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I apologize and say of course it’s her money, and she can do whatever she wants with it, and explain how to transfer it across. And I resolve to talk to her after the babies are born about how we can help other people who are in the position she was in. How do I know what these people need?
She also gets in contact with her Aunt Mona from Dublin, and even plucks up the courage to have a Zoom call with her one evening. They talk for over an hour, and she cries afterward, but I know it’s really touched her to think she now has family she can talk to. I suggest we go to Dublin one day to visit them, and she gets quite excited about that.
I speak to Titus in the mornings several times a week, and I’m working hard, still dividing my time between Wellington and Auckland. But when I’m home, I do my best to finish by six or seven so I get to spend a few hours with Catie in the evening, and I take the weekends off whenever I can.
We watch cooking videos on YouTube and practice the recipes, and teach ourselves the Waltz, the Foxtrot, the Rumba, and the Cha Cha, and at other times just free dance together, playing all the music under the sun.
For a while, it seems as if this time is going to go on forever. Her bump grows, but otherwise the rest of it feels a bit like a dream. We start going to antenatal classes, which makes it a bit more real, and she has regular visits with Mathew and Angela, but other than that, it’s easy to believe it’s always going to be like this—hot, summery, and just the two of us, dancing around the house.
But then March arrives, and finally things begin to change. The weather turns autumnal, red and amber leaves blowing across the patio, and the clocks go back, so it gets darker earlier at night. Catie’s beginning to feel more tired and uncomfortable, and eventually I suggest she start her maternity leave, to give her more time to rest. Kennedy and Mum call in to see her a lot, especially when I’m away, and I continue to try to get home as early as I can, so she’s not on her own for too long.
Not that she seems bothered by it. She’s a lot more settled now, and seems to have completely lost the anxiousness and fear that plagued her so much when we first met. In the last few weeks of March, she grows quieter and more contemplative, and often when she disappears and I go to find her, I discover her either asleep or reading. She’s stayed in touch with Alice, who gives her tips on books to read, and when she’s finished with them she puts them on her bookshelf—her first ever, she tells me, which is gradually growing as she discovers a real love of reading that she never had before.
I resolve to turn one of our spare rooms into a library for her, and start making plans for that. But it’s tough when there’s so much to do, and so little time.
I’m working hard to try to get as much done as I can before the babies come, and I hardly remember my head hitting the pillow at night. I go to the antenatal classes with her, and we talk a lot about the birth and what will happen afterward, but it’s tough not to feel anxious about it, despite my determination to be as calm as possible for her sake. When you’re at school and having lessons on how not to get girls pregnant, they don’t tell you about all the things that can go wrong if you do. About problems with the placenta, or high blood pressure, or preeclampsia. So far Catie seems fine, and the twins are in good positions for a vaginal delivery, but everything is up in the air. She’s been quiet, and while everyone assures me that’s normal, and she’s just preparing herself mentally, I feel tense, and start to get a little snappy at work.
Luckily, everyone seems to be understanding. Janine makes me herbal teas to keep me calm. The other secretaries bring me cakes and cookies. And as for my brothers… One day when we’re in a Zoom meeting, and I yell at Mack to pull his fucking finger out and get the fucking program finished, Kip immediately tells Mack we’ll ring him back and ends the call, and Damon sends everyone else out of the room while I stand in front of the window, fists clenched, glaring at the view, knowing I’ve stepped out of line, and regretting my outburst.
When we’re alone, Kip says, “Would it help if you punched me?”
Hands on hips, I give a short laugh. “Maybe.”
“Go ahead, bro. I’m always here for you.”
I give him a wry look, then blow out a breath and run my hands through my hair. “I’m sorry. It’s the waiting. It’s doing my head in.”
“You’re doing great,” Damon says.
“I’m not. I’m terrified.” I look at them with a racing heart. “I’m going to be a father. What if I’m shit at it? She’s not had kids before—what if she goes to pieces and I don’t know what to do?”
It’s not beyond the realms of possibility. She’s coping well, but she’s going to have to go through a huge physical ordeal, and I don’t know how strong she is deep down. What if it’s too much for her? If she can’t cope with the pain?
“Dude,” Kip says, “if you can’t do it, there’s no hope for any of us. You didn’t bat an eyelid when this girl walked into your office and announced you were the father of her baby. Or when it turned out to be twins, for fuck’s sake. You’ve stood by her side and supported her through the pregnancy. You’ve even married the girl and turned her into a ray of sunshine. And whatever happens, you’ll deal with it, because that’s what you do.”
I bite my lip hard as emotion sweeps over me. “I don’t want to let her down,” I say hoarsely.
“Aw, bro, you couldn’t,” Damon says with uncharacteristic sympathy. I can’t remember the last time he said something nice that didn’t involve mocking me. “Catie’s crazy about you, and you’re going to be a fantastic father. I envy you, and that’s something coming from me.”
I try to hold the tears back, and fail, so they come over, and we have a three-part bearhug.
Having brothers can be a pain in the arse, but sometimes it’s great, and this is one of those times.
*
March turns into April, Catie’s now nearly thirty-eight weeks, and I do everything I can to stay calm. I work out a lot, and run along the beach if I feel stressed, as that seems to help burn off any excess anxiety. It means that when I’m finally with Catie, I can relax and reassure her.
Not that she needs it, particularly. I think she’s less stressed than me at this point, and she spends an inordinate amount of time telling me she feels fine and everything’s going to be okay.
I come home from work one evening, slide the Aston into the garage, and sit there for a couple of minutes, letting my brain quiet. Very soon, her labor will start, and it’ll be all systems go. I have no idea how she’ll react, so I’m going to need to step up and stay calm.
Every night, I half expect to walk in and find her mid-contraction and screaming in pain. So it’s a relief tonight to walk through the house around six p.m. and discover her in the library I finally finished for her last week. I had two walls lined with shelves from floor to ceiling, and bought a couple of big bean bags and a comfy armchair, as well as a small fridge for handy drinks, and a really nice journal she can write notes in about the books she’s reading. I didn’t let her in until it was finished, and she was thrilled to see it. She’s already spent a lot of time in here, and so I’m not surprised to find her curled up in the armchair, quietly reading while classical music plays in the background.
“Vivaldi?” I say, going into the room, recognizingSpringfrom The Four Seasons.
“Trying to educate myself and the boys together,” she says, smiling as she closes her book and gets up. “Hello, sweetheart.” She comes over to me, puts her arms around my neck, and kisses me.
I return it, filled with love. “And how’s Mummy?” I ask. “You feeling okay?” She’s had a bit of backache the last few days.
