in the world. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been crying in the womb for hours. My arms ached to hold him. “I want to see him,” I said through sobs.

“Just one moment,” my doctor said. “We have to cut the cord… Ethan, do you want do the honors?”

“May I?” Ethan asked me.

I nodded and cried harder. “Of course you can.”

Ethan took the big metal scissors from my midwife and carefully snipped the cord. Then my doctor tied it and briefly examined my baby before bundling him in a blanket and resting him on my chest. I shifted his head over my heart, and he instantly quieted while I continued to sob. I gazed down at his angelic face, taking in every detail. The curve of his cheeks, his tiny but still full lips, the dimple in his left cheek. Strangely enough, he looked an awful lot like Ethan.

“He’s perfect. Isn’t he perfect?” I asked everyone and no one.

Ethan rested his hand gently on my shoulder and said, “Yes. He
is
perfect.”

I consciously savored the moment, deciding that everything I had ever read, seen, and heard about childbirth paled in comparison to what I was actually feeling.

“What’s his name?” Ethan asked.

I studied my son’s face, searching for the answer. My earlier flamboyant choices—names like Romeo and Enzo—seemed ridiculous and utterly wrong. His name suddenly came to me. “John,” I said. “His name is John.” I was certain that he would live up to the straightforward but strong name. He was going to make a wonderful John.

That’s when Mr. Smith reminded me that I had more work to do, and my midwife scooped up John and handed him to a nurse. I tried to keep my eyes on my firstborn, but a fresh wave of pain enveloped me. I closed my eyes and moaned. The epidural seemed to be wearing off. I begged for another dose. My doctor told me no, offering some explanation I couldn’t begin to focus on. Ethan kept repeating that I could do it.

Several minutes of agony later, I heard another wail. John’s brother was born seconds after midnight. Identical twins with their own, separate birthdays. Although I knew the babies were identical, I was no less eager to see my second born. Ethan cut the umbilical cord, and my midwife swaddled the baby and handed him to me. Through more tears, I instantly surmised that this baby shared his brother’s features, but his were slightly more defined. He was also a bit smaller, with slightly more hair. He wore a determined expression that struck me as amusing on such a tiny, new baby. Again, his name just came to me.

“You are Thomas,” I whispered down at him. He opened one eye and peeped at me with apparent approval.

“May I hold them both together?” I asked my doctor.

He nodded and brought John back to my chest.

Ethan asked me if I had settled on middle names. I thought of Ethan’s middle name, Noel, and decided that each of my sons should have a part of the best man I knew.

“Yes,” I said. “Their names are John Noel and Thomas Ethan.”

Ethan took a breath, blinking back tears. “I’m so…
honored,”
he said, looking both surprised and touched. Then he leaned down to embrace us. “I love you, Darcy,” he whispered in my ear. “I love all three of you.”

thirty-two

For the next twenty-four hours, I had no sense of day or night. It was just a blur of time with John and Thomas. Ethan never left my side, unless on a specific mission for peanut butter crackers from the vending machine, painkillers from the nurses, or booties from the gift shop in the lobby of the hospital. He slept on a cot next to my bed, helped me to the bathroom, and snapped roll after roll of black-and-white film.

Ethan also saw to it that I phoned my mother. When I balked, saying I was too exhausted and hormonal to deal with her, he dialed my home number on his mobile and said, “Here. You’ll regret it if you don’t do this.”

I took his phone just as my mother answered.

“Hi, Mom. It’s me,” I said, feeling defeated before the conversation even began.

“Hello, Darcy.” Her voice was as formal and stiff as it had been on Christmas Eve.

I refused to be hurt and instead swiftly delivered my news. “I had my babies, Mom.” Before she could respond, I covered the basics, giving her their full names, as well as their weights, lengths, and times of birth.

Then I said, “Can you believe it, Mom? Twins born on separate days?” I looked down at John, sleeping on my chest, and then over at Thomas, whom Ethan was holding.

My mother asked me to repeat everything so she could write it down. I did, and then she said, “Congratulations, honey.” A softness crept into her voice.

“Thanks, Mom,” I said, as Ethan prompted me to share the smaller, but in many ways more important, details. “Tell her how John cries more than Thomas and has a birthmark in the shape of Italy on his knee. Tell her how Thomas peeps at you with one eye,” he whispered.

I followed his lead, and although it could have gone either way, my mother chose to be satisfying, nearly joyful.

“I can’t stand the thought of you being alone,” my mother said in a nurturing and repentant tone.

“Thank you, Mom. That means so much to me… But I’m not alone. I’m with Ethan,” I said, not to be contrary, but because I wanted her to understand Ethan’s importance in my life.

Ethan smiled as he repositioned Thomas in his arms and then kissed the top of his fuzzy head.

“Still. There is no substitute for a mother,” she said firmly.

“I know, Mom,” I said, feeling moved by the truth of her statement.

“So I’ll come visit as soon as I can… In early June. As soon as we get through Jeremy and Lauren’s wedding.”

“Okay, Mom,” I said. “That would be
really
great. Thank you.”

“And Darcy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m
so
proud of you.”

I basked in her words. “Thanks, Mom.”

“I love you, honey,” she continued, her voice cracking.

“I love you too, Mom. And tell Dad and Jeremy and Lauren I love them. I’m really sorry I won’t be able to come to their wedding.”

“Jeremy understands,” she said. “We all do.”

As we said good-bye, I found myself pondering what Thomas and John’s birth meant in the larger scheme of things, in the fabric of our family. I had created a new generation. The responsibility of it was awesome. My eyes filled with tears for what felt like the hundredth time since I had arrived at the hospital.

“This postpartum thing is no joke,” I said to Ethan as I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my nightgown.

Ethan brought Thomas over to me, and the four of us crowded into bed together. “Is she coming to visit us?” he asked.

The
us
was not lost on me. I smiled and said, “Yeah. After Jeremy’s wedding.”

“How do you feel about seeing her?” he asked.

“I can’t wait, actually,” I said, surprised by how much I wanted to share John and Thomas with her.

Ethan nodded and then glanced at me sideways. “Any other calls you want to make?”

I could tell that he was thinking of Rachel so I said her name as a question, the two syllables lingering in the room, sounding both comforting and menacing at once.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“As a matter of fact, I think I
will
call her,” I said resolutely. “And then Annalise. And then Meg and Charlotte.”

It was the right order.

“Are you sure you want to talk to Rachel?” he asked.

I nodded. I couldn’t put it into words, but in some inexplicable way, I felt compelled to forge an official truce with my ex—best friend. No matter what had happened in the past, or what the future held for us, I wanted Rachel to hear the news of Thomas and John’s birth from me. So I dialed her number on Ethan’s mobile before I could change my mind. As I listened to her phone ring, I couldn’t decide whether I wanted her to answer or for her machine to pick up.

I got the one thing I hadn’t banked on.

”
Hell-o”
Dex said cheerily.

I panicked, gave Ethan a wide-eyed look of horror, and frantically mouthed, “Dex!”

He grimaced empathetically and then made a motivating fist in the air and whispered, “Go on. Do it. Ask to speak to Rachel.”

So I did, gathering strength by glancing down at John, who was making a soft, sucking noise in his sleep. Dex was ancient history. Literally two lifetimes ago.

I took a deep breath and said, “Hi, Dex. It’s Darcy. Is Rachel there?”

“Hello, Darcy,” Dex said formally. Then he paused as if he were some kind of gatekeeper, suspecting trouble from abroad. “Rachel’s right here,” he finally said.

There was another long pause, and a rustling on the line. I pictured him covering the phone and coaching her, saying something like, “Don’t let her suck you into a conflict.”

I thought back to the last time I had seen Dex, in our old apartment, and felt ashamed of the stunt I had tried to pull. I guess my reputation was deserved, and I couldn’t blame him for being wary of me now.

“Hi, Darcy,” Rachel said timidly, her voice crackling over the distance. It was a voice I had heard nearly every day for twenty-five years, and I felt amazed at how it could now sound both familiar and utterly foreign.

“Hi, Rachel… I had something—I wanted to tell you something,” I babbled as my heart raced. “I had my babies last night. Two boys.”

“Congratulations, Darcy,” she said. Her voice was warm and sincere. “I’m
so
happy for you.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“What are their names?” she asked tentatively.

“John Noel and Thomas Ethan.”

“I
love
those names,” she said, and then hesitated. “After Ethan?”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering if Ethan had told her how close we had become. If he hadn’t, she was likely thinking that I was trying to infringe on her turf as Ethan’s close female friend. It wasn’t beyond the pale of my old tricks, and I felt another flicker of embarrassment over the person I used to be. Still, I resisted the urge to explain why the names were appropriate, and instead, rattled off the other birth statistics.

“How do you feel?” she asked softly.

I could feel myself relaxing as I said, “I’m fine. It wasn’t a bad delivery… I’m just
really
tired now, but from what I hear, it only gets worse.”

I laughed, but Rachel stayed serious. She asked if my mother was coming to help.

“Uh-huh. I just talked to her,” I said. “You are only the second person I’ve called.”

I wanted her to know the order. I wanted it to count as my between-the-lines apology. I didn’t feel up to a full-blown examination of our friendship, but I wanted her to know that I was sorry about what had happened between us.

After a long pause, she said, “I’m
really
glad you called, Darcy. I’ve been thinking of you so much lately, wondering how you are.”

“Yeah. I got your note. And the blankets,” I said. “They’re really special. I love them. Thank you.”

“You’re so welcome,” she said.

“So how are you?” I asked, realizing that I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet. I wanted more of her.

“Fine. I’m fine,” she said somewhat hesitantly.

“What has been going on in your life?” I asked, referring to Dex, but also everything else.

“Well… I paid off my loans finally, and quit my job. I do legal work for an AIDS foundation in Brooklyn now.”

“That’s great,” I said. “I know you must be much happier.”

“Yeah. I like it a lot,” she said. “It’s so nice not to worry about billable hours… And the commute’s not too bad.”

I could tell she was avoiding any mention of Dex, so after another few seconds of silence, I said, “So you and Dex are doing well?”

I wanted to show her I was fine with the status quo. And although it still felt funny to think of them together, I really
was
remarkably okay with things. How could I begrudge anyone happiness when I felt so fulfilled and contented?

She made an
umm
sound, hesitated, and then said, “Didn’t Ethan tell you?”

“About your engagement?” I guessed.

“Um… well, actually… Dex and I are… married,” Rachel said softly. “We got married yesterday.”

“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t know.”

I waited for a wave of jealousy or bitterness to hit me. Or at least a healthy dose of wistfulness. Instead, I felt the way I do when I read about a celebrity wedding in
People.
Interested in the details, but not wholly invested in it.

“Congratulations,” I said, understanding why Dex sounded wary of my call. The timing was definitely suspect.

“Thank you, Darcy,” she said. “I know… this is all so bizarre, isn’t it?” Her tone was apologetic.

Was she sorry for marrying Dex? For not inviting me? For everything?

I let her off the hook, and said, “It’s fine, Rachel. Truly. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you, Darcy.”

My mind filled with questions. I considered censoring them, but then thought, why not ask?

“Where was your ceremony?” I asked first.

“Here in the city. At the Methodist church on Sixtieth and Park.”

“And your reception?”

“We had it at The Inn at Irving Place,” she said. “It was very small.”

“Was Annalise there?”

“Yeah. Just a few friends and our families… I wanted you to be there, but…” Her voice trailed off. “I knew you wouldn’t come.
Couldn’t
come, I mean.”

I laughed. “Yeah. That would have been sort of weird, huh?”

“Yeah. I guess so,” she said wanly.

“So where are you guys living now?” I asked.

She told me they had bought an apartment in Gramercy—which had always been Rachel’s favorite neighborhood in the city.

“That’s awesome… And are you going on a honeymoon?” I asked, thinking of their trip to Hawaii, but refusing to succumb to negative emotion.

“Yeah… We leave for Italy tonight,” she said.

“Oh. That’s great. I’m glad I caught you.”

“Yeah. Me too,” she said.

“So I hope you have a good time in Italy. Give Dex my best too. Okay?”

She said that she would do that. Then we congratulated each other again, and said good-bye. I hung up and looked at Ethan through fresh tears. The kind that come after you’ve survived an ordeal.

“I was going to tell you,” Ethan said. “But with your preterm labor, I didn’t want to upset you, and yesterday wasn’t the day for it… Besides, I thought Rachel should tell you herself.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “I’m surprisingly fine with it… I guess you were invited?”

He nodded. “Yeah. But I never planned on going.”

“Why not?”

“You think I would have left you?”

“You could have.”

He shook his head emphatically. “No way.”

“You’re closer to her,” I said, perhaps to gauge his feelings for me, but also because I felt guilty that he had missed one of his best friend’s weddings because of me.

“I’m closer
to you
,” he said earnestly.

I smiled, feeling no sense of victory over Rachel, just an incredible closeness to Ethan. I wondered if he felt the way I did—or whether it was only love for a friend.

“And just look what I would have missed,” Ethan said, gazing down at John and Thomas.

I thought about the two events—the birth of my babies and Rachel’s wedding—transpiring virtually simultaneously, on opposite sides of the Atlantic.

“Can you believe it all happened on the very same day?” I asked him.

Ethan shook his head. “Frankly, no. I cannot.”

“Guess I’m never going to forget their anniversary.”

Ethan put his arm around me and let me cry some more.

On the day of our discharge from the hospital, Geoffrey stopped by to visit us during his rounds. He shook Ethan’s hand, kissed me on the cheek, and admired my sons.

“What a nice guy,” Ethan said after Geoffrey had left the room.

“Yeah, he could win the ex-boyfriend-of-the-year award,” I said, thinking that as nice as Geoffrey was, I was still certain that I had done the right thing in breaking up with him. The fact that our relationship had weathered the transition to friendship so seamlessly was just further confirmation.

I put on the sweater that Ethan had given me for Christmas as he reswaddled John and Thomas in Rachel’s blankets, handing me both bundles, one in each arm. Then Ethan finished packing our belongings, which had spread to every corner of the room.

“I don’t want to go,” I said.

“Why not?” he asked.

I tried to explain my feeling of wanting to stay in the hospital forever, with a fleet of nurses and doctors catering to me and my children. I felt envious of the women just going into labor, and told Ethan that I’d take the pain all over again for a few more nights at the inn.

Ethan reassured me that I had nothing to worry about. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “You’ll see.”

It was that
we
that held me together through those first crazy days and weeks at home. It got me through the fear that my babies would suddenly stop breathing, the frustration with breast-feeding, my insecurity during bath time, and all the other mundane but seemingly insurmountable tasks. Most of all, it got me through the agony of the sleepless nights. You hear parents of
one
newborn talk about how grueling the lack of sleep is, but experiencing the endless cycle of waking-feeding-changing with twins is simply not to be believed. Let’s just say I understood why sleep deprivation is the number-one form of torture for political prisoners.