Does her plan require my signature?”
“I do not know.”
“Then find out.”
He stood.
“I can ask her to leave the papers here.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am not signing anything while I am recovering.”
He was quiet.
I straightened the forms on the table into one exact stack.
“Not today. Not tomorrow. Not because your mother thinks refusing would be rude.”
Daniel nodded once.
“I should have asked her what she brought before she came upstairs.”
“Yes.”
He looked toward the door.
“Do you want me to tell her to leave?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what she thinks she is entitled to ask for.”
Before he could answer, there was a knock.
Vivian opened the door without waiting.
She carried the blue folder under one arm.
“I thought we could talk like adults.”
She placed the folder on the table.
I did not
touch it.
“About what?”
She looked at Daniel first.
“About what happens after the babies arrive.”
Then she looked at me.
“You should not have to handle all of this alone.”
I rested my hand beside the folder.
“Concern does not require my signature.”
Vivian smiled at Daniel.
Not at me.
Daniel had one hand on the car seat buckle when the nurse came in with the morning checklist.
“Only the approved visitors,” I said. “Please.”
The nurse glanced at Daniel, then back at me. “We have that noted.”
Daniel picked up his phone from the counter. “I will make sure.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I know.”
He looked at the two empty car seats waiting near the door. One had a folded blanket tucked inside it. The other held a package of newborn diapers that had slipped sideways during the night.
“I should have taken those home,” he said.
“Leave them.”
He nodded and checked his messages again.
I watched his thumb stop over the screen.
“Who is it?”
“Mom.”
I did not ask what she wanted. I adjusted the hospital blanket over my knees while the nurse checked the identification band on my wrist.
Daniel put the phone face down.
“What did she say?”
“She asked what time the babies would be here.”
“She knows.”
“I know.”
The nurse finished her check and placed the clipboard at the foot of the bed. “Seven thirty is still the scheduled time.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You ready?”
“No.”
He smiled.
“That was the wrong answer.”
“It was the honest one.”
He slipped his wedding ring beneath his thumb and then stopped himself.
The nurse rolled the bed toward the operating area.
Daniel walked beside me until the doors.
“I will be right here.”
“You will let the nurses decide who
comes in.”
“I will.”
“And Daniel?”
He leaned closer.
“Nobody gets to make decisions for me while I am in there.”
He looked at the two car seats again.
“Nobody.”
The morning passed in pieces too quick to hold. At 10:25, Daniel came through the recovery room door carrying flowers in one hand and looking as though he had forgotten how doors worked.
He nearly backed into the wall.
“I have flowers,” he said.
“I can see that.”
“I also have two children.”
“That part is more important.”
He looked toward the bassinet.
Luna slept with one hand beside her cheek.
Leo made a small sound and turned his head.
Daniel stood still.
“Which one is which?”
I laughed before I could stop myself.
“You have been asking that for nine months.”
“I know. I wanted to see if you were paying attention.”
“You are holding the flowers upside
