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“Mama.”
“Dada,” I enunciate for my toddler as if it’ll help my cause.
“Mama,” she says again and starts clapping her hand when I pull a pair of pants onto her. Katelyn was kind enough to pick out the twins’ clothes for the day. I dressed them once . . . Katelyn said: never again.
I continue prodding her until she’s dressed and place her back in her crib. She screams instantly and flops down on her bed. If she’s like this at one, I can’t imagine how she’s will be at two. When I get to Peyton, she holds her hands out for me.
“Say Dada.”
“Baba.”
“Dada,” I say again as we get to the changing table.
“Dada,” her tiny voice says with a little squeal.
“Maybe you can teach your sister, huh?”
Peyton turns her little head toward her sister’s crib and sighs. Yeah, I feel ya, kid. I really, really do. Once she’s changed and dressed, I have both girls in my arms. Elle is saying mama as we walk down the hall and Peyton is resting her head on my shoulder.
“All right, little ladies, we are going to go see Grandma. Who’s excited?”
Crickets.
I’ve been through a lot of situations in my life. Busting up my knee, telling my best friend I wasn’t going to college with him, helping one of my closest friends through a pregnancy, but those moments pale in comparison when putting the girls into their car seats. I don’t wish this nightmare on anyone.
2
On days when I have the girls, Katelyn leaves me her car. Putting two car seats in the front seat in my truck is never a good idea. There have been times when I’ve taken one with me if Katelyn and I are both running errands in different directions, and the car seat barely fits between the backrest and the dashboard. My old truck simply wasn’t made for today’s style of car seats, and I’m definitely not built for Katelyn’s little Honda. With the driver’s seat pushed as far back as I can possibly get it, I squeeze myself behind the wheel. My knees come up to the middle of the dashboard console, and my head rubs on the ceiling. Our need for a family car is long overdue, but finances prevent us from throwing money around. I suppose it would be an investment, purchasing something larger, with more space for the girls, and me. As it is now, we hardly drive anywhere together because there isn’t enough space.
After starting the car, I change the radio station from whatever Top 40 Katelyn keeps it on before putting in one of the Disney singalongs we have for the girls. Every time I get into the car, I do this, mostly because the last thing I want to hear is Liam singing. It’s hard to lose your best friend, but even harder knowing he walked away from his life without a second glance. Not even a goodbye. No phone call or letter explaining what he’s doing, why, or when he’ll be back. Gone. Off to Los Angeles to live a life none of us ever knew he wanted until it was too late, all while missing out on the most important part of him – his son. I visited his agent’s office once, after reading an article about Liam and his newfound fame. I thought once he found out Josie was having a baby, his baby, he’d come to his senses. Every year, on Noah’s birthday, I make the same phone call and leave the same message, “Please have Liam call me as soon as possible there’s something he needs to know.” I know someday, I’ll quit calling.
The drive over to my parents is filled with me singing my heart out. Elle is doing the same even though Peyton is the only one who can understand her, and according to the mirrors Katelyn has in the backseat, Peyton is doing nothing but staring at her sister. I’ve never met two people more opposite than Peyton and Elle. Everything Katelyn and I read before the girls arrived told us they’d be similar, they’d walk and talk alike, and have their own language. The language part is accurate; I see them communicating in a way we can’t understand, but they’re as opposite as night and day.
As soon as I pull into the driveway of my parents, my mom comes outside and goes immediately to the passenger side to get Elle, who is much happier now than she was earlier. At least we made it over to my parents without her screaming. After I shut the car off, I’m tending to Peyton. I lean down and give her some kisses on her cheek, knowing full well my scruff tickles her. She giggles and it makes me laugh, so I do it again and again until my dad is hollering for us to come into the house. My dad meets us at the bottom of the stairs and takes Peyton and her car seat. I follow them into the house and find my mother already on the floor with Elle, playing patty cake.
“Have the girls eaten?” my mom asks.
“Not lunch. They just woke up from their nap.”
“Nap?” dad looks at his watch and makes an inquisitive face.
“We put them down after breakfast this morning. We had a long night. At three a.m., Elle had a nightmare or decided it was time to wake her sister and scream bloody murder.”
“They’re called night terrors, Mason. You had them when you were little. Have you spoken to her pediatrician about them?”
Well, that’s news to me. “No, but I’ll mention it to Katelyn or Nick the next time I see him.”
“Babies don’t scream for the fun it?”
I glance at Elle, who’s laughing and cooing with my mother. “You sure about that because she screams like a banshee.”
“You just don’t understand her,” my mom says. Yep, I’ve heard that before, just not with my daughter, but her mother.
After my dad is done showing Peyton all the photos in the house, he swaps granddaughters and repeats the process with Elle. I followed him once, listening to what he said to my girls and found myself paying attention. My mom loves photos and has pictures all over the house. The hallway is filled from floor to ceiling with photos, mostly of me. My dad tells the girls about my life, growing up, and when Katelyn came into the picture. Our first homecoming picture, prom, and numerous shots of us growing up are on the wall.
My dad disappears down the hall with Elle, and I take a seat on the couch. “Katelyn working today?”
“Yeah, she is.”
