The day my twins are born, I wake up feeling awful. I can’t get out of bed without Poet’s help. For the first time in my pregnancy, I’m truly fucking nauseous. I sit on the toilet, thinking I’ll puke and crap. Bianca Bella makes me tea to settle my stomach. Poet runs me a bath when I complain about my back hurting. Neither helps me feel better. Candy calls the doctor’s office, and they suggest I head to the hospital to get checked out.

I don’t panic, though. This is my third visit to the hospital’s delivery ward in my eighth month. Each time I start contractions, I’m given meds to stop them and sent home. This time around, I’m not even contracting, so I expect to be tossed out within a few hours.

Instead, I find myself balled forward; remaining very still while an anesthesiologist pokes my spine for an epidural. Today is the day for Poet and me to meet our babies face-to-face.

“I’m excited,” I tell Poet as he slips on the medical gown to prepare for the operating room. “I really want to see their faces. Do you want to see their faces?”

Poet gives me one of his great smiles and takes my hand. “Yeah, Cricket, I want to see them. Hold them too. We’ll take them home and sit together, each with a baby in our arms.”

“Are you sure about their names? I could be crazy to like Minnow. We can change them.”

“I already think of our babies as Minnow and Murphy. Those are their names.”

Exhaling softly, I focus on the doctor’s words about how I soon won’t feel anything from the chest down. He tells me he’ll be at my side in case I need more medication. Everything is fine. All is well in the world, and not just because the scary giant man is watching him right now.

Candy gives me a hug before I’m wheeled into the operating room. “I love you so much,” she whispers.

Hayes hugs me next and whispers, “If these doctors fuck with you, I will end them.”

Bianca Bella pushes past my dad to take my hand. She opens her mouth twice to say something and then clamps it shut. Turning to Hayes, she looks ready to cry, so the big bastard wraps an arm around her shoulders and walks her out the door. Candy follows them after a little wave.

Before following our parents, Cap shuffles over to the bed and gives me an awkward smile. “I hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”

“You and me both,” I say, squeezing his hand.

It seems only a minute passes between his words of comfort and the nurse pushing my bed toward the operating room. Behind me, Poet and Chipper follow. I remain calm, knowing even with this unplanned delivery, I’m surrounded by professionals along with armed men. Nothing to be worried about, I’m sure.

In the operating room, Poet sits next to me so he can keep me calm. Chipper stands farther back, videotaping me until he has cute babies to film. The anesthesiologist sits near my head, checking vitals and other crap I don’t care about. He attempts to be comforting, but I want to focus on Poet and think happy thoughts.

What doesn’t make me happy is how I can’t wiggle my toes. If an emergency, I’d be helpless. I can’t run or fight. I’m a defenseless lump.

Now only focused on how my body no longer responds to commands, I can’t think of a single happy thought in the entire fucking world. My breathing increases as I jump headfirst into batshit crazy mode.

“I need to get up,” I tell Poet who caresses my hand tenderly. Not immediately getting my wish, I turn my head to Chipper. “Help me get out of here. I need to get away.”

“Chill,” Chipper whispers. “You’re making a scene.”

I know on some level he’s trying to be funny to calm me, but I’m too panicked to give a shit. Nausea follows the panic, and I mumble how I’m about to puke. A nurse holds a small, plastic container next to my mouth while I puke up water since I haven’t eaten since midnight.

“Chipper, give me your gun,” I whisper once the dry heaves end. “I need to get out of here.”

My brother looks at Poet who only holds my hand. Before I can freak out any further, the anesthesiologist injects a drug into my IV.

“I have to get out of here,” I beg Poet.

“Cricket,” the anesthesiologist says behind my head. “Count down from ten, and you should feel calmer.”

“I’m not doing an impression of the fucking Count from ‘Sesame Street,’ you...” The medicine slithers through my veins, stealing away the panic and nausea until I’m chiller than a bottle of cheap shelf tequila can provide. “Did you watch that show when you were little?” I ask Poet who still holds my hand.

“Yeah, lovey, I did. Our babies will too when they're older.”

“You look so silly with that bouffant cap on your head,” I giggle. “Bouffant is such a weird word, isn’t it?”

Poet smiles at my drugged tranquility. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

“You’re a good man,” I say before turning to Chipper. “Come closer, brother. I need to talk to you.”

Chipper stops filming long enough to bend down, so our faces are inches apart.

“Promise you’ll watch Poet’s back if something happens to me. Don’t let anyone hurt him or push him around. Help him take care of the babies, and, Chipper, this is most important,” I say, wanting him closer. “If I die, he’ll take them to West Virginia and raise them there, and you need to visit all the time. Visit so much that they’ll grow up knowing the proper use of the ‘F’ word. Please promise you won’t let my babies grow up saying ‘frick.’”

“I promise, Cricket, now just be cool and let them shiv these babies free of your oven so I can get some solid pics for Mom and Hayes.”

“Okay, you take those pictures, and Bianca Bella will put them in my frame.”

Feeling like the operation happens a million miles away, I smile at Poet and admire his handsome face framed by the goofy bouffant. He never takes his eyes off me. Not once. Even when the first baby cries and Chipper announces it’s covered in oven goo. I can’t stop smiling at my man. His eyes shine with warmth in the sterile room. I can’t imagine loving another man and know I’ve found my one chance at lifelong romance with this perfect creature.

When a baby cries again, somewhere in my brain, I recognize the sound belongs to another baby.

“Are they done?” I ask. “Are our babies out?”

“Yep,” Chipper answers even though I asked Poet. “I see two. One with a really big ball sack and one with no ball sack. Minnow and Murphy are here.”

“Who came out first?” I babble, still focused on Poet.

“Ball sack.”

“Really?” I mumble. “I assumed the girl would take charge and free herself first.”

“I think the girl got some of your drugs because she’s super chill. The boy looks pissed. He might want to go back inside.”

Poet snorts before regaining his composure. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’m drugged and paralyzed in a room full of strangers, my two favorite men, and my babies. So, I’m okay, but I’ve been better.”

“You look beautiful.”

“I know. I can see myself in your eyes.”

Poet doesn’t want to frown, but he can’t help it. I probably sound insane. I feel a little insane, but I’m also excited because soon I’ll see my babies in non-womb/mutant form.

Chipper disappears for a few minutes to film his niece and nephew. I don’t see him go, but I feel the emptiness behind me when he’s gone. I don’t worry. Poet will protect me. It’s what I couldn’t see when I panicked earlier. He’s in charge of the room, keeping watch over me and the babies.

Never have I trusted anyone more.