"It's a boy," Mr. Smith confirmed.

Then I heard my son's first plaintive note in the world. His voice was hoarse, as if he had been crying in the womb for hours. My arms ached to hold him. "I want to see him," I said through sobs.

"Just one moment," my doctor said. "We have to cut the cord… Ethan, do you want do the honors?"

"May I?" Ethan asked me.

I nodded and cried harder. "Of course you can."

Ethan took the big metal scissors from my midwife and carefully snipped the cord. Then my doctor tied it and briefly examined my baby before bundling him in a blanket and resting him on my chest. I shifted his head over my heart, and he instantly quieted while I continued to sob. I gazed down at his angelic face, taking in every detail. The curve of his cheeks, his tiny but still full lips, the dimple in his left cheek. Strangely enough, he looked an awful lot like Ethan.

"He's perfect. Isn't he perfect?" I asked everyone and no one.

Ethan rested his hand gently on my shoulder and said, "Yes. He is perfect."

I consciously savored the moment, deciding that everything I had ever read, seen, and heard about childbirth paled in comparison to what I was actually feeling.

"What's his name?" Ethan asked.

I studied my son's face, searching for the answer. My earlier flamboyant choices-names like Romeo and Enzo-seemed ridiculous and utterly wrong. His name suddenly came to me. "John," I said. "His name is John." I was certain that he would live up to the straightforward but strong name. He was going to make a wonderful John.

That's when Mr. Smith reminded me that I had more work to do, and my midwife scooped up John and handed him to a nurse. I tried to keep my eyes on my firstborn, but a fresh wave of pain enveloped me. I closed my eyes and moaned. The epidural seemed to be wearing off. I begged for another dose. My doctor told me no, offering some explanation I couldn't begin to focus on. Ethan kept repeating that I could do it.

Several minutes of agony later, I heard another wail. John's brother was born seconds after midnight. Identical twins with their own, separate birthdays. Although I knew the babies were identical, I was no less eager to see my second born. Ethan cut the umbilical cord, and my midwife swaddled the baby and handed him to me. Through more tears, I instantly surmised that this baby shared his brother's features, but his were slightly more defined. He was also a bit smaller, with slightly more hair. He wore a determined expression that struck me as amusing on such a tiny, new baby. Again, his name just came to me.

"You are Thomas," I whispered down at him. He opened one eye and peeped at me with apparent approval.

"May I hold them both together?" I asked my doctor.

He nodded and brought John back to my chest.

Ethan asked me if I had settled on middle names. I thought of Ethan's middle name, Noel, and decided that each of my sons should have a part of the best man I knew.

"Yes," I said. "Their names are John Noel and Thomas Ethan."

Ethan took a breath, blinking back tears. "I'm so… honored," he said, looking both surprised and touched. Then he leaned down to embrace us. "I love you, Darcy," he whispered in my ear. "I love all three of you."

thirty-two

For the next twenty-four hours, I had no sense of day or night. It was just a blur of time with John and Thomas. Ethan never left my side, unless on a specific mission for peanut butter crackers from the vending machine, painkillers from the nurses, or booties from the gift shop in the lobby of the hospital. He slept on a cot next to my bed, helped me to the bathroom, and snapped roll after roll of black-and-white film.

Ethan also saw to it that I phoned my mother. When I balked, saying I was too exhausted and hormonal to deal with her, he dialed my home number on his mobile and said, "Here. You'll regret it if you don't do this."

I took his phone just as my mother answered.

"Hi, Mom. It's me," I said, feeling defeated before the conversation even began.

"Hello, Darcy." Her voice was as formal and stiff as it had been on Christmas Eve.

I refused to be hurt and instead swiftly delivered my news. "I had my babies, Mom." Before she could respond, I covered the basics, giving her their full names, as well as their weights, lengths, and times of birth.

Then I said, "Can you believe it, Mom? Twins born on separate days?" I looked down at John, sleeping on my chest, and then over at Thomas, whom Ethan was holding.

My mother asked me to repeat everything so she could write it down. I did, and then she said, "Congratulations, honey." A softness crept into her voice.

"Thanks, Mom," I said, as Ethan prompted me to share the smaller, but in many ways more important, details. "Tell her how John cries more than Thomas and has a birthmark in the shape of Italy on his knee. Tell her how Thomas peeps at you with one eye," he whispered.

I followed his lead, and although it could have gone either way, my mother chose to be satisfying, nearly joyful.

"I can't stand the thought of you being alone," my mother said in a nurturing and repentant tone.

"Thank you, Mom. That means so much to me… But I'm not alone. I'm with Ethan," I said, not to be contrary, but because I wanted her to understand Ethan's importance in my life.

Ethan smiled as he repositioned Thomas in his arms and then kissed the top of his fuzzy head.

"Still. There is no substitute for a mother," she said firmly.

"I know, Mom," I said, feeling moved by the truth of her statement.

"So I'll come visit as soon as I can… In early June. As soon as we get through Jeremy and Lauren's wedding."

"Okay, Mom," I said. "That would be really great. Thank you."

"And Darcy?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm so proud of you."

I basked in her words. "Thanks, Mom."

"I love you, honey," she continued, her voice cracking.

"I love you too, Mom. And tell Dad and Jeremy and Lauren I love them. I'm really sorry I won't be able to come to their wedding."

"Jeremy understands," she said. "We all do."

As we said good-bye, I found myself pondering what Thomas and John's birth meant in the larger scheme of things, in the fabric of our family. I had created a new generation. The responsibility of it was awesome. My eyes filled with tears for what felt like the hundredth time since I had arrived at the hospital.

"This postpartum thing is no joke," I said to Ethan as I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my nightgown.

Ethan brought Thomas over to me, and the four of us crowded into bed together. "Is she coming to visit us?" he asked.

The us was not lost on me. I smiled and said, "Yeah. After Jeremy's wedding."

"How do you feel about seeing her?" he asked.

"I can't wait, actually," I said, surprised by how much I wanted to share John and Thomas with her.

Ethan nodded and then glanced at me sideways. "Any other calls you want to make?"

I could tell that he was thinking of Rachel so I said her name as a question, the two syllables lingering in the room, sounding both comforting and menacing at once.

"Well?" he asked. "What do you think?"

"As a matter of fact, I think I will call her," I said resolutely. "And then Annalise. And then Meg and Charlotte."

It was the right order.

"Are you sure you want to talk to Rachel?" he asked.

I nodded. I couldn't put it into words, but in some inexplicable way, I felt compelled to forge an official truce with my ex-best friend. No matter what had happened in the past, or what the future held for us, I wanted Rachel to hear the news of Thomas and John's birth from me. So I dialed her number on Ethan's mobile before I could change my mind. As I listened to her phone ring, I couldn't decide whether I wanted her to answer or for her machine to pick up.

I got the one thing I hadn't banked on.

"Hell-o" Dex said cheerily.

I panicked, gave Ethan a wide-eyed look of horror, and frantically mouthed, "Dex!"

He grimaced empathetically and then made a motivating fist in the air and whispered, "Go on. Do it. Ask to speak to Rachel."

So I did, gathering strength by glancing down at John, who was making a soft, sucking noise in his sleep. Dex was ancient history. Literally two lifetimes ago.

I took a deep breath and said, "Hi, Dex. It's Darcy. Is Rachel there?"

"Hello, Darcy," Dex said formally. Then he paused as if he were some kind of gatekeeper, suspecting trouble from abroad. "Rachel's right here," he finally said.

There was another long pause, and a rustling on the line. I pictured him covering the phone and coaching her, saying something like, "Don't let her suck you into a conflict."

I thought back to the last time I had seen Dex, in our old apartment, and felt ashamed of the stunt I had tried to pull. I guess my reputation was deserved, and I couldn't blame him for being wary of me now.

"Hi, Darcy," Rachel said timidly, her voice crackling over the distance. It was a voice I had heard nearly every day for twenty-five years, and I felt amazed at how it could now sound both familiar and utterly foreign.

"Hi, Rachel… I had something-I wanted to tell you something," I babbled as my heart raced. "I had my babies last night. Two boys."

"Congratulations, Darcy," she said. Her voice was warm and sincere. "I'm so happy for you."

"Thank you," I said.

"What are their names?" she asked tentatively.