Because of Them (Because of Love #2)

Chapter Twenty-Eight

MICHAEL

“H ey Michael, since you’ll be the babies’ daddy, and you’ll live here when they are born, will that make you my daddy too?”

I freeze, one hand poised over the UNO deck. I suppose, considering I’ve been practically living here since Christmas, this question was to be expected. Maisie accepted me into her house with arms wide open. She loves coming home to Baxter and has taken claim to the responsibility of giving him his breakfast. In turn, Baxter has found a new favourite spot—wherever Maisie happens to be.

Still though, her question catches me by surprise.

I need help and turn to Audrey for guidance on how to answer this question only to find she has conveniently disappeared after winning the round on her last turn.

The bridge of Maisie’s nose scrunches, her mouth tilting almost completely into one cheek as she cocks her head. The dramatic movement makes her high pony of dark, thick waves flop over her shoulder. “But I already have a daddy, so would I have two daddies? Danny from school has two daddies, but he has no mummy and I definitely have a mummy. Almost two mummies because Cassidy lives with Daddy even though she said that does not make her my mummy. So, would I have two daddies and a mummy and an almost mummy? I’m confused.”

She throws her head back with a huff.

“I’m confused too,” I admit, choosing to lead with honesty over making up an answer that will probably only lead to Maisie asking more questions. “I’m not very good at this parent stuff.”

“Mummy said you were pretty good at helping her when she needed to go to the doctor.”

My lips turn up. I’d promised Audrey, when she first told me about the babies, that I was there for her no matter what, and I had meant it. Taking her to the hospital when she was worried she was in early labour was just a small part of that promise. Besides, truthfully, I had been panicking just as much as Audrey was. I just managed to hold it all on the inside. I hadn’t realised that me being there for her in that moment had such a profound impact. Had meant so much that she told her five-year-old daughter. The feeling chips away at the few stony pieces left on my heart.

Maybe I’ll be okay at this?

Still, I’m not sure if there is a ‘right’ way to answer Maisie’s question. It’s so loaded, even though I’m sure she never meant it that way. I adjust in my seat position on the floor, trying to alleviate some of the numbing in my butt. With my legs now crossed in front of me, I rest my elbows on my knees and lean in towards Maisie. She’s laying on her stomach, head propped on a pillow and legs kicking in the air. Her hand of cards hangs haphazardly from her grip, giving me a full view of her streak of red cards and the sneaky Draw Four. I do my best to eliminate her cards from my short-term memory.

“I won’t be your daddy, Maisie. Because like you said, you have a daddy. And I know he loves you a billion. But yeah, I’m going to be around, so maybe I can be something else. Something almost like a daddy but not really? Like an uncle but … different. Honestly, I don’t know.”

A hand rests gently on my shoulder. “It’s okay not to know. I don’t really know either.”

Audrey’s voice rings through my ears, settling my nervous heart. Her weight falls onto my shoulder as she struggles to sit down next to me.

“We should have moved to the table. How did you even get up before?”

Her bottom finally lands on the floor, and Audrey adjusts to find a comfortable way to sit. Her baby bump is more than just a bump now, it’s a beautiful round home for our babies. It looks uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone trying to sit on the floor. “Sorry,” I add, placing a hand on her knee.

Audrey sighs as she settles, back leaning against me with her legs straight out past where Maisie sits. “I crawled to the couch and pulled myself up.” Her tone is light, but there’s an undercurrent of despair that she can’t shake off with her silent chuckle.

Dropping her cards, Maisie crawls across the deck sitting forgotten between us to rest her hand on her mother’s stomach.

She looks up at me with her bright blue eyes. “So, if you won’t be my daddy, but you’re more than just Michael, what should I call you?”

I ponder her question. I hadn’t thought about being called ‘dad’ by anyone just yet, let alone Maisie. ‘Daddy’ definitely doesn’t feel right, and she is on the right track with me being more than just ‘Michael’. I want to be something more to her than that. Words slip off my tongue as I contemplate. “Dad … Michael … Daddy”

“Michael Daddy,” she giggles. “That sounds funny. Like Michaeldaddy. Mikedaddy.”

Audrey runs her fingers through Maisie’s long brown hair. “Mikaddy?” she muses.

“Maddy?” Maisie shortens the word even further into something that, oddly, feels kind of right. She gasps, throwing both hands over her face and kicking her legs.

“Maddy,” I repeat. It’s a playful nickname. One that only we would know the true meaning of.

Audrey twists her head until her eyes meet mine. “Maddy?”

I shrug a shoulder and reach an arm around her to hug both her and Maisie together. “Yeah, I like it.”

Wriggling free from the embrace, Maisie jumps up and moves to stand in front of me. “Maddy,” she squeals before running off to her bedroom.

Something warm settles itself deep in my chest, filling a hole I never noticed was there. I keep my arms wrapped around Audrey and rest my hands on her belly. Everything feels so easy, so perfect in a way I never imagined was possible. I’m constantly holding my breath, waiting for the penny to drop. But it hasn’t, at least not yet. And the closer we get to Audrey’s due date, the more everything seems to fall into place.

My dad’s words echo in my thoughts. ‘You’re in love.’

I’ve known for a long time that I love Audrey, but to be in love with someone? Doesn’t that take years of getting to know each other and slowly falling, bit by bit? Maybe for some people. But Audrey and I were thrown down the hill together and now, we aren’t just making our way back to the top, we’re soaring above it.

I lean in, soaking in the fruity scent of her hair, stroking her belly as the twins wriggle about inside her, finding peace in the gentle rise and fall of her chest. She leans her head back onto my shoulder and sighs. We sit, in peaceful silence, caring about nothing and no one else. The box of packed up Christmas decorations calls to me from the corner, begging to be returned to its place in the garage, but I ignore it. We have time for all those little tasks. We have all the time in the world.

“Maddy.”

My eyes jolt open at the sound of Maisie’s shrill whisper. Audrey sleeps curled on her side next to me, the blankets loose around her waist. Her bare, round, stomach catches the moonlight that peaks in through a tiny gap in the shutters. Beautiful, always. But not the reason I was forced awake. I turn to Maisie, who’s standing far too close and looks eerily like a ghost in the dim, blue-ish light. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her mane of wavy hair sticks up in every direction. There’s none of her usual childish glow, the bright pink of her cheeks faded away along with most of the colour from her skin.

In all the scattered times I’ve stayed here, she has never come in overnight. Not in the beginning, not now that I spend more nights here than I do back at the apartment. Never. Until now.

“Maisie, what’s wrong?”

She holds a hand over her mouth before she speaks. “I’m sorry Maddy. I was sick.” Tears stream down her face, dripping over her cheeks.

I push up in the bed to hold her close. “Don’t be sorry, shh.” I’m way out of my depth here. Like, I’ve swam too far out at the beach and the tide is dragging me from shore. “Sick, how?”

She chokes, hiccupping as she answers. “I woke up and … I tried not to but … it went everywhere.”

I pull her close, realising too late that everywhere included her nightie. The sticky remains of her illness cling to my arms and chest. I gulp.

Beside me, Audrey stirs, pushing up on an arm to see around me. “What’s wrong?”

She must see Maisie and just know, because she goes into full survival mode.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she pushes out of the bed. Her legs swing over the side and she takes a few deep inhales before standing. “Michael, can you go to the twenty-four-hour pharmacy around the corner? We need Hydralyte and ginger ale, get some of those glucose jelly beans too. Disinfectant spray, maybe even gloves and some facemasks. I really don’t want to get sick. I can’t get sick. Fuck, the babies. Michael?”

Aware of the vomit stuck to my arms and chest, I place my clean hand on Audrey’s shoulder and rest my forehead on her back.

“You stay in bed I’ll take care of Maisie and hopefully that way you won’t get sick. We can worry about all the other stuff in the morning.”

Maisie whimpers from the foot of the bed. “I don’t want to make mummy or the babies sick.”

“Then it’s sorted.” I kiss between Audrey’s shoulders, then climb out of the bed to help Maisie.

Audrey whispers a faint “thank you” as we head for the bathroom.

After her quick rinse and a clean pair of pyjamas, Maisie is exhausted. Her bed is still out of action, so I put her back to bed on the couch. She hasn’t vomited again, but I still lay towels underneath her and prop a bucket from the laundry beside her head.

“Maddy?” she whimpers, her eyes still closed as she snuggles against the pillows.

I sit on the floor beside her, tracing my fingers around her face. “Yeah Maisie?”

“Thank you.”

Once she falls asleep, I strip her bed, setting everything in the washing machine ready to be washed tomorrow when the noise won’t keep the house awake. I find clean sheets in the linen cupboard and go about making up her bed again. Shuffled footsteps make their way down the front hallway, and I stifle a yawn and tiptoe to stop Audrey.

Seeing me, Audrey’s mouth drops open in a yawn of her own. Her eyes are puffy and her shoulders droop underneath her dressing gown. “Is she okay?”

I hug her close, kissing her forehead. “Maisie is asleep on the couch. I changed her bed and will wash the sheets in the morning. You head back to bed.”

She hesitates, but I kiss her forehead and nudge her back towards her bedroom. She gives in easily, and I can only hope she falls back asleep without worrying.

Under the kitchen sink, I find disinfectant. My mind races as I go about spraying every surface Maisie might have touched.

Is this what my life is now?

It started with the very toned-down holiday season. Quiet family affairs that I thoroughly enjoyed but were so different to the wild celebrations of my past. We were even in bed before midnight on New Year’s Eve, content with getting a full night’s sleep over forcing ourselves to stay up until the clock ticked over.

Since then, mornings have been busier. I’ve had almost no time to do a workout session, and the few times I’ve been back to the apartment my home gym has screamed at me to be used. I could have, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to get back to Audrey. And by default, Maisie too.

My life has changed, I have changed.

And I was okay with it, really. But cleaning up a child’s vomit? It’s another level that I wasn’t expecting. And the thought of this becoming my new norm? A wave of nausea creeps through me, settling in my bones.

Not wanting to disturb Audrey, I curl up on the second couch. My knees are pulled right up to my feet to make room for my legs, and I wrap the thin throw blanket over my shoulders. Sleep never comes.

With every tiny movement or laboured sigh from the other couch, my eyes fly open, and I wait. For the second round of vomiting, and then the third. By the time the sky outside the back window is the muted orange of sunrise, I’m exhausted. Moving hurts, my stomach cramps, and my head pounds. I’m covered in a light layer of sticky sweat.

Maisie is still sleeping soundly, the towels under her scrunched up from her tossing and turning through the night. Footsteps echo up the hall.

“Stop,” I stage whisper before Audrey can get too close. “You can’t get sick.”

All my unease aside, it’s not worth the risk to Audrey and the babies.

“I’ll call Callum,” she responds, keeping her distance as she veers into the kitchen.

My insides twist, a fresh surge of nausea washing over me. “Thank you,” I call out as I rush to the bathroom.