“Hello, hello,” Dad says, the second word turning to a whisper as Amanda holds her finger up to her lips in a polite shhhhh gesture.
To my surprise, Dad complies, tiptoeing backward with an impishness that makes me do a double take.
Dad doesn't do silly.
Is he drunk?
Pam bursts into a huge grin as she sets the bag of food down on the table, the scent of spiced lamb and beef mixing with garlic and freshly baked pita. My mouth waters. My stomach growls.
Dad is staring at Charlie's head, his gaze filled with so much emotion I have to turn away.
“When they're done, you can hold them,” Amanda whispers, then yawns, trying to hold it back.
“Let me make you a gyro you can eat one-handed,” Pam offers to Amanda, who smiles gratefully. I was prepared to help my wife, but Pam's doing just fine mothering her.
Mothering the new mother.
“Congratulations, son,” Dad says, coming in for a handshake that turns into a hug.
“I didn't do anything, Dad!” I laugh in his ear, but I appreciate the embrace. “Amanda and the surgeon did it all.”
“Your work starts now,” he says in earnest. “You have a chance to do it better than I did.”
What do I say? Social convention makes words like You did just fine or You were a good father spring into my mouth, hurtling over the truth in an effort to please and soothe, to remove the tension of reality.
Amanda rescues me. Or rather, Will does, by popping off, giving Amanda a chance to hold him up to Dad.
“Meet William,” she says softly. Dad turns to her, arms outstretched, eyes on the baby.
“Wait,” Pam and Amanda say in unison, then look at each other, surprised. “You need to wash your hands,” Amanda adds to Dad, whose eyebrows go up.
But he goes to the guest bathroom off the foyer, water running shortly, Pam at his heels.
And when he returns, he holds up his palms and looks to Amanda for permission.
Her nod grants it.
Watching my father hold my son is a moment that will be etched in my memory until the day I die.
A day that will come one day.
A day when Will and Charlie will be there, I hope.
Amanda's eyes glisten as she watches Dad, who stares at Will, his throat jumping with a hard swallow. “He's beautiful,” Dad says in a choked voice, closer to tears than I've ever seen him.
Oh, no. I can feel mine rising to the surface, too.
Long, fat tears roll openly down Pam's face as Amanda continues to nurse Charlie while she takes a bite of her gyro. Eyes averted, she's trying not to watch James. Maybe this is too much emotion for her.
Or maybe she's just that hungry.
“Welcome to our shared grandson, James,” Pam says, her hand going to Dad's shoulder. “Can you imagine? We're connected now on a different level.”
Extraordinary waves of feeling ripple across Dad's face, finally settling on something close to happiness as he replies, “I can't think of a better way to be connected to you, Pamela, than through these little boys. Our kids have done well, haven't they?”
She beams. “They have. I already have one more grandchild than I do children!”
Dad thinks for a second. “My kids have made it dead even. Three sons, three grandchildren.”
“I'm sure Shannon and Declan are working on changing that ratio,” she says softly.
Dad startles. “Really? Is there something I should know?”
Alarmed, Pam looks at Amanda, who shakes her head imperceptibly.
Recovering quickly, Pam simply says, “Oh, no. I just assume they want more.” She rummages in the takeout bag and finds forks. “I brought plenty for everyone. Andrew? James? I'm sure you can find something you like.”
For the next ten minutes, I stuff myself on spanakopita and kebab, Dad eating one handed as he watches Will with rapt attention. Other than Ellie, I've never seen a baby in my dad's arms.
And now he has my own child in his grasp.
Pride has a funny way of showing itself. Nothing I did was ever good enough for my father. Even being named CEO of Anterdec came with its own new set of expectations that I never quite meet.
But have a rousing night of unprotected sex, get my swimmers to produce two sons, and bam–instant approval.
A knock at the door makes us all turn. Dad's face lights up.
“Ah, yes! That must be Grace.”
“Grace?” Amanda and I say her name in unison.
“She asked if she could come see the babies,” Dad explains with uncharacteristic sheepishness. “I–I couldn't tell her no. She and her wife are leaving for a month-long cruise tomorrow. I should have told you.”
Grace stepped in to fill the role of mother when our mom died. She's the closest person in my twins' life to a grandmother on the McCormick side. Until now, it hadn't occurred to me to ask her to be here.
I stand, cross the room, and let her hug me, her embrace big and warm.
“Little Andrew has two little babies now,” she whispers in my ear. “Congratulations!” She smells of lavender, the same as always, and while I've grown taller and stronger over time, she's shrunk.
At seventy-one, not so surprising.
We walk into the living room, where Amanda's eating, her shirt and bra in place, and Dad and Pam each have a baby in their arms.
“One of you is going to have to surrender to me, because I need to huff a baby's head,” Grace says pleasantly. “Oh. Right. Hi, Amanda. Now that you've had babies, you're just the backdrop, aren't you?”
“I practically blend into the couch,” Amanda replies as Grace laughs and leans down for a hug. Poor Amanda makes a face as she tries to stretch. Well practiced in reading people, Grace pulls back fast.
“How was the surgery?”
“Fine.”
“You had major abdominal surgery! Nothing about that is fine.”
“They are.” Amanda nods at our babies.
Grace softens. “Of course. But are you okay?”
“Time will tell.” Her answers worry me. Dark circles under her eyes suddenly reveal themselves, and her mouth seems slack, turned down with exhaustion. I feel like an ass.
Today was too soon for people to come over.
Placing my hand on her shoulder, I lean down and whisper, “You want me to get rid of everyone? You look like you need some rest.”
“I'm fine. Really. But if they're all here an hour from now, how about we reassess?”
I kiss her cheek, my protective streak intact. “An hour.”
She nods, then looks longingly at the baklava. “Could you..?”
“Of course.” I put two pieces on a plate and set it on her knees.
“Two pieces! I can't eat that much.”
“You can,” I answer simply.
Her gaze darts to my dad, as if she's worried about his opinion.
“Someone hand me a baby,” Grace says, hovering next to Dad, who points to Pam.
The three of them laugh and figure it out, the handwashing ritual one that Grace performs without being asked. I suddenly feel young and old, all at once.
I'm the sandwich generation now. There's one above me, and Amanda and I created one below us.
My phone buzzes from across the room. I ignore it.
For the next five minutes, Pam and Grace and Dad roam between living room and kitchen, chatting and looking at the babies in better light, giving me the chance to eat and breathe. Amanda's eyes start to droop, and I prepare myself internally to send them all home soon.