“Yes.”
“Why?”
I tried to stand.
Pain caught.
I inhaled sharply.
Caleb moved.
Robert moved faster because he was closer.
He placed Grace in bassinet and slid a chair behind me.
“Easy.”
Caleb stopped.
That moment said more than I could have planned.
A man Caleb despised for abandoning him was already noticing what Caleb had failed to notice before leaving.
I sat.
Caleb looked ashamed.
Then angry because shame often does that.
“You don’t get to sit there holding my daughter.”
Robert nodded.
“You’re right.”
Caleb blinked.
“I don’t?”
“No.”
Robert stood.
“You decide whether I ever hold her again.”
That disarmed him.
Caleb turned to me.
“Emily, what is this?”
I said:
“Your daughters were born.”
“I know.”
“You weren’t here.”
“I tried.”
“After labor started.”
“I couldn’t control the flights.”
“You controlled getting on the first one.”
Silence.
Robert looked away.
Good.
Did not pile on.
Caleb said:
“You told me to go.”
Ah.
There it was.
I expected it.
“No.”
“You said go.”
“I asked whether you thought you should go.”
“You said go.”
“Because I was done auditioning for whether my medical needs were important enough to cancel your vacation.”
He stared.
“That’s not fair.”
Mom entered from hallway.
I raised a hand.
I didn’t need reinforcement.
I continued:
“You wanted me to order you to stay.”
“Then if you stayed, I would be the reason you missed Cabo.”
“If you went, I would be the unreasonable wife if I got angry.”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it.
I said:
“You put responsibility for your decision onto me.”
That landed.
Robert whispered:
“I used to do that.”
Caleb snapped:
“Nobody asked you.”
Robert nodded.
“You’re right.”
Again.
Caleb seemed almost more angry because Robert would not fight.
He looked at him.
“You left before I was born.”
“Yes.”
“You don’t get to judge me for five days.”
“No.”
Robert’s voice stayed calm.
“I don’t.”
Then:
“But I know the sentence you’re about to use for the next twenty years.”
Caleb stared.
“What sentence?”
“It was only five days.”
Silence.
Robert continued:
“I told myself similar things.”
“I was young.”
“I was scared.”
“I would fix it later.”
“Your mother had help.”
“You were too little to remember.”
He looked at Caleb.
“All technically useful.”
“None changed what I did.”
Caleb’s face tightened.
Robert nodded toward me.
“Your daughters may never remember this week.”
“Emily will.”
Caleb looked at me.
Finally.
Really looked.
Hospital bracelet still on my wrist.
Pill bottles.
Compression socks.
Slow movement.
Two babies.
His face collapsed.
“I’m sorry.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
He froze.
“Not yet.”
“What?”
“Do not use sorry to escape understanding.”
I pointed toward upstairs.
“Your suitcase is in our room.”
He frowned.
“I just brought it in.”
“A second one.”
Mom almost smiled.
I had packed it that morning.
Not to throw him out.
Different purpose.
Caleb returned carrying a small rolling suitcase.
Inside:
Diapers.
Burp cloths.
Bottle brushes.
Formula.
Thermometer.
Pacifiers.
Laundry detergent.
My medication schedule.
Twin feeding log.
At the top:
A handwritten card.
PARENTAL LEAVE STARTS NOW.
He stared.
“What is this?”
“The vacation you needed.”
He looked up.
I said:
“Except this one comes with your children.”
Mom looked away to hide a smile.
Robert did not smile.
Good.
Caleb asked:
“Are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want me to do?”
That question irritated me.
I breathed.
Then:
“Start noticing.”
He frowned.
“Emily.”
“I can explain bottles.”
“Medication.”
“Diapers.”
“Safety.”
“I will not explain why dishes need washing or why laundry exists.”
“You are an adult.”
“You wanted to become a father.”
“Become one.”
He looked wounded.
I did not soften.
Not yet.
The first night humbled him.
Lucy woke at 12:09.
Grace at 12:26.
Caleb fed one.
Burped wrong.
She spit up down his shirt.
At 1:10, he changed Grace.
At 1:37, Lucy cried again.
At 2:14, I woke because Caleb whispered:
“How are you hungry again?”
I almost laughed.
At 3:00, he came into bedroom.
“Do you need your pain medicine?”
I stared.
“Yes.”
He brought it.
Water too.
Good.
At 4:20:
Another feeding.
By seven, he looked destroyed.
Mom drank coffee.
Caleb sat at table.
Hair wild.
Shirt stained.
He whispered:
“This is insane.”
Mom said:
“No.”
“This is Tuesday.”
I laughed.
Then immediately regretted it because incision hurt.
Caleb stood.
