Otter and I had been speechless before we both nodded, stumbling over ourselves in trying to reassure her.

“Like, Twilight books?” I’d asked her before glancing at Otter. “Is that what girls read these days? Twilight?”

“I think so,” Otter said. “But aren’t they supposed to be terrible?”

“I think most of the stuff for teenage girls is supposed to be terrible.”

“We’ll buy you Twilight tomorrow,” Otter told her.

“Oh my god,” she moaned, her face in her hands.

Otter and I high-fived, because we were already so damn good at the parenting thing.

But she must have still been exhausted, because she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow. I didn’t know—well, I didn’t know anything about her, not really, so I fretted for a moment about whether or not to shut the door or leave the hall light on in case she needed it.

I kept the light on and left the door open a crack.

So it’s quiet now. The Green Monstrosity is creaking, as it always does, and Otter’s finishing up in the kitchen. I’m on the couch, trying to think about everything tomorrow will bring.

I jump when Otter’s hand runs through my hair. He’s standing behind the couch, and I tilt my head to look back at him.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey, yourself,” I say back.

“You look like you’re a little lost in your head again.” He knows me.

I shrug. “It’s… a lot.”

“Today?”

“Yeah.”

“I know. Tell you what. All of that will still be here tomorrow, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So let’s just say, for tonight, we focus on just the good. And then we can worry about the rest tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if it really works like that.”

He traces the shell of my ear with a finger. “Probably not. But let’s do it anyway.”

I take a deep breath and let it out slow. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

He cups my face, fingers pressing along my jaw as he leans down and kisses me, his nose scraping my chin. He’s warm and tastes like the beer he drank. It’s good. Everything about him is good. “Twins,” he says against my lips. “We’re having twins.”

I smile, and even though it makes the kiss awkward, I don’t care. “Twins.”

“Thank you.”

“For?”

“Your super sperm.”

I laugh, and he kisses my chin and my cheeks and my forehead. “Thank you,” he says again, and it’s fiercely whispered against me, like it’s a secret. Like it’s a prayer. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Life can turn on a dime.

But if you’ve got someone at your side, someone who holds you up when your knees go weak, someone who kisses you every time like it’s the first time, there’s a chance you’ll make it.

I’ve got this.

Whatever might come, I’ve got this.

Because he’s by my side.