Twenty Two: Something She Wanted

VERONICA'S PERSPECTIVE

   "Harrison! Dear, Harrison's here, I thought he was doing some research or internship or job shadowing, I thought he was busy, that's so sweet of him, he managed to travel back to Pittsburgh for our anniversary and plan a party for us." Mum gasped, gesturing to Harrison, who shrugged, shooting me an apprehensive smile, as mum rushed over to him, tightly embraced him, than she began informing everyone why Harrison had to travel back to Pittsburgh, he was at uni.
   Pre-med student. Rising junior at an Ivy League college. Partial scholarship. Valedictorian. MENA's Future Doctors of America club's president. He had the goddamn GPA, the extracurriculars, the SAT scores, all that lovely shit that future Dr. Harrison Colton needed to become that future doctor he had, leaving mum and dad practically worshiping him, claiming how he was always such an inquisitive boy, they knew he'd grow up to be something lovely like a doctor, an anesthesiologist.
   Seventeen. Rising high school senior. Naturally blonde. Mediocre GPA. A B, sometimes C student with a dead twin, what a tragedy, what a tragedy. Apprehensive stares from mum, every time I asked if I could go to a party or the mall or go anywhere, that's what I got, instead of praise and worship, because I was the alive twin, therefore I had to stay alive and couldn't do anything if it wasn't at home or school because straying from those two properties might result in my not-aliveness.

   I wasn't bitter or jealous towards Harrison, he was relatively modest, humble- he didn't brag or attempt to lecture me on getting my shit together and applying for a university or figuring out what I want to major in or any of those things. He tried to sympathize with me, when I complained about the lack of freedom, the insane curfews, the butterflies, the goddamn butterflies. Every birthday, mum and dad would release butterflies and give a sappy speech to commemorate Paisley; I hadn't realized when I was younger what, precisely the butterflies symbolized, I was perfectly content playing tag with my big brother and my preschool friends, than with my primary school friends. During the past few years mum and dad had forced me to realize that I was technically a twin, they'd asked me to give a speech, where I'd mumble thanks to everyone, comment about their foundation for TRAP syndrome. I suppose they expected me to break down when talking about her, survivor's guilt, perhaps, or maybe they expected me to comment how I felt some sort of connection with her, that I knew from the minute I was born that I was a twin, that she was alright in whatever afterlife mum envisioned, however I didn't feel any of those things.
   I felt like a normal person, I don't remember what happened in utero and I didn't feel like lingering on the shitty things that happened when I was a fetus. I recognized that it was beyond shitty that the syndrome occurred, however, I didn't understand why the association that mum and dad forced upon, me was: "the girl with the dead twin." They didn't phrase it so simply, but they sure as hell made it blatantly obvious that that was what I was. I was alive, she wasn't, my parents were people who were constantly wondering what it would have been like if I wasn't the pump twin- If Paisley was alive, would she have made an seventy-eight in algebra? Or an eighty-four in English? Would she quit ballet? Would she even like ballet? Would she be unable to stick with a MENA art elective, going from ballet to painting to pottery to ballet again to acting? She'd look just like her, you know. They didn't say these things to me, I heard them, as they whispered in hushed tones, I saw them, the look of momentary regret, sadness, guilt that appeared in their eyes when they saw what they thought were failures but in all actuality it was just me being average, me not living up to the real success of my brother and the imaginary success of my sister.

   "You gonna order anything or ya just gonna take up a bar stool?"
   "Huh?" My thoughts were interrupted by a tall, thin, blonde bartender, who was impatiently staring at me.
   "You've been sitting at the bar for ten minutes. Are you going to order a drink or not?"
   "Uh..."
   "She's good." I heard a deep voice say, as someone rested their hand on my shoulder.
   "Who th-" I spun around, to see Harrison, smiling at the bartender, who began fluttering her eyelids and leaning forwards.
    "Veronica, would you mind coming with me?"
   "Sure." I stood up, following him to a worn door with employees only crudely scrawled upon it in black ink. He pushed open the door, ignoring the writing, and began climbing up the rickety stairs. I followed, glancing back at mum and dad, who were chatting with my aunt, who'd flown in from England with her spouse. A few minutes later, we were on the bar's roof. Beer bottles and detritus was strewn about, remains of a rooftop party filled with teenagers with shitty fake IDs that the owner pretended look legitimate.
   Harrison sat on an open lawn chair that was stained with questionable colors, I perched myself upon a stack of newspapers from last month.

   "How's college?" I lamely asked, knowing that, from mum's bragging, it was going perfectly well.
   "Decent." He shrugged. "How's mum and dad?"
   "Still keeping an ankle monitor and a surveillance cam on me twenty-four seven." I sighed, as he glanced apprehensively at his shoes.
   "Thanks for planning the party, it was a bloody brilliant idea."
   "They think it was all you." I bitterly said, kicking the green-glass beer bottle across the roof. It hit the edge, shards of glass, shining in the moonlight, sailed across the roof.
   "I told them it was you, you planned everything, you scheduled the cake, balloons, the venue."
   "Mum'll think you're being  modest." We sighed in unison, he knew that no matter what he said, he was still the golden boy and I would still be the precious, delicate flower that needed to kept under a glass bell jar.
   "You could always come live with me."
   "I have a year of high school left."
   "Dual enroll. There's this community college about fifteen minutes from this place Wilson, Lawrence, and I were gonna rent, but then Lawrence decided to transfer so he could be closer to his mum, who's sick, so Wilson and I weren't sure if we still wanted to rent it, since it's three bedrooms, so you could move in, go to the community college, once you graduate, go to our uni." Wilson Cameron, if I remembered correctly, was also a premed student who wanted to become a sports doctor since his senior year of high school he suffered from an injury that ended his career before it even began. Cooper Lawrence was Harrison's freshman roommate.

   "Harrison, I'm not Ivy material, I'm like mediocre state school material, there's no way I could go to the same uni as you."
    "You could, I mean, there's also an artsy college a few hours away, aren't you into painting and ballet?"
    "Right now it's drama. I'm auditioning for Sandy in MENA's production of Grease."
    "There's a community college dramatics department. I've researched the program, you can take all the classes you need to graduate from MENA, plus you get a year of college credit. Admission is half the usual cost."
   "Do you think mum and dad would let me?"
   "Do you want to do it?" What did he mean did I want to do it? Of course I'd love to be living with semi-freedom, of course I'd love to free from the bell jar, however mum and dad seemed to have no desire to let me go farther then five blocks away from the only home I'd ever known. "Also... There's an acting gig near by."
   "Acting gig?" I was interested in drama club and hadn't bothered contemplating what I want to do with my life, taking classes seemed fine, but a gig? "What kind?"
   "With Love."
   "Pardon?"

   "Mum's... You know what happened with mum, right, it lead to her and dad meeting?"
   "They've only told the story a hundred times." Every wedding anniversary, mum began with a deep breath and a glass of scotch on the rocks, she'd tell the story, seeing her face on the television, her apprehension about learning who her father was, who her mother was, then, her face painted with tragedy and a bit too much alcohol, dad would take over, he'd tell about the Christmas party, our inspiration for hosting their anniversary at the shabby bar instead of some upscale center, how mum was utterly gorgeous and out of his league, how they eventually fell in love, he knew he'd fallen once mum literally fell while ice skating.
   "Mum's been secretly working with some production company on a script, to honor the twentieth anniversary, apparently casting begins next week and her mum's the lead. It'll be a bit like CSI, it'll start with scenes of a lady hitchhiking away, then it'll go to mum finding out about her mum, then she'll be questioned by a handsome police officer, dad, and he'll give her the diary. She'll page through it, there'll be flashbacks- Mum gets input on casting, she told me when we were catching up, she'll announce it tonight."
   "I... I... When she brings it up, I"ll bring up what you said." Acting, living with my brother, dual enrollment... I'd have control over my life, I'd have freedom, I'd be able to make my own goddamn choices, I hadn't thought much about my future, but this, this, now that it was an option, a choice, a perhaps, this was something I wanted.

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Note: This chapter took waaaaaaay longer than I wanted it to; I knew that August was going to be a blur of business, however I didn't think it'd take me five (five!) weeks to publish the last chapter of generation one. That being said, this is the last chapter of generation one, I have some idea of how I'd like to start generation two and there might be some changes in the future, so I'll let you know once I've decided how things'll be. ☺

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Lavender's Pregnancy Photographs

So, I don't have any actually chapter focusing on Lavender's first pregnancy, however I was a bit photo happy; I couldn't help myself, she was so adorable with her virtual baby bump, I accidentally took like thirty pictures of her... I wasn't sure what to do with them, but I didn't want to keep them since they were taking up space on my computer, so I decided to make a collage and post a these as "bloopers" to celebrate 3,000 views (thanks to everyone who reads this legacy, it means so much to me, I know that things have been a bit rough, I haven't published as much as I would have liked to and that there have been more "I have writer's block, so here's so filler" chapters than I would have liked, of course the number of those chapters that I would have liked is zero, so... Uh, yeah. thank you to all you lovelies who read this blog, I cannot express how ecstatic it makes me, even if my thank you is a bit lack luster) and the birth of the first official-possibly-may-be-the-heir-who-leads-generation-two!

xx,
Jill

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Twenty: Tradegy and Ecstasy

JAMES' PERSPECTIVE

   "Surprise!" I exclaimed, walking into the classroom that was decorated with alphabet posters and chairs brightly painted with different animal's likenesses. Lavender had informed me that one of the teacher's had taken ill, since it was the last day of school and the children weren't doing much of anything anyways, the headmistress felt that hiring a substitute was quite pointless, and asked her to fill in.
   "Aww, James." Her face lit up, "Harrison! How's my big boy?"
   "Good, mama." He smiled, reaching his arms out for her.



   "Do you like mama's work? Soon you'll go to this school with me." She cooed, tickling him, sending him into a rage of laughter.
   "Yay!" He clapped, "I go to scoo, I scoo!"
   "Yeah, school! You'll go to school." She kissed the top of his head, gently placing him on the rug with the toy box. "I can't believe that he's been three for three months. He's growing up so fast... I remember when he was in diapers." 
   "Don't make nappies out to be luvvly-jubbly, 'sides, we'll have quite enough in three months. How's our girls?"

   "They've been so active, twenty-nine weeks is exhausting." I placed my hand on her stomach, feeling the twins kick. After discovering that Lav had completely missed the first trimester things with Harrison, she'd wanted to ensure that she wouldn't again, she didn't want any surprises her second pregnancy or for the second pregnancy to be a surprise so, after a bit of holiday eggnog and snogging, we decided why not get right to the rumpy pumpy and give Harrison a sibling.
   "Harrison wanted to see his sisters so badly, I couldn't resist leaving him with your parents during the doctor's appointment."
   "He's got you wrapped around his finger." She replied, fondly gazing over towards our son.
   "I 'pose." I shrugged, picking him back up again, taking Lavender's hand, leading her out the door, the appointment was in fifteen minutes, the office ten minutes away.
   It was a cliche, every man not wanting to be his father, than them reluctantly turning into him anyway because of bloody biology or what have you, though it was true enough. 
   My father was a whiskey sipping, cigar puffing, negligent man who I was anything but fond of, therefore I spent most of my teenage and early twenties attempting to spite the six feet deep bastard. I didn't want Harrison to think for one moment I didn't give a rat's arse about him, I didn't want to be like my father and I didn't want my son to fear turning into a man like him. I couldn't change my childhood, I couldn't erase the memory of the bladdered twit hitting my mum when she asked if he'd attend my sister Poppy's ballet recital, I couldn't change the fact that he acted like a madman, but I could be sure that my children knew how much I loved them, that they knew I'd never harm a hair on any of my family's head, that they knew I'd go to hell and back for them, that I'd always try to give them the best.
   I held Harrison tightly, as we entered the office, Lavender signed herself in, then she was called back, I lingered in the waiting room, as Harrison questioned what the posters were depicting.

 
   "That's a drawing of a mummy, see she has a fetus in her uterus, that's what Grammy mean's when she says that there's a baby in mama's tummy."
   "Ahhkay... Why does mama get the fee-us, not you?"
   "Well," I paused. He was a rather intelligent three year old, he wouldn't listen to me explaining that that was just the way nature intended things to be. "Mamas are quite stronger than daddies, it takes a lot of work, growing a life and sometimes there'll be ouchies, daddies aren't strong enough to handle the ouchies, mamas are."
   "Mamas are strong?" He gasped, his eyes expanding into the size of olive saucers. "Was I a fee-us?"
    "Yes mamas are, they're stronger than we recognize. See, we all used to be fetuses, you were and mama and I loved you very much, before you were even born, before we even knew that you were going to be Harrison."
   "You did?" He looked at me, his tiny face scrunching up into thought. "Then I musta loved you and mama before I knew that you were daddy and mama." He said it with such simplicity, he didn't understand how important him saying that was to me, he didn't know much much that made my heart swell with elation, he didn't know that I'd loved him the minute Lavender gave me the blasted yellow duckie with the note card announcing that she was having a boy, he didn't know that I loved him and mama and the siss-tas one and two, as he referred to the twins, so goddam much, that the thought of losing anyone of them, even just for a second, was so painful, it was unbearable.
   "Let's go see mama and your sisters." I carried him into the room, where Lavender was stationed, the ultrasound machine depicting a grainy, black and white image.
   "Mama, you have fee-uhs because you strong." Harrison told her, as we stood on the pastel and white tile, the walls painted a buttercup yellow, duck adorning the trim. Something was awry, squiffy instead of radiating unadulterated happiness like rays of the golden sun, Lavender's eyebrows were bent up, her lips pursed, her pale purple eyes darting in such a worrisome, such an anxious manner from her stomach, to the ultrasound machine, to me.

   "James, James, I..." 
   "What, darling, what's wrong?" I placed Harrison on one of the white chairs, clasping her hands with mine. 
   "They, they share a placenta, they're identical, monochorionic, we knew that, but, but, they, they aren't developing normal, I guess, I guess they couldn't diagnosis something because of the way they were positioned, but the doctor said that the size, they finally saw, abnormal size difference, I don't know, but, but they had to go get a specialist."
   "Wh-what?" Abnormal size difference. Aren't developing normal. Specialist.
   I stood completely discombobulated, holding her hand, as Harrison, who had managed to get an ink pen off of the counter, scribbled on himself, as the specialist told us what was going on.
   TRAP sequence.
   Pump twin.
   Supplies blood.
   "I, I, I feel faint, I'm a horrible mother, horrible, I can't handle saying the word, can't handle talk, sight of b-b-b, I feel faint, I'm going to faint or throw up or, I, damn, hemophobic." Tears began welling up in her eyes, as she began blubbering on about what a horrible, horrible mother she was, she couldn't even hear what was going on with her sick children without almost passing out.

   "Hush, no, no, darling, you're a great mum, you can't help that you cannot handle bl- you cannot handle it, you're a great mum. Everything's going to be okay." I took my thumb, wiping away the black streaks that had fallen across her paling cheeks.
   "Pardon, sir, but this is serious, we need to discuss the complications, perhaps-"
   "The hallway." I gestured towards the door. "Tell me there, my wife looks like she's going to pass out, tell me in the hallway, I'll tell her in terms that won't trigger her hemophilia."
   "Alright, sir." I followed them, in their navy scrubs, white lab coat, out into the hallway, as they continued speaking.
   Twenty five percent survival.
   Acardiac twin.
   No heart.
   No upper body.
   No chance of survival. 
   Selective bipolar cord coagulation.
   Excessive amniotic fluid.
   Preterm labor induced.
   "What, what, no! This, this can't be happening, how, how, isn't there anything you can do?"
   "I'm sorry sir, we can schedule the procedure as soon as possible, usually we attempt to preform a selective bipolar cord coagulation in the second trimester, but since she's already two weeks into her third trimester, we need to schedule it as soon as possible, if she consents. I understand it can be a difficult choice to make, however after the operation, the pump twin's chance of survival goes up to eighty-seven point five percent.
   We'll preform the surgery, we'll monitor her, if she's doing well, we'll induce labor. Usually after the procedure, we attempt to monitor the pregnancy until thirty-five to seven weeks, we'd induce labor then, but due to the fluid build up, there's a chance of her going into labor now, for the fetus' health, we need to ensure that it's induced."
   "Are you, are you, the acardiac twin, what about her?"
   "Sir, ideally we'd be having the conversation with your wife, she needs to know exactly what's going on with her bod-"
   "Dammit! She'll know, she, what about the acardic twin? What about my wife? You said the pump twin's survival rate will go up to eighty-seven point five fucking percent, what about my wife? Will she be okay? Dammit, she has to be okay! And the other twin, what, what, she doesn't have a heart, but, but, transplant? Or, dammit, what the hell?"
   "Sir, I know it's difficult, please calm down, your wife will be fine, provided that we can monitor her."
   "I will not calm down, my wife's in that room, she feels guilty as hell that she'll, there's complications, bloody hell."
   "Sir, no one should have to go through losing one twin."
   "Losing, losing... We're, are you sure? There has to be something you can do!" I loved Lavender, I loved the twins. She, she'd be devastated, I there had to be some mistake, something I could do.
   "TRAP is rare, it occurs in one percent of monochorionic pregnancies, I'm afraid that there isn't much we can do."
   One twin.
   One twin.
   Lavender and I had prepared to become a family of five, we'd bought two cribs, a double jogging stroller, we'd told Harrison he was getting two sisters, we, we had this future, this perfect future as a family of five envisioned, for four months, we'd spent the first two not knowing it was twins, we'd envisioned this future. A false future.
   We cried. We wept. We asked why, why us? We scheduled the operation. Six days from the doctor's appointment. Six days of tears, of grief, of mourning. Six days off of work. Six days of Chuck and Jolenne coming over, playing with Harrison, cooking us warm meals, putting Harrison to bed, keeping the house clean, finishing the nursery. Six days of having both twins.

   I drove Lavender solemnly to the hospital in my police cruiser, in my police officer's uniform so I could speed, put on the wailing, blaring lights and step on the gas pedal. We checked in, the Coltons. They prepped her, went over the risks, the procedure with her, she was ghostly white, listening to the cold medical terminology that, in her mind, was utterly gruesome.

   She was instructed to stay still, on the hospital bed, in her thin, beige gown, as they monitored her, waiting until the operation room had been completely prepped. They said the cord coagulation wouldn't take long. An hour. The labor would be longer. We whispered "I love you" to each other, as they wheeled her off to the room. I wasn't aloud to be present during either operation. I'd be stuck pacing that goddamn hospital corridor, the smell of antiseptic filling my nostrils, observing the crisp white tile, the white walls. Why was it, whenever people were stuck in the hospital, it was always how white everything was? The bitter scent of antiseptic, the hollow sense of fatality, the whiteness of it all. That's what everyone always observed. Why?

   I peeked inside an empty operation room, an operating room that was next to the one Lavender was in. White, green, gray. Tile, fabric, cold, curtains, metal. Scalpel, gauze, stitches. Operating table, bright lights.
   I couldn't be trapped outside the room, pacing, my head was spinning, I needed air. Fresh air. Five minutes. Five minutes, then I'd return as close to Lavender's side as I possibly could.

   Fags, cigarettes, Lavender told me to call them. A dirty habit. Glamorized by teenagers. Glorified by teenagers. I'd been one of those teenagers. Daff dimwits, they were, the teenagers who smoked, the people who smoked. Lung cancer, second hand smoke, I knew it could kill me. I didn't miss the irony, me puffing away in front of the building where life began, where they attempted to restore life, where life ended, as my wife, my daughters, were under the knife, in a clean, sanitized, white room, on a metal table, where someone had probably died and someone would die again.
   I wasn't a teenager. I'd smoked as one, my father hated fags, he said that the only thing for men were cigars, fags were for Audrey Hepburn and pansies. So I smoked to spite him, two cigarettes a week, I never wanted to develop a bloody nicotine addiction, so I smoked two a week, one Friday afternoon, in the park with my mates, the day my father ritualistically went to a pub and came home smashed, one Saturday morning, in my backyard, the morning my mother would weep, having to care for my hungover father. I never smoked when my sister was around, I knew second hand smoke wasn't what her young lungs, six years younger than I was, needed. I'd quit once I went to uni, it was difficult, quitting, but I did. I was twenty-eight and it'd been ten years since I smoked, I bought the red and white pack yesterday at the shady gas station near the grocery store, I knew how stress relieving it was, smoking. I... I needed to get my head out of my arse, needed to quit reverting to old habits.

   Lacey, my ex-wife, she'd started smoking habitually, when the modeling agency picked her up. She'd crassly encourage me to do the same, I never did. I was smitten with her, partly because she was a somewhat intelligent, attractive woman, partly because my father would have hated her, she was smitten with me partly because she equated my sarcastic, deadpan commentary charmingly witty, partly because I was foreign, territory for her to explore. We were both smitten, we dated a bit, marriage seemed logical. Not loved fueled, logical, so we wed. I presumed that we couldn't make it through a career change because love faded.
   After I married Lavender, I loved Lavender, I'd known her four months and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, being with her was like sitting in front of a warm hearth, it was comforting, it wasn't like fireworks, with constant explosions, it was a lit fireplace cozy cabin during a frigid winter, I realized that I'd never loved Lacey. I'd lusted after her, she lusted after me, but it wasn't love.
   I stubbed the cigarette out, twisting it in the pile of ash, leaving it mostly unsmoked, as I ventured back into the hospital, towards the maternity wing's waiting room.

   There was a different type of love, a fatherly, parental love in my heart for Harrison and the twins. I'd created something, not something, life with a wonderful woman, there would always be another piece of me, a piece of Lavender, roaming the world, a piece of her I wanted to protect, a quilt, stitched with the best pieces of us, a quilt that'd grow and change, as we nurtured and loved it, we'd add scraps of fabric, we'd add the fabric, but the quilt would decide, in the end, what it'd look like.
   I watched the ten pm news, I tapped my foot, glanced at my watch, paced the room, until finally a doctor emerged, calling for Mr. Colton. I jumped up, exclaiming that that was me, I was Mr. Colton, I was Mr. Colton, how was my wife. I was told that Mrs. Colton and the baby were doing fine, she was still out from the anesthetic, they'd moved her back to a sterile room, but I couldn't see her yet, they'd monitor her for a few hours, then induce labor.
   Baby. Singular. There was only one baby, now.
   The pump twin.
   The pump twin's heart was strained, but it'd be fine. She'd be fine.
   Veronica Violet Colton. Three pounds, seven ounces. Forty-seven and a quarter centimeters- roughly seventeen inches. Premature, born at thirty weeks. She'd spend two weeks and three days in the neonatal intensive care unit, the NICU. Veronica was the pump twin, her heart was strained, but she was fine.
   Paisley Penelope Colton. The acardic twin.
   Bittersweet melancholy. Tragedy and ecstasy.

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Twenty One: North Yorkshire

   “The view’s gorgeous.” James commented, as I glanced out the window of his sister’s guest bedroom, to see the emerald green, expansive fields of North Yorkshire, that were dotted with pastel petals in full bloom and pine trees, growing towards the crystal blue sky.

   “It is.” I murmured. “I’m so glad that Poppy invited us to England.” Her invitation coincided with Veronica’s fourth birthday, a date that we traditional celebrated by having an intimate gathering with my parents, a few family friends who served as honorary aunties and uncles, and, per last year, a few friends that Veronica made while attending MENA’s preschool.

   At the party, we’d serve mozzarella string cheese, cinnamon apple sauce, and blueberry pancakes shaped like circus animals, the birthday girl’s three favorite foods, and James would grill ribs, corn, pineapple, onions, and peppers for those who considered the food pyramid to consist of more than three categories. After we served the main course, we’d have funfetti cake, a delicacy that I made with only the finest boxed cake mix available at the grocery store, bright, Pepto-Bismol pink strawberry ice cream, then Veronica and Harrison would run around with some of the other children, James and I would reflect on our year and we’d release butterflies by the apple tree we’d planted to commemorate Paisley Penelope, our darling daughter who was gone before she even greeted the world, the daughter I couldn’t think about without tearing up and eventually turning into a blubbering, incoherent mess- I had managed to come to peace with what happened, we did what we had to and if we hadn’t, we wouldn’t be holding a birthday in May, but instead a double memorial.

   “That wasn’t the view I meant.” He smiled feisty, taking me in his arms, kissing my forehead tenderly.

   “That’s the most clichéd line… You don’t even need lines.” I turned, pressing myself, my abs, against his chiseled, tan chest.

   “Never hurts to try them out, though.” His arms were tightly wrapped around me shoulders, I clung  to his hard muscular chest, and resting my head peacefully on his shoulder.

   We were basking in each other’s ambiance, creating each other’s warmth. He looked down at me, his eyes shining brightly, olive stars. He gave that quirky smile, that one he knew that I loved, the one that made me swoon. Caressing my supple cheek, he lifted my chin; our noses almost touching. I could feel the warmth of his breath brushing the top of her lip. I stared back into his hardened green eyes and moved up the last half inch so our lips could touch. Softly. Lovingly. That kiss; hard, but soft; fiery but cool; a split second but also forever. In that one kiss, I then knew what was behind that quirky smile, and it made my love for the man who I’d married almost eight years ago grow.

   “Mum! Da-" The door to the guest bedroom was thrown open by a brunette seven year old. “Dad, Auntie Poppy gave me a doctor toy set! And she gave Veronica a toy tool set! And she said that we’re going to the theme park right now, c’mon, we get to go right now.”

 “Okay, hold on, we’ll get there. Did you thank Poppy for the gift?”

   “Yes, dad.” He smiled, nearly bouncing up and down with exuberance. “And she let me give her a checkup. She said I’d be a good nurse or doctor, I could help people and get to answer questions about stuff.”

   “I’m sure you’d be a great doctor or nurse I James replied. “Now, a holiday wouldn’t be complete without a visit to the theme park, let’s go.”

   “Yes! Let’s go, let’s go.”

   We were greeted with the smell of fried, sugary dough, oil used to keep the machines in pristine condition, and the strong stench of perspiration, created by hordes of people congregating, waiting to ride the carousal, the roller coaster, and the Ferris wheel- the universal smells that signified that’d we’d arrived at the park.

   “Want to ride the coaster with me?” Poppy asked Harrison, who glanced towards the towering track hesitantly, then agreed.

 

   "That was quite entertaining!" Poppy exclaimed. "James you simply must ride it with Lavender."

   "I don't know, Veronica doesn't like being held by people she doesn't kn-"

   "Aun Pah-hee, Aun Pah-hee!" Veronica shouted, interrupting me, as she reached for her only aunt. "Hold me please."

   "She seems like she'll be alright, go, have fun."

   "I supposed we might as well." I replied, taking James' hand, as he led me to the coaster line.

   "I've been thinking..." I paused, climbing into the metal coaster cart. "I, I think we should start donating... I miss Paisley, I just, I keep thinking about how she and Veronica were identical, so she would have looked exactly the same, like imagine Veronica, but with a different future... I don't know, I just I've made peace, but I still miss her."

   "So do I darling, so do I."

   "I want to do something to commemorate her or help families who are going through what we are or cannot afford the procedures."

   "That sounds like a bloody brilliant idea, why don't we discuss it after the coaster?"

   "Alrig-" I was interrupted by the cart taking off.

   "Look, there's Veronica, she's ride the spring horse! Aww, she's so adorable."

   "She is, just like her mum."

   "Aww. Gods, I love you James." 

   We spent the rest of the day riding the rides, buying and eating over priced fried foods, and frolicking around, enjoying the family time. I had been a bit stressed, running MENA, James was doing remarkably well at the police station, he'd received multiple promotions and raises within the past year, however he was also working on more high profile, dangerous, strenuous cases that kept him away from home. We both needed some time away from home, away from Pittsburgh, away from the States so we could leave our worries behind and enjoy spending time with our beautiful family:

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Nineteen: Sleepiness, MENA, and Fatherhood

   "James?" I whispered, cautiously opening the door to our dimly lit bedroom, to see the collision of patterns- bright polka dotted duvets, blue and cream striped pajama pants, aquamarine paisley print wallpaper- and my darling husband, with our brunette, two year old son nestled beneath his arm. "Aww."
   "He said that he wanted to sleep with mama and daddy." James sleepily said, hie eyelids fluttering open. "How could I say no?"
   Harrison Hugo Colton, our gorgeous, inquisitive, twenty-eight month old who had my hair color, James' eyes and complexion, and we couldn't decide whose nose, was an angel when it came to bedtime. When I'd told my coworkers that I was going on maternity leave in March two years ago, there were four things I was told constantly: the twos were terrible, infant and toddler's sleep schedules were atrocious, and this was the best thing to have ever happened to me, ever, and I had to let them feel my bloated midsection. The first two things were positively false, Harrison was a little angel, who, when mama or daddy said let's go change into our pajamas, clean ourselves up, and read bedtime stories, would smile and dutifully totter after us.
   He was filled with such a whimsical curiosity, he'd see butterflies in the park and gleefully attempt to catch them, pondering why they could fly around, why they were such iridescent colors as he went, giggling. Every time he laughed, a melodic, musical vocalization that melted our hearts, I wanted to hold him tightly, telling him how much I loved him. James was even more of a puddle around our son, Harrison could look at him with the same wide, doe eyed expression that James so loving used on me to convince me that we did, indeed need to buy or do whatever he thought would be an excellent use of money or time, and James was following the tot's ever command- if he wanted to spend hours at the park or go to Grammy and Gramp's or have another piggie back ride, he'd receive it. We were financial stable, though not stable enough that James could buy the entire city, as he'd requested to do a multitude of times, so, as affectionate and doting as we were, we didn't spoil Harrison with tangible objects, we tried our best to reward him by getting to do something entertaining and educational with the family, though occasionally giving him some gummy bears and putting Caillou or Sesame Street on was an easier reward, since we were both working full time and were usually exhausted by the time the weekend rolled around.

  I'd discovered I was four months pregnant with him three Novembers ago, news I'd announced to James by buying a flush, yellow duck and tying a goldenrod ribbon around its neck, attaching the tiny envelope with the baby's sex scrawled on it in barely legible cursive. We hadn't been able to discover my pregnancy together, so I wanted to be sure that we learned whether we were going to have a bubbling, bouncing baby boy or girl simultaneously.

   "I got it!" I exclaimed, attempting to keep my exuberance hushed, as I laid down on the bed next to them. 

   "You got-? Congratulations, when do you start?"

   "The first day of school is the eleventh if September, I have to go in on the seventh through the tenth for some sort of mandatory training." I'd been offered a position at The Marguerite Elijah Nicolescu Academy of Liberal Arts, MENA, the interviewer told me it was nicknamed, was one of the most prestigious, rigorous private schools out of all of the ones that dotted Pittsburgh and its respective suburbs, as the Pre-Primary Admissions and Academics Department Head; I'd be over the two teachers who thought the preschool classes there, I'd make sure they were meeting their standards, that there was a proper balance of rigorous content that'd set the pupils up to be the top kindergarten class in the state and of artistic, entertaining crafts and playtime, since they were three and four yet olds and needed plenty of time to be creative and use some of their excessive energy, and I'd be on the preschool admissions board, along with the headmistress, the school's child psychologist, the academic department head for grades K through three, and one of the retired preschool teachers. 

   "Gods, this is so wonderful Lav, I know you'll do great."

   "And Harrison is practically guaranteed a slot in the preschool, since, as long as they can pass the entrance exam, which is just knowing the alphabet, colors, shapes, the basic counting numbers, animals, and knowing the continents, and he knows most of that, after that staff's children are all automatically accepted, he doesn't have to have his scores analyzed against the other kid's, he doesn't have to do the play group monitoring, or the ramble session." 
   The group play sessions is where they put your child with nine other randomly selected potential applicants and observed how they interacted with others, to make sure their social development was on track. The ramble session, formally named the Child Cognitive Interview, where the psychologist asked the kid a bunch of questions and listening to their responses.
   "They test the hell out of the kids..." He murmured sleepily, as I yawned.
   "It's just to get into preschool, then there's a performance evaluation to decide whether or not they should go to MENA for kindergarten. Fifty-five percent of the slots go to MENA preschoolers, twenty-five percent goes to kids who went to other preschools, twenty percent goes to those who didn't go to preschool and considering that they have four kindergarten classes, versus two preschool, pretty much all MENA kids continue their education. Besides, we still have a year before we have to worry about preschool for him."
   "I know, I just want to make sure he has the best..." He trailed off, as his eyes fluttered shut, a tired smile crossing his face.

Author's Note: This generation has lingered on a bit longer than I intended and I'm a bit anxious to wrap everything up and move onto generation two. That being said, we're approaching the last few chapters of the generation, so I'll be wrapping everything up and simultaneously leaving enough loose strings to set up generation two. I originally intended this to be the beginning part of a mega long chapter, however after I reread the original chapter nineteen, I felt as if was poorly constructed and didn't flow well, so I split it into two chapters, so if this chapter felt rather dull or you thought there wasn't enough pictures, I apologize!

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Eighteen: New

   "Moving furniture is exhausting." I grumbled , lying down on the expansive emerald green rug that we'd bought from the furniture store, to color coordinate with the drapes and the wallpaper, since I didn't feel like exerting the effort it would take to move to an armchair.
   "And to think, the furniture shop employees moved in everything new we'd bought, we only had to move the things from my old apartment that we'd put in storage and a few things from our old apartment." James chuckled, as he propped himself up on the sofa, his hand hanging down, as he attempted to tickle my nose. His mother had so graciously paid for our new two story, three bedrooms, two bathrooms, suburban, "We're getting our shat together"- or at least that's James described it; buying a family home, a career change, we were only twenty-five and he had still decided that we were the epitome of the average American newly wed couple who had inadvertently began nesting- home, allowing us to be more generous with our furniture budget, surprisingly we had to buy a lot of things, because we weren't in possession of anything fit for a guest bedroom or to fill a living room that wasn't also the dining room or a second bathroom, and my Etsy decoration budget.
   "Ehh, stop." I weakly protested, swatting his hand.
   "Not in the playful mood?" He teased, poking my arm. "C'mon."
   "Dammit, James!" Lately I'd been rather irritable, I tried my hardest to keep my promise to myself that I'd made two months ago, in September, however it was growing more difficult, I grew tired rather quickly, a downside that made running a classroom of five year olds especially difficult, and I'd been achy. I contributed it to my vigorous exercise regime, I was determined to lose the ten pounds that I'd somehow managed to gain. "I'm sorry." I tried softening my tone, I didn't want to have a row. He pulled him arm away from my face, standing up from the sofa.
   "Help you up?" He gestured for me to take his hand, which I did, as he pulled me up from the somewhat comfortable floor. "Can you believe it? We're officially homeowners. We should buy a dog, not that Skeddadles would appreciate that, we should buy an economical family car, hell, we should host Thanksgiving in three weeks."
   "Thanksgiving?" I hadn't ever pondered the idea of hosting the holiday dinner for my parents, whose home I usually went over to. "We haven't even experienced Thanksgiving together yet, maybe we shouldn't host it this year."
   "Christmas Eve will mark our one year anniversary!" His eyes lit up, as he giddily smiled. "We've known each other for almost a year, that deserves celebrating, as does having our home furnished, I think there's wine in the kitchen, I'll go check." He kissed me tenderly on the forehead, before leaving to get the wine.

   Instead of waiting for him, I meandered towards the bathroom, a location I'd been visiting more ever since my bladder had decided that it wanted to become the size of an olive. I opened the door, pausing to look at my profile in the mirror that hung over the sink.

   The weight I'd gained, instead of being muscle weight, had gone straight to my bloated stomach, tragically. I wasn't one to obsess over my weight, I knew that I was perfectly healthy and that muscle weighed more than fat, so I shouldn't obsess over the number, especially when I still looked lean, the exception, though, was when I started gaining weight for no apparent reason. It bothered me, not knowing what was going on with my body, fortunately I had my yearly physical with our family doctor tomorrow, an event I had to take off the first half of work for, so I could voice my concerns to her.
   "She'll know what's going on." I murmured to myself, patting my stomach.
   "Did you say something, Lavender?" I heard James ask, as he knocked on the bathroom door. Did I mention how I had gained weight? He might think that I was baiting him, that it was a trick, despite it not being one.
   "Uh, well," I opened the door, to see him holding two green bottles of beer. "My shirt's a bit tight and I was pondering why."

   "Probably muscle, you're so strong, you could probably take me out." He chuckled, setting the bottles on the edge of the sink. "You look ace."
   "Endearing, thank you, but I'm not sure that's it."
   "Your knockers." He nonchalantly replied, a fruity- frisky- grin appeared on his face, as his eyes lingered on my chest. "You've gone from a B to a solid C. I have to say, whatever you're doing, I fancy it, especially when you say tight tops make 'em sore, so you go without and then I might give you a massage."
   "Perhaps you could give me a massage now, we do need to Christen the house."
   "Really?" He exclaimed, raising an eyebrow. I nodded, understanding his perplexity. My emotions had gone from me being an overly emotional, teary mess, to me being in a mood where, if anyone touched me, I wanted to roughly touch, or slam, depending on your perspective, my fist to their face, to me being in a yes-I-know-we-are-in-Trader-Joe's-but-hell-I'm-horny-let's-go-do-it-in-the-restroom-or-the-car mood, usually I experienced all three within forty-eight hours. He began snogging me affectionately, moving from my lips, to my chin, nibbling at my neck, as his hands played with the hem of my tank top. "You're so beautiful."
   Frustration, along with another feeling that was in my abdomen, being growing in my mind. He was so muscular, his skin soft, supple a thin blue t-shirt was stretched across his bulging biceps, I could feel his abs against my stomach, through the measly cotton.
   "No foreplay..." I whispered, taking off my tank top in one solid motion, tossing it onto the tile, where the rest of our garments would join it.

♢ ♢ ♢

 

  
   "Mrs. Colton, you're in excellent physical health; your blood pressure and heart rate are normal, your routine blood test didn't show signs of anything out of the ordinary, however we don't have any records of you visiting another physician for your pregnancy-"
   "Pardon?!" I exclaimed, glancing at Dr. Havar, my doctor. "Are you sure that you didn't mix up my blood samples with someone else? I'm not pregnant."
    "Mrs. Colton, your blood tests show that you are. Your symptoms, fatigue, nausea, the aches and pains, the weight gain, the mood swings, they can all be explained by your pregnancy. Now, we have excellent pre-natal care on site, I'm sure that they can fit you in after this appointment, would you like me to check?"

   "I'm... I'm pregnant?" It was... It was completely possible, considering how, ehem, active James and I were, however I never really considered the possibility. We'd never discussed having children, we just presumed, since we were both a bit embarrassingly reckless when it came to anything that had a vague connection to pregnancy prevention, it would happen one day, still I was a bit taken aback.
   "It can be a very big shock, would you like time to process it?" I nodded slowly, leaning on the bench. I was going to be a mother... James was going to be a father! Should I call him? Should I wait to tell him? Should I do this or that or, hell this was wonderful news, James and I didn't move to the burbs because we were tired of city life, we were nesting. He'd be overjoyed, I was calling him. I clutched my phone in my hand, quickly pressing his name. The phone rang and rang, until finally I heard his voice saying he was too busy to get to the phone right now, please leave a message.

   "James, I, uh, I'm at my doctor's appointment and..." Dammit. I couldn't tell him the news in a message. "And, and I'm healthy." The fetus- hell, I drank beer yesterday night and I went out with Sandi to celebrate her engagement and we did tequila shots and, oh gods, what if the fetus wasn't okay because I drank? I didn't drink excessively, but still for a pregnancy, oh gods, oh gods... My hearty began beating faster, what if it, he, she, was deformed or had health problems? I ate sushi and had an irregular sleep schedule and, oh gods. "Um, anyway, yeah. All I wanted to say. G'bye." I hung up, my joy being replaced with intense apprehension. Oh gods.

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