“With me, you’ll always be safe and loved and treasured.”
What I don’t say out loud is I didn’t know Icouldmake someone feel safe and loved and treasured.That’sthe miracle in the midst of all these unexpected circumstances.
There are still so manymaybesin my life—my career, my place in Columbus, my ability to be a good father—but these uncertainties do not overshadow the clear and indelible fact that we love each other.
CHAPTER 43
LIGAYA
I’m not sure when it happened.
One day, I’m back from vacation with enough energy to add finishing touches to the gorgeous nursery Tristan started. The week after spring break was a blur of rehearsals and a string of exam prep for high school state testing. Truly boring but inescapably essential. Just another spring semester at Centerstone High. Things were fine. My stomach expanded and my legs waddled, but the daily drudgery of life was manageable.
Next thing I know, it’s April and my body—my sassy, take-no-prisoners, willful body—simply goes on low-battery mode.
I try not to complain, not because I’m a martyr for motherhood. There’s no profound reserve of stoicism in my soul. I don’t grumble because when a pregnant woman complains of fatigue, all she gets is the chorus of “Just you wait and see! You think this is tiring? Harharhar, wait till the babies keep you up all night!”
In other words, not helpful. At. All.
Getting out of bed has become an Olympic event, and Tristan will have none of it. He and Dr. LeGuin are having a very involved conversation about my energy levels and sleep patterns.
Tristan moved in soon after we returned from Texas. He religiously tracks what time I sleep and whether I’ve taken myvitamins. My baby daddy is also surprisingly diligent at food prep, so there’s always something healthy in the fridge, even when he’s traveling with the team.
Dr. LeGuin’s medical office is like any other, except for the Doppler monitor waiting to turn me into a human sound system. I’m perched on the crinkly paper of the exam table, legs dangling like I’m a toddler. Or Humpty Dumpty.
Tristan sits on a stiff visitor chair against the wall, long legs stretched out, arms crossed, his expression set to Maximum Concerned Partner.
“Her mother is staying over while I’m away, but it would be so much easier if she wasn’t working every day,” Tristan gripes.
The Mavericks have started their first round of the playoffs against Tampa Bay, winning two games at home. But they’re leaving for Florida tomorrow, and he’s adamant that I take off the week he’s away. In the past, I might have brushed off his concern.
Today, I see his point. It’s a struggle to drive in the morning. I’m so damn tired I could fall asleep at a stoplight.
“You should consider that, Ligaya,” my OB/GYN says, adjusting her glasses and tapping at my chart. “Carrying twins at twenty-eight weeks—”
“Twenty-nine. Two days short of twenty-nine weeks,” my baby daddy interrupts.
“I stand corrected,” the doctor nods good naturedly, clearly unperturbed by know-it-all calendar hogs. “Carrying twins is not the same as carrying a singleton. It’s very normal to ease off work around this time.”
I shift on the paper, feeling contrite and defensive. “I’m setting up the sub this week and wrapping up the play at the end of April, then I’ll take off in May till the babies come.”
Tristan looks pained, jaw tightening. “But I won’t be here next week.”
“My mom is around. Don’t worry, Tristan. I’ll take it easy.”
Dr. LeGuin clicks her pen. “Any contractions at all?”
“No. Lots of movement, though. These munchkins are high energy.”
“Tell her about your back pain,” Tristan cuts in. “And the leg cramps. And the sore feet.”
I groan and tilt my head back like the petulant patient that I am. “Doctor, is it normal for partners to compile encyclopedic details about one’s symptoms?”
Dr. LeGuin chuckles. “I wouldn’t say it’s common, although overexertion can trigger Braxton-Hicks contractions. With twins, the uterus is more reactive to stimuli. Think of it as—hmm, how do I put it—irritable.”
“See?” Tristan says smugly, like he snagged theI told you somedal.
“I’ll make a compromise,” I say without bothering to hide that I’m just as irritable as my uterus. “I’ll go to work on Monday and Tuesday to set up my students and prep the sub. Then I’ll take the rest of the week off of teaching. But evening rehearsals are nonnegotiable.”
