Bella, bless her, was able to carry the babies into their thirty-sixth week. At least, by the doctors' best estimate.
I have no fucking clue what I did to deserve it, but those two babies survived the hell that they were put through. Not only did they survive, but they were born healthy, pink, and screaming. Baby Boy Swan (Twin A) was born at 6 pounds 9 ounces, Baby Girl (Twin B) at 6 pounds even. They needed no time in the NICU. Absolutely incredible.
The strangest part about their birth was how Bella dealt with it. My girl… my girl is so fucking strong. That's all I could think about, watching her breathe through her moments of panic, but never making a sound. They opened her up, and she must have been able to feel that rhythmic tugging down there, despite all the drugs they gave her.
Forty little fingers and toes. Incredible. So, so beautiful. And we made them all. They take so long to count.
I don't think the reality of twins set in for me until I saw the two fetal monitors. Until I saw the identical teams of medical staff, each prepped for their own separate task. It made me feel a little sad, since those two were in their mama all this time together. I did not want them separated at all, but it made sense to focus on each individually. One monitor in blue, one in pink.
I suppose many men dream of being a father. I can only remember dreading it for so, so long… hoping desperately that I was capable of having children, producing for our captors. But at the same time, hoping desperately that I would not get my girls pregnant, because none of them could handle it. I spent 1080 days in captivity for the purpose of siring children, and bizarrely, watching Bella grow fulfilled me in some way. I was so conditioned to understand that as my purpose. I was there to sire, not to father. That sort of livestock metaphor I have thought of so many times before.
These two, these perfect, perfect miniature people, these two doll babies… they hardly seem mine, and at the same time, they could never be anything but ours.
The doctors insisted on a C-section, even though they didn't share a placenta. I learned that identical twins sometimes do, and it can be risky because the cords can become tangled. Jesus, I can't believe this sort of thing is filling my brain, but so is all other matter of medical nonsense that meant jack shit once the babies were born. Once they told me that they were healthy, my only focus became helping them stay that way.
That's another thing no one talks about- how absolutely terrifying it is to be handed a living, breathing person. A living person who cannot do a single thing for themselves, and you're supposed to do everything for them, but no one ever taught you how. I suppose that the only thing more terrifying is being handed two of them, like we were.
But sitting here, staring down at my daughter, all doubt and fear is gone from my mind. I can only stare at her beautiful face. She was born with eyelashes, can you fucking believe it? Just like a little doll. Her perfect, perfect face. She looks exactly like her sweet mother. The rocker is a beautiful antique that my mother claims was hers for my nursery. It glides back and forth; smooth minus a single hesitation that adds character. The morning is pink and fuzzy, the world outside just beginning to wake up. She opens her perfect, perfect lips in the tiniest yawn. I feel ridiculous, because tears come to my eyes just from that little action. I can never, never let anything happen to this sweet girl. My girl. More my girl than her mother could ever be, though I thought once I could never live without Bella again. No, I could live without her if I had to, because I would never leave this little girl to the world.
I am stirred from my reverie only by the realization that I rocked her back to sleep long, long ago. She reminds me by waking slowly, beginning to fuss and ask for her mother.
"Mr. Cullen?" The voice is soft, hesitant, coming from the doorway. Ms. Cope, the nanny, hovers in the doorway, her eyes even softer. "Miss Swan asked that I bring Baby Girl to her."
I nod, my eyes feeling tight. I cannot deny that my first reaction is to literally growl at her, and hide my daughter away. My blood burns with anxiety, but I pass my daughter to her, being ever so gentle, so that she does not wake fully until she is with her mother. Bella is just down the hall, in my room.
My parents were very unsure, at first, how to make up the West End for us. It is a very large house, even for our family. Separate entirely from the master, main bedrooms, and main house is a set of rooms. They readied one for Bella, one for the nursery, one in the attic for the nanny, and left the extra bedroom quite alone. They had my old bedroom cleaned and done for me as well, but they should have known I would not be leaving Bella's side. Against recommendations from our counselors, we have not been able to sleep apart since our reunion. At the last meeting, I learned that it has been the same for every pair. Besides, of course, the two lost souls whose counterparts are lost to them. Jasper and Elizabeth. Both make it to fewer sessions than any of the rest of us, besides Bella and Rosalie Hale, of course.
But the house has been lovely. It is so good to be back in the bones of this building. There is an energy here, an energy that is sustaining me since I have returned home. It's like all the time I was away is washed away from me when I am here. The nursery is perfect, in the lightest feather grey and white. It is very peaceful, especially since we have two very quiet babies. Sitting in the rocker, I can see both simple carved wood cribs, done in a beautiful antiqued whitewash. I can appreciate the time that my mother and Alice put into this place, I really can. I know that Bella does as well, though she has seen it but once.
Bella's recovery has been exceptionally long. The twins are three weeks old today. She is still largely confined to the bed. The nutritionist and physical therapist are helping her, but it is a long process. I worry that I have not devoted my time to helping her as I should, since the twins have taken so much of my time.
The point in hiring Ms. Cope, the point to moving into this house, all of it, was that Bella and I could recover from everything. We had such little time to process all the shit that happened to us after the raid… we were kept apart, and once we finally reunited, we only had a few days before the babies had to be born.
I feel further from her than I have ever been. I can feel threads of myself returning to me, the longer that I spend in the real world. I was captive much longer, but I can see things getting easier for me every day here. I don't see that for Bella.
The counselor thinks that Bella needs to name the babies.
I don't really understand the rationale, I really don't. She is so, so broken. She speaks very little, except about the twins and the monotony of day-to-day survival. She walks on eggshells this house and she doesn't even fucking walk.
I don't know how to explain my thinking, but it seems like no issue with Bella's behavior gets solved. We have so much to deal with, her and I. I know I jump like a lunatic every time someone walks through a door. But she cannot even name our children.
It's not just that she refuses. It's that she completely refuses to even acknowledge that we will have to name them at some point.
Sitting in the rocker, I use the balls of my foot to continue rocking myself. Pulling back the gauzy white of the curtain, I look down to the front grounds of the house. Not even the garden boy is out and about yet. Esme said that there was a new one, since I had been gone. It's really just a smaller example of how things have been for me: everything is almost exactly the same, but there are moments of disjointed different. These moments remind me of the years I have lost. Almost as if I was suspended in time, and everyone else kept on moving.
I want to anchor myself and I want to anchor Bella. I feel like she is refusing to settle into the house, and refusing to take comfort in all that I can offer her. I feel like we need to be set firmly in the present so we can begin moving on… but how can we? She acts as though we are still being held captive, still perpetually awaiting rescue.
I stand, feeling my joints settle and click. Yawning, stretching, I catch a glimpse of my son. He's in the crib, sleeping sweetly still, his little pink hand clenched in a fist. He looks just like me. They were both born with hair- a shock of reddish gold. His is straight and fine, and his sister's curls just so.
I have a son. My son has a sister… my daughter. Bella is a mother. These terms of familial bond never fail to astound me. My parents are grandparents…
Esme steps lightly in the hall, but I hear her coming, ever alert. She slips into the nursery, smiling her best warm-cookie smile. She makes sure to come to me from in front, not behind or from the side- like you would be careful of a nervous horse. I try to abandon the animal metaphors, but they will not stay away from my mind.
"Good morning." She slips her arms around me. They are so much thinner and more delicate than I remember. Or perhaps she has just become more precious to me.
I gather her shoulders under my arms, giving her a tight squeeze and letting her go. I'm so damn emotional this morning, I'm not sure I could surive a true mama hug without dissolving.
She turns next to me, looking down with honey-sweetness dripping from her face. The love that we all feel for these two is heavy and thick, almost substantial.
"He's still sleeping, huh? They are such good sleepers."
I hum my agreement, not wanting to disturb the light morning quiet with my voice. Esme is at only the breathiest whisper.
She looks at me, cupping my cheek in her hand. I pretend not to see the hurt in her eyes when I flinch away, just slightly. She searches my eyes with her own warm ones.
"What would you name him, if you could?"
"I can't." My voice is raw from disuse, clogged with sleep and morning.
"He's your son."
"He's her son first. The counselor said-"
"Stephanie." Ever the proper, polite mother, respectful and humanizing.
"Stephanie said it would be best for Bella to name them, you know that."
She purses her lips, looking back down at the sleeping baby. "I know," she sighs. "I just… Edward, how much longer am I supposed to call my grandson Baby Boy?"
"A lot of people call their children that." I can hear my own petulance, trust me.
"As a nickname, Edward."
I have no response for her. Her closeness, at once a comfort and a nauseating fact, is beginning to wear on my nerves. I hate that it bothers me, but I can smell her hair. It smells wrong.
She moves in front of me, closer, trying to meet my eyes.
"I know, Esme, I know. What am I supposed to do?"
"Talk to her."
It hurts me to hear my mother telling me to talk to Bella. Our closeness in the warehouse was so all-encompassing. We had such a physical, deeply rooted intimacy. Here… we still sleep in the same bed together, tangled beyond separation. Bella needs my touch to combat her anxiety, the majority of the time we are awake. But we haven't taken comfort in conversation, that has never been us. It's hard to talk to Bella. Perhaps the person I'm closest to, of everyone walking the earth, and it pains me to say that I don't know how to talk to her about this.
"I just don't get why it's so hard for her. I mean, I do, but… I've told her over and over again that I don't mind."
"If what you've told me is true, it makes perfect sense. She's had no control over her entire life. Taking this bit of control must be terrifying for her, poor girl."
I worry at my hair with my hands. I still don't understand why this is the battle we're picking. Why does Bella have to name the babies? The fucking counselor says it's to regain control. But they're my children too. Control was taken away from me, as well. I feel a bit sick at these thoughts, knowing that I should be focused on Bella's recovery. But it's hard, putting three people before myself constantly.
Fucking listen to me. I somehow survived that hell, got a miracle of a rescue, the twins were born so perfect and healthy… how can I ever ask for anything more?
"I know." I sigh, wanting to leave this conversation, and wanting also to confide in my mother. Give voice to these worries. "I honestly don't know what I would call him, though."
He sighs, stirring just a little, looking so tiny in his crib. His tiny nose is suddenly fascinating to me. Everything about the twins is. It's so hard sometimes, just to look away from them.
"A lot is in a name." Esme says solemnly. "You were named after your grandfather, of course."
"I don't know if I would saddle that little baby with a grand family name."
Esme hummed. "I don't think of it like that. I think of it as a tie to your past and a nod to the people who made your life possible."
"What would you name him?"
"Oh, something lovely and classic. Henry. Warner. A good name with a lot of history."
I look at my mother. This ordeal has aged her, I can see. She felt my disappearance, and it shows. My parents always seemed so ageless and untouched by time, to me and everyone else. But I can see where worry has touched her face. I love her so, so much. Becoming a father has made me feel so full of love I can hardly stand it.
"I wonder what Bella would name him, if she wasn't so scared." I muse out loud, lulled out of my nervousness and anxiousness by the slow trickling pace of our conversation.
"I don't know. I'm sorry to say I hardly know her." I can hear the hurt in Esme's voice, and I wish that Bella would let her in. My mother is such a nurturer by nature.
"When you were this little," she pulls her fine ivory sweater to her chin, rubbing it back and forth over her soft smile. "I told your daddy I didn't think I would ever leave you alone. All I could do was watch you breathe. I couldn't believe that such a real, live baby had grown inside of me. And now you were here, out in the world, and there was nothing I could do to protect you.
I mean that, I knew fate had plans for you, my little baby. And if you were going to hurt, you were going to hurt. Loving someone so hard it hurts can't stop things from happening, Edward. It can only be a balm to the hurt." Tears shine in my mother's eyes.
"Getting you back is the second best thing that's ever happened to me, besides having you and your sister. I'll be thankful for it every day for the rest of my life." She sighs, reaching up and putting her hands on my shoulders, gently and firmly.
"I know how hard it has been for you, coming back here. Just know that I'm here for you. That son of yours is helpless now, but someday he will grow big, and strong, and he'll think he doesn't need you anymore." I start to protest, but she smiles sweetly and shakes her head.
"All you'll be able to think about is how little he was, and how big he seems now. But you'll always know him even better than you know yourself. Even as scary as this seems now, just know that loving him is all you can do."
I step into her hug, letting her words swim through my mind. I can feel comfort from her presence in this moment, not just the urge to leap away. It's like setting down an intolerable load after years of carrying it. I bask in a moment of peace.
His gurgling pulls me back into the present, and my son is in my arms before I can register what I am doing. He is my tie to the present. He is my anchor, and my reason for trying to heal from all the shit I've been through. I just need to help Bella see him and his sister that way.
AN: I know, I know, I'm awful. I'm pretty mad at myself too- it's been quite awhile. This update comes to you all the way from South Africa! I am going to do my best to get a real update to you shortly. Just needed to fill in a time gap and give y'all something. You should have a substantial update with more plot movement next week. Please review- and let me know your name ideas! You never know what could happen… love to all!