Angry God (All Saints High 3)

“Yes?”

“What if I suck as a dad? I mean, I know you’re one-hundred percent going to save the situation, but what if I won’t be enough?”

“Do you love me?” I ask him.

“To death,” he says. “And that’s not just a figure of speech, although I’d appreciate it greatly if you don’t test me on the matter.”

I already did, I want to tell him. And you chose not to kill someone, because of me.

But that’s not a conversation we have too often.

“Then you’re going to love this baby twice, if not thrice as much. You’re an amazing husband. Why wouldn’t you make a fantastic father?”

We smile at each other, and the doctor walks in—the same one who delivered Vaughn, actually. I lie back and allow her to squirt ice-cold gel onto my stomach. My stomach is poking out a little more than usual for how far along I am, but Emilia says it’s because I’m tiny, so everything shows. Emilia is a bit like the mother figure Poppy and I needed after Mum died, and I would let that frighten me if it wasn’t for the fact that my happiness is too raw, too real to let the past upset me.

The doctor watches the monitor and moves the transducer around my belly. We all stare at the screen expectantly. Vaughn is holding my hand.

“How old are you again?” she asks, as a way of making small talk.

“Twenty-one-ish,” Vaughn answers on my behalf when he realizes I’m too stunned with joy and pride.

I can feel his foot tapping on the floor. He is nervous, but happy.

“Why?” he asks suspiciously.

“How well do you deal with lack of sleep?”

Vaughn and I exchange amused looks.

“Quite well. We’re not heavy sleepers. Besides, Vaughn’s mother is going to help us a lot, and I’m taking a year off after the baby is born,” I answer cheerfully, recovering from the initial shock. I can’t understand anything I’m seeing on the screen, anyway.

“Babies.” The OB-GYN turns around and grins at me.

I blink at her. “Pardon?”

“When the babies arrive. Mrs. Astalis-Spencer, you’re having twins. I’ll take your mother-in-law’s help and up you two part-time nannies.”

I open my mouth to say something—although I really don’t know what there is to say; we don’t have a history of twins in my family, and neither does Vaughn—when my husband scoops me up in the air and kisses me in front of the doctor.

I laugh breathlessly as he puts me down, showering me with little kisses. He looks elated. Fantastically happy. The happiest I’ve seen him.

“Scared yet?” I smirk at him.

“With you by my side?” He grins. “Never.”

THE END