“No,” she admitted, “but it’s not as hard as it could be. Now, when the next contraction comes along, push hard for a count of ten.”
“No.”
“No?”
“I won’t do it.” She scowled. “I won’t, and you can’t make me.”
“Um, Ashley,” Victor said tentatively, “shouldn’t you do what Dr. Opitz says?”
“Not if it’s going to kill me!” She sucked in her breath as the contraction started.
“Push!” the nurse, Thomas, exhorted. Ashley glared at him and did nothing. “Push, Ashley, push hard.”
“For…get…it…”
“I don’t believe this,” Jean groaned. “She’s actually refusing to push. Now what?”
“Now,” said Dr. Opitz, “we wait.”
And so they did. Dr. Opitz and the nurse knew, as the others did not, that nature was on their side. There was no need to force Ashley to do anything.
She endured two more contractions before a tentative attempt to push. “Hey, that hurts!” she cried, freshly enraged. “It burns and I hate it! The books lied! They lied!”
“Everyone’s different,” Thomas said.
“You stay out of this. Oh, God, this really, really sucks. When is it going to be over?”
“When you push the babies out.”
“I told you to stay out of this!” She tried another push, but by the time Thomas reached the count of three she quit.
“Take a breath and do it again,” he coached, but she refused.
“The contraction…is…over,” she groaned, clearly lying through her teeth. “The urge…to push…is gone.”
“Clearly,” Jean observed. “Memo to me: adopt.”
The contractions were coming right on top of each other, but after pushing for a few seconds Ashley would stop, crying out that it hurt too much, that the contraction was over and she couldn’t push, anyway. Everyone knew she was lying, but for Victor it was a particular torment. It was his fault she was in so much agony, and seeing her small body wracked with pain was almost more than he could bear. He didn’t know how Ashley was enduring such torment. It would have killed him hours ago, he was sure.
Eventually, as Dr. Opitz and Thomas had known, it was more uncomfortable not to push than to push, and soon they could see the baby’s head. “One more should do it,” Dr. Opitz coaxed. “One hard push and this baby’s as good as born, Ashley.”
Ashley looked at the clock. Twenty to midnight. Damned if she’d still be pregnant at midnight. She pushed for the millionth time, and what was odd was, it didn’t hurt nearly as much as before…everything down there felt numb. She could feel the baby start to slide down and wanted that so badly her body took over, and with a mighty strain felt something slide from her, and then Dr. Opitz was scooping up a small, purply-red bundle. She did something to the baby’s head and then the room was filled with a watery wail. Ashley closed her eyes in pure relief—had she ever heard a more beautiful sound? She had not.
“You’ve got yourself a little girl!” Dr. Opitz said, handing the newest Lorentz-Lawrence to the nurse.
“I can’t believe it,” was all Victor could manage.
And, ten minutes later, another one. This time, Victor did slightly better: “You did it, Ashley! I have no idea how, but you did it!”
“Thank God,” she breathed, then opened her eyes wide as Sharon put a baby on her stomach. The baby was perfectly formed, with a dear button nose and a mouth like a rosebud. Her eyes were very dark, almost black, her skin was very fair, and she had dark red hair, the color of cherry syrup. Black brows swooped above her great dark eyes as she stared at her mother; her coloring was startling, and incredibly beautiful. Her sister looked exactly the same.
“Oh my Lord,” she said weakly. Were these perfect creatures really her daughters?
“Ashley, Victor, look what you made,” Jean breathed. “They’re the prettiest babies I’ve ever seen.”
“Almost as pretty as their mama,” he said, bending to kiss Ashley. “You did it, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.”
“You shouldn’t be. I was a jerk.”
“You had cause,” Jean said, not looking up. She couldn’t look away from the perfect little baby on Ashley’s stomach. “Are the babies okay, Dr. Opitz?”
“Apgars of nine and nine…they’re perfect. Here, Victor. Have a twin.”
“Thanks.”
“Take two, they’re small,” she said, and cackled her distinctive laugh. “You need to push out the placenta, Ash, and then you’re free to snooze for the next week or so.”
“Okay,” she said, not really listening. She was thinking about her mother. Her mother had gone through this, and still had given Ashley up. She decided Victor was right, that her mother hadn’t wanted to, had fought hard to keep her. She herself knew she could never give up either of these darling babies without a fight.
And so it was that in a delivery room at Massachusetts General Hospital, years after a frightening and lonely childhood, Ashley finally forgave her mother, and, in doing that, began to be kinder to herself.
EPILOGUE
Ashley hurried into the twins’ nursery, a sleeping Kirsten cradled in her arms. The baby was deeply asleep, absolutely glutted with milk, and Ashley was looking forward to a short break…or possibly a nap. She had to put Kir down, then go back into the living room and scoop up Karen, and then she’d be—
“Psst!” Victor hissed. “Hey! You, with the baby!”
She turned and saw Victor coming down the hall, Karen tucked under his arm like a football. “Is this your baby, lady? I found her on the living room floor.”
“Har-har, and keep your voice down. I was afraid I’d wake them up if I carried them both at once.”
“Will they sleep long?” he asked, clearly disappointed. It wasn’t the first time he’d sneaked home early in order to play with the babies. Not that at six weeks they were really into much interaction, but to Victor’s credit, he liked everything about them, even changing diapers.
“Hopefully. I need a nap.”
“Where’s Marnie?”
“She took the day off.” At his frown, she added, “For God’s sake, Victor, I can take care of the babies by myself for one day. Just think, if you and I hadn’t patched things up, I’d never have any help at—”
“Let’s not talk about it,” he said with a convincing shudder. “The thought of you on your own with two newborns is…eesh.”
“I’d have managed.”
“And worked yourself into an early grave, likely as not.”
“You’re right. Let’s not talk about it.” They tucked the babies into their cribs without another word. Originally they had given each baby her own room, but the babies, once asleep, slept through anything, so there was no worry of one waking the other in the middle of the night. Ashley and Victor weren’t forced to run all over the house to tend to crying babies in different rooms. Thus, one nursery.
Once the babies were well and truly tucked, Ashley shut the door and headed for their bedroom, Victor on her heels.
“I’m glad you’re home,” she said upon reaching their room, smiling warmly.
“Me, too. It’s so boring at the office. I’m—uh—” While he was speaking, she stripped out of her leggings and T-shirt, and stood, delicately pretty in bra and panties, rummaging in her dresser drawer.
“Kirsten spit up on me a little,” she said by way of explanation. “Go on. I’m listening.”
That’s nice. Now what the hell was I talking about? Victor hadn’t had sex in months. Despite Dr. Opitz’s assurances that sex wouldn’t hurt Ashley or the babies, or cause a recurrence of placenta previa, he hadn’t touched her except to kiss and cuddle. Once the babies were born, watching Ashley’s slow, wincing movements around the house, he knew the six week postpartum wait was a good idea for them, and resigned himself to more cold showers.
Ashley, dismayed at the changes in her figure, had greeted with joy and relief Victor’s surprise: an in
-house gym, complete with weight-training equipment, a stairmaster, treadmill, and stationary cycle. She had attacked the machines with characteristic willpower, and between near-daily aerobic exercise and weight training, a sensible diet and breastfeeding, she had slimmed down in a remarkably short time.
The result of this was that his wife, who, he was sure, had been born beautiful, was now walking around in a world-class body, taut and toned. The only other change, besides stretch marks that were even now fading, was a slight increase in fullness at hip and breast, which made her all the more attractive to him…he liked women who looked like women, and Ashley was all that and more.
He was certain she wasn’t yet ready for sex, and was in no rush to push her or even bring it up, but Christ, did she have to walk around in her underwear? How many cold showers was a man expected to take in the course of a day?
“…for the day?”
“What?”
She frowned, holding her T-shirt in one hand, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I said, as long as you’re here, when the twins wake up, why don’t we take them out for the day? It’s a gorgeous afternoon for stroller-pushing.”
“Sure. That sounds like fun.”
“Are you all right?”
“Sure.”
He was acting strangely, and she wondered what was on his mind. He was looking at her so intently, but when she tried to meet his eyes, he jerked his gaze away. It was almost as if he was anxious about something. Or nervous.
She stepped closer, concerned. “Victor, what’s the matter? You can tell me.”
He was actually backing away from her! Her jaw dropped in astonishment, even as he fumbled for the doorknob. “Nothing. Don’t come any—I mean, everything’s fine, just fine.”
“Are we going to start this idiocy again?” she asked, arms akimbo, and stomped her foot in frustration. He flinched and his eyes dropped to her breasts. “I thought we’d gotten past all the secrets and bad feelings and all that petty bullshit. For the past five months—ever since that awful day we thought I was having a miscarriage—we’ve been getting along so well! You know, like husband and wife? I love you and you love me and we love our babies, there are no secrets and no hidden bad feelings and now we’re supposed to live happily ever after. So start being happy, damn you!”
“I am happy,” he protested, jerking the door open and clearly preparing to leap into the hallway the moment he finished speaking. “I love you more than my life, and I practically worship those babies, as you well know.”
“Then what in the name of heaven is the matter?”
“You! Walking around half-undressed and prattling about spit-up and changing clothes and stroller walks while I’m supposed to listen to your words and not notice that since you had the twins you look even more incredible than usual. I’m supposed to think platonic thoughts, when all I can think about doing is—is—”
She gaped at him, then started to laugh. “Is that what’s bugging you? For God’s sake, are we ever not going to be worrying about lovemaking in this marriage?” She walked to him and started prying his fingers off the doorknob, one by one. “We can, you know. The twins turned six weeks old the day before yesterday and I got the green light from Dr. Opitz. I half expected you to be all over me that night.”
“I didn’t want to rush things,” he managed, very conscious of her warm nearness. “I wanted to wait until you were ready.”
“I’m ready now,” she murmured, turning her face up to his. “Only…go slow, okay? It’s been a while.”
“For me, too,” he said, kissing her softly on the mouth. He shrugged out of his coat and suit jacket without breaking the kiss, then picked her up and pulled her against him. Her legs went around his waist and he supported her easily, his hands on the backs of her thighs. He kissed her throat, then pressed his lips to just below her collarbone, greedily inhaling her scent; she smelled like her own sweet self, with a tantalizing milk undertone.
He kicked the door shut behind him, thanking God his amiable babies slept through just about everything, and carried her to the bed. Before he even had his tie loosened she had reached behind her and unsnapped her bra; her ripe breasts bounced free and he felt every cognitive thought leave his mind, actually felt his IQ drop and his mouth slacken in appreciation. Suddenly his necktie grew three feet and the knot doubled in size.
Laughing, she reached up. “Let me help you, you’re going to strangle yourself.” She got the tie unknotted and flung it away, then quickly unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his tautly muscled chest. She flicked her nails over his nipples and giggled when he growled at her.
In minutes they were both nude, both rolling around in the king-sized bed, tickling and laughing and mock-wrestling, pleased to be together this fine afternoon, willing to stall for a few more minutes what they had both longed for months. Soon enough the laughter died down, replaced by sighs and soft moans. Victor at last got to do what he had been fantasizing about for six weeks; he pulled a stiffened nipple into his mouth and suckled gently, his passion trebling as his mouth was flooded with sweet, warm milk.
“This is so Freudian,” Ashley said, giggling, then moaned as he licked the underside of her full breast. In moments he had traced a trail of kisses to the dark forest between her legs and was kissing her there, deeply and with pent-up longing. Her taste, her delightful musk, was subtly changed, but she was still his sweet Ashley. He could feel her thighs tremble as he tongued her clit, could hear her gasps and her entreaties that he never stop, he mustn’t stop, don’t you dare stop! Her hands beat imploringly at his shoulders, then clutched at him.
Laughing softly, he kept up the gently merciless onslaught while easing a finger inside her. She accepted him but it was a tight fit; his own control suffered when he imagined his cock entering her, enjoying the ecstatic agony of a tight fit.
Ashley was enduring an ecstatic agony of her own; her head was thrown back and she looked at the ceiling through eyes slitted with lust. She could feel him down there, doing delicious, wonderful things to her with his customary skill. His fingers were practically dancing between her thighs, moving with delicate rapidity, only to be replaced with his lips and tongue. When his tongue slowly pushed inside her and then wiggled, she thought she would go out of her mind. Then he pulled back and rained kisses down on her slick flesh.
She could hear him muttering what he’d like to do to her, what he was going to do to her, and how much she would like it, and how much he loved her, adored her, worshipped her. Oh, by the way, are you getting close, sweetheart?
The answer was yes…and no. She felt as if she was teetering on the brink of orgasm, but she lacked the final nudge which would push her to the other side. It was torture, sweet agony, and she was sure the strain of enduring such pleasure was going to be the end of her. She felt Victor grip her hips and raise her to his mouth, his tongue, pulling her so close, she could feel the muscles in her thighs trembling. Could hear someone crying out in throaty agony and realized with dim shock that it was her making all that racket, thanked God for blessing her with babies who slept like little logs, and wondered how much more of this she could stand.
Suddenly he released his grip on her hips; her buttocks were flat against the bed and Victor was leaning over her, reaching between her legs to gently hold her apart. She felt his cock nudging at her opening, and scrambled toward him, trying to help him, and then he was entering her with delicious slowness. She could feel every ride, every fold, every wrinkle of his hot throbbing length, and nearly sobbed with the joy of it.
She was biting her lips with the effort not to cry out, and he soothed her with a kiss. But that became delicious torment as well, because as he was slowly coming inside her his tongue penetrated her lips and delved inside her mouth, just as slowly.
Overwhelmed by her tremendous need, she started quivering beneath him, clawing him, trying to lunge against him, to force him into her faster, harder. He groaned into her mouth and gripped her s
houlders, effectively pinning her to the bed with his hands and his weight, forcing her to endure the slow torment. When at last he was fully seated within her he rested his head against her shoulder for a moment, then asked, in a voice so thick she barely understood him, “…doesn’t…hurt?”
“No,” she panted. “No. No. Please. It—please, Victor, my God, I can’t—”
“Telling…truth?”
“Yes!” she practically screamed. “You’re not hurting me, it doesn’t hurt, please, Victor, I want you so badly…”
“Have to be…careful. You’re not…not so wet. Feels—God, you’re so tight…how can you…how…can you…be tight…after having…babies?”
“Please, Victor,” she said, close to crying from sheer need, and he pulled out slightly and then thrust back in. She was tight, she could feel every fraction of her skin against his, but she didn’t care, it didn’t hurt, it felt delicious, and if he stopped, she would die. “Please, more, I love you,” she cried, then gasped as he thrust against her a little more forcefully.
“Don’t say things like that or we’ll be done before we’ve started,” he panted. “And if you could stop looking so passionately gorgeous and sexy, that would be a big help, too.”
“So close your eyes,” she managed, smiling, and her smile disappeared as he surged against her, as he released her arms and let her pull him against her. His head dropped and his mouth was on hers. His tongue was in her mouth, and he was stroking so sweetly, but with increasing speed, and then she felt him shift, reach down, and then his thumb was rubbing across her clit and the combination of that stimulation coupled with his thrusting spun her into orgasm. She shut her eyes against the inner explosions, against the glorious all-over tightening, and writhed beneath him from the sheer pleasure of it. When she at last opened her eyes, panting, she was shocked to see Victor looking as if he were in great pain; his jaw was clenched and his eyes were slits.
“Wh—what’s wrong?”
“I am trying—to think—about baseball.”
“Ooh, poor baby.” Now that she had enjoyed her own release, it was time to torture him back, this wonderful man she had married. She smiled dead into his eyes and wriggled against him, running her tongue across her lower lip and then pursing her lips in silent invitation. He scowled down at her, and once—as recently as nine months ago—that would have terrified her. Now she only laughed and jerked her hips up.