POETRY
Alternative Trust
Emma’s Miracle Twins
“Did this ever mean anything to you?” Owen said, turning his attention to Emma. “I would love to get pregnant.”
“I can’t,” Emma said. She reached for her phone, pressed mute on the large TV, unlocked her screen, and scrolled to an app. Alternative music played on her phone. She folded her arms and sank into the chair, her gaze straight ahead.
“I should have seen this coming,” Owen murmured, his hands finding solace on either side of the window seal. His eyes fixated on the meticulously mowed lawn, a sight that used to bring him joy. The workers, like ants, were erecting a tall pine fence around the backyard, a barrier to shield their business from prying eyes. Once a hub of laughter and shared dreams, the oak deck now housed a barbecuer and a mahogany picnic table with an umbrella, a futile attempt to shield the bright rays of their fading happiness.
A sprinkler dutifully nourished the grass on a set timer; its rhythmic spray echoed the regularity of their lives. But their souls, like the parched earth, yearned for a cleansing rinse of trust, a trust that had been eroded over time.
Owen arched a brow. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Emma snapped, her voice laced with a hint of sadness. She ran her fingers through her long, red hair, a nervous habit she had developed over the years.
“It’s just that you don’t like alternative music.”
“People change.”
“Since when?”
“Since getting pregnant.”
“Oh, you would tie this…” Owen paused. “What did you say?”
Emma laughed and brushed away tears with her sleeves. “I’m already pregnant, idiot.”
Owen’s eyes widened In shock, his mouth frozen open as though it’d just come unglued. “What?” he managed to utter, his voice barely a whisper.
“We can’t get pregnant because we already are.”
“But you said — ”
“You heard what you wanted to hear.”
Owen sat beside Emma and threw his arm over her shoulder. The maroon walls with brown trim meshed well with the future-framed pictures on the wall, and the hardwood floor reminded Emma of what she wanted as a child. She wondered what her children would want out of life.
Owen rubbed her back and kissed her forehead.
Emma lifted her hand and pointed at the walls. “We’ll fill this place with more than fake smiles.”
“Smiles?” Owen’s heart thumped in his chest.
Emma nodded, still wiping tears with her sleeve. “We’re having twins.” Emma cupped his cheeks and kissed him. “Trust me.”
“I trust us together forever.”
“That’s more like it,” Emma said, embracing him through life.
(© 2024 AC.)
(Amazon Kindle, Spillwords, The Writers Club)
Other posts at The Poetry Club
