I waited for her to ask how I was, whether I was still in London. When she didn't, I offered it up awkwardly. "I'm still here in London… You got my note, right?"
She said that she already knew I was in London, even before receiving the note, as she had run into Annalise's mother at the mall. She added that it had been embarrassing to hear of my whereabouts from someone else, which I thought was a petty point to raise given the fact that I had written her a note, and that I had been the one to phone her first. But I didn't let this deter me from telling her how sorry I was for disappointing her. I told her that it was understandable how shocked she had been upon my news. That no mother would want her daughter to get pregnant so fast on the heels of a broken engagement to another man. I also told her that she was right about Marcus. "He was a big jerk, Mom. I'm not with him at all anymore. I see now that you just wanted what was best for me."
Ethan squeezed my hand and nodded, as if to say, "Keep going. You're doing great."
I swallowed, took a deep breath, and said, "So anyway, I had an ultrasound here in London… and I found out what I'm having."
"A girl?"
"No. Not a girl. I thought it would be a girl too. But it's not a girl."
"So a boy then? That's great," she said emotionlessly.
"Well, yes. But… it's actually… two boys. I'm having twins. Identical twin boys! Isn't that just the most craziest thing ever?"
In my mind, I could hear Rachel instructing me that it's either "the craziest" or "the most crazy"—not "the most craziest." But this seemed an appropriate time to break the grammar rule. To me, having twin boys was the most craziest. "Can you believe that, Mom?"
I braced myself for the worst, but it didn't hurt any less when I got just that. She did not congratulate me. She did not ask about names. She did not ask how I was feeling. She did not say that she was happy for me. She only asked how in the world I was going to manage twins. Tears stung my eyes as I calmly reassured her that I intended to make things work in London. I told her that I was looking for a job and was sure something would turn up. I told her of our plans to fix up a nursery in Ethan's fiat, smiling at him gratefully. I told her how much I loved London, rain and all. Then I wished her a merry Christmas and told her that I loved her. I told her to tell my dad and Jeremy, and even Lauren, that I loved them, and that I'd be sure to call again soon. She said she loved me, too, but she said so briskly, with no warmth at all.
When I hung up, I lowered my head into my hands and cried. Ethan stroked my hair and said softly, "You did good, Darce. You did the right thing by calling her. I'm proud of you."
"I shouldn't have called. She was awful!"
"Yes. You should have… Don't let her get you down. You can only control your own actions. Not other people's reactions."
I blew my nose and said, "I can't help feeling this way. She's my mother."
"Parents often let you down," he said. "You'll just have to do a better job being a mother to your boys. I know you will."
"How do you know that?"
"Because, Darce, you've shown your true colors lately."
I blew my nose again. "What do you mean by 'true colors'?"
"I mean… you are a good person." Ethan touched my arm gently. "A strong person. And you're going to make a wonderful mother."
Over the years, I had received endless compliments and ego-stroking words from countless men. You're beautiful. You're sexy. You're incredible. I want you. Marry me. But this sentiment from Ethan was the nicest thing I had ever heard from a man. I put my head on his shoulder, basking in it.
"I'm going to try, Ethan. I'm really going to try."
The next morning Ethan and I awoke and sleepily wished each other "Merry Christmas."
"What are we going to do today?" I asked him.
"We're gonna chef it up," Ethan answered joyously.
We had gone grocery-shopping two days earlier, and his small English refrigerator was packed to the gills with all of our ingredients.
"What else?"
"Cooking Christmas dinner will take most of the day," he said.
I asked if he wished we had waited to open our gifts. I knew that Christmas wasn't about presents, but there is always a bit of a letdown when that part of the holidays has passed. Although, for once, I had enjoyed giving more than receiving.
Ethan said he preferred opening gifts on Christmas Eve, and then said, "I could give you something else though…"
I looked at him, and I think my face registered surprise. Was it my imagination or was his tone suggestive? Was Ethan coming on to me? Before I could answer, he continued innocently, "How about a poem?"
"Oh. Yeah. Sure," I said, feeling relieved that I hadn't responded inappropriately and embarrassed myself. "What's the title of this poem?"
He thought for a second and then said, " 'Hot Mama.' " I smiled and told him to go on, remembering his funny impromptu rhymes in high school. He cleared his throat and started rapping, inserting little rhythmic sputters and head bobbing along the way:
You're one hot mama in your sexy gown.
The cutest little prefers girl in town.