Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 53693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
My girls are not useless, they’re perfect and sweet. Of course, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if they cried at separate times. Like clockwork, they both start screaming at me, berating me in their little baby way for not being their mom.
Kat rushes into the room and picks up Aubrey while I take Autumn and try to soothe her. Breastfeeding has been a challenge for Kat since there are two of them to deal with, so she’s been pumping every day and putting her milk in bottles. That way we can both be in charge of feeding them.
They still prefer her, though.
We cradle our girls together, rocking them back and forth and singing them an old Russian lullaby. They down their milk hungrily, then cry to be burped. I’d forgotten how needy babies can be. I was so used to Lily being a potty-trained toddler who eats solid food, I glossed over these long, sleepless nights.
“What were you doing in here?” Kat asks sweetly when our girls have finally settled down.
I look down at Autumn and smile, loving the way her little eyes are heavy with sleep already.
“I just like to watch them sometimes,” I tell her. “They’re so tiny.”
She laughs quietly and eyes me with admiration.
“I like to watch them, too,” she whispers as Aubrey starts to fall asleep in her arms. “I forgot how sweet and terrible babies can be.” She laughs.
Aubrey hiccups in her arms and we both look down at her, obsessed with every new sound and discovery about our girls. When they’re falling asleep like this, I can’t help but stare. They’re so tiny and so vulnerable, and I have to protect them at all costs.
Since Dimitri’s call, the cyber-attacks at the syndicate have started again. It’s another secret I’m keeping from Kat, not wanting to worry her. But I’ve been worried. Dimitri has become more of a loose cannon in the weeks since the twins were born. If he does anything to try to hurt my family, I’ll bring hellfire down on his life.
We’re taking a family walk through the park a few days later. Lily loves coming to the park with her mom, but the honeymoon period with her new sisters is already wearing off.
“Why do they cry all the time?” she asks. “They’re so annoying.”
Kat and I share a look, remembering a small baby Lily who once cried for six hours straight. I remember thinking that I’d rather be in a Russian torture camp than endure another night of my baby screaming her head off for seemingly no reason.
But to her little brain, the twins are a lot of work. And now that she isn’t the only child, she’s realizing she has to share our attention. She doesn’t like it at all. The other night she asked me if we could take the twins back to the hospital. Kat and I had a good laugh about that one.
Now, though, she’s perfectly content walking through the park, stopping to look at every single flower. Ever since she learned that she’s named after a flower, she’s been obsessed.
She picks a weed and holds it up to Kat to inspect.
“Mommy, is this a lily?” she asks.
Kat laughs and picks her up, throwing her over her shoulder and making Lily scream with joy.
“That’s not a lily,” Kat says, tickling her. “But I’ve got a Lily in my arms.”
Lily laughs and laughs, her joy big enough to fill all of Central Park. I push the stroller with our twins, who are fast asleep. They were grumpy when we put them in the stroller, but now they couldn’t care less. They, like their mother, enjoy the fresh air and the sunshine. It seems to be the perfect remedy for those moments when they aren’t hungry or wet, but simply feel the need to cry their eyes out.
We’re looping back through the park on our way to the exit when I see a dark figure watching us. He’s dressed in all black, in an outfit that in unseasonably warm for this time of year. He doesn’t notice me watching him, but I notice him, and an unease grips my chest.
I look at my wife, who’s oblivious to the lurking danger, chatting away with our daughter, happily speaking Lily’s nonsense toddler language. She’s so happy, I don’t want to ruin this moment for her, but I desperately need to get her to recognize that we’re being watched.
“There’s an ice cream stand on that corner,” I tell her quietly. “Why don’t you take Lily to get something?”
Kat looks at me, realizing something is up. We don’t ever buy Lily ice cream in Central Park, knowing she’ll associate every trip we take with ice cream. But her ears have already perked up at the mention.
“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!” she yells happily.