Baby Come Back (26 page)

             
“Hey, sweetie,” I said, taking him from Tristan.  “Are you ready for lunch?”

             
“Yep,” he said, nodding his head up and down.  “Peanut butter and jelly.”

             
“Coming right up; Tristan, do you want the same?”

             
“Sounds good, babe; I just want to take a peek at the girls first.”

             
“If you wake them, you walk them,” I warned.

             
Tristan was a magnificent father; he had been with Reese and he continued to be with our twin babies.  They were identical twins, but Tristan and I could tell them apart at about 1 week of age.

             
Hannah was six minutes older than Sarah.  She had a quieter, less demanding nature about her.  She was laid back - like Tristan.  Sarah was impatient and demanding when she was hungry or needed changing.  Her crying was louder; her sucking her fingers when she was hungry was louder, and her burps were louder.  Tristan claimed she was the carbon copy of me.

             
Tristan and I had both been ecstatic when we learned I was expecting twins.  My pregnancy had gone without a hitch.  I had delivered them by C-section at my doctor’s recommendation.  It was a much smoother delivery than with Reese since it was scheduled.  My recovery actually went faster as well.

             
Tristan and I had worked together to complete the expansion of the winery last year; it was doing quite well.  As promised, I handled the operations; Tristan handled the marketing and distribution.  It wasn’t the same as when we had operated the club in Atlanta together. We actually spent more time apart.  Tristan traveled both locally and along the east coast and mid-west regions to expand our markets.  He made it a point not to be gone for more than five days per month.  He took his parenting responsibilities very seriously.

             
Our home had been built and I loved it.  Tristan had designed the floor plan to accommodate the planned expansion of our family.  He had done it quite well.  The house was a sprawling, U-shaped ranch.  It had four bedrooms and three full baths.  Having two daughters now, I knew that having so many bathrooms was a good idea.  Our house sat on two acres; we had put an in-ground swimming pool in last summer.

             
Trey and Tylar had spent a week with us then.  Tylar and I talked a couple of times a week by phone; I missed seeing her as often as I used to, but most holidays were still spent in Bristol with the Sinclair family.  Tylar’s baby girl, Avery, had turned a year old during their visit here.  She was adorable; she reminded me so much of Tylar, with her beautiful brown eyes and lighter hair color than Preston.

             
Preston was still the picture of Trey; Tylar tried to convince everyone that she had her personality though.  I didn’t see that at all.  Preston was a carbon copy of Trey both in looks and personality, but I loved her anyway.  Avery was the picture of Tylar both in looks and personality; there was something about her that was almost ‘angelic’ not that I would ever have classified Tylar as being that.  It was difficult to explain.

             
Tristan’s cousin, Brenda, was engaged to Judge Tylar.  The wedding was planned some time later this year, according to Tylar.  Everyone was thrilled about it. 

             
Tristan and I had experienced no problem in finding a buyer for the club; as it happened, Ian and Libby bought it from us.  They had been living together for a while, and apparently their partnership was working out.  Of course, they had remodeled it and given it a new name for their grand re-opening.  They named the club ‘Hardtail.’  It was definitely fitting with the black leather décor it now boasted.  Tylar and Trey had gone to the opening.  She had phoned me the following day laughing hysterically at the new décor and image they were going for with it.  She said that the tables all had motorcycle parts adorning the pedestal base; the bar stools were Harley seats.  Whatever works, I thought.  I hoped that Ian had finally found happiness, even if it was with Libby.

             
I got Reese down for his nap in late afternoon.  The babies had been up; Tristan and I bathed and fed them.  Tristan said that he would keep watch on the babies while I showered and dressed for our evening out.

             
Susan and Clive arrived a little after six.  Susan immediately went to Reese, fussing over him as always.  I guess being the first grandson came with perks.

             
Tristan and I went to Morelli’s.  I had fallen in love with the restaurant since first going there with Tristan to meet Ty’s father a few Thanksgivings ago.  I think it was the one where I had punched Caroline out.  Thank God that bitch no longer showed up at the Sinclair family gatherings.

             
Carmelita greeted us as semi-regulars when we got there.  She always asked us about Tylar and Trey; this time was no different.  We filled her in on the latest.  I actually hadn’t talked to Tylar for a couple of weeks.  She probably figured I was up to my eyebrows in dirty diapers and spit up - which was the truth.  I made a mental note to call her the following day.

             
Tristan and I enjoyed our nice, quiet, romantic dinner.  I was looking forward to spending more time with him once we got back home.  Hopefully, all the babies would be down for the night - or most of it anyway.  The twins were good for a four hour chunk of sleep.  I had asked Susan and Clive to try and keep them awake until 8 p.m. if possible.

             
After dinner, Tristan and I drove back to our house. We sat outside for a while in our gazebo and enjoyed the moonlit evening. It was so quiet in the country; I had grown to appreciate that over the loud and constant sounds of the city.  Spring was breaking and it was a beautiful, starlit night.

             
“What are you thinking about, Gina?”

             
“I’m just thinking how much I love it here; how much I love my life; how lucky I am.”

             
Tristan was sitting next to me; his arm was wrapped around my shoulders, he pulled me close against him.

             
“I was thinking the same thing,” he said, tilting my chin upward gently with his fingers, lowering his lips to mine.

             
“I love you, Mrs. Sinclair,” he whispered to me.  “I want to make love to you.”

             
“Here?  Now?”

             
Tristan chuckled, “If I thought Mom and Dad wouldn’t be looking out the window to see what had delayed us since driving up a few minutes ago, I would definitely take you right here and now.”

             
Tristan could still make me tingle when he said things like that.  Our intimacy and sex life still sparked on a daily basis. Neither time nor children had changed any of it.  I thought briefly of the sick relationship that I had been involved in with Nick.  My excuse had been it was my ‘first love’, though in retrospect, I knew that love had not made an appearance in that relationship; only stupidity.

             
Then there was Ian.  I suppose in retrospect, Ian had been my escape from Nick.  He had been totally the opposite of Nick - which was lucky for me.  Ian had been gentle and pretty much let me have my way on anything I wanted; but the passion, the intimacy was only lukewarm.  Having had nothing to compare it to, it had seemed like love to me.  I had cared for Ian; there was no doubt about that.  I had been crushed to discover his unfaithfulness to me.  I think looking back, that it had more to do with pride than love.

             
Tristan had been the one to teach me about love and intimacy; he had been the one to show me how to trust again.  Tristan had also taught me that it is perfectly okay to need someone; everyone does.  I had been afraid to need; somehow I had equated that to weakness.  I never wanted to be the weak person that I had been with Nick; I never wanted to call all of the shots as I had with Ian.  Tristan was so perfect for me.

             
“Hey, sweet baby,” he said, “I bet the kids are down for the night.  Shall we relieve Mom and Dad?”

             
“Let’s do,” I replied, smiling as I stood up, placing my hand in his, “And then how about we finish our date in the master suite?”

             
“You read my mind, Mrs. Sinclair.”

             
Susan and Clive had gotten the babies all tucked in for the night.  Tristan and I stood and listened to Clive detail out how many wet and pooey nappies the twins had produced; Susan was relaying all of the cute things that Reese had said or done.

             
“I swear, Gina, he is the spitting image of Tristan at that age, both in looks and personality.”

             
“And the great thing about him is that he uses the loo now,” Clive chimed in, “No nappies for him.”

             
“Oh Clive,” Susan chastised, “It does you good to be on nappy detail with the grandbabies.  God knows you didn’t change any with your own sons best as I can remember.”

             
“There she goes, getting all cheeky with me,” Clive said, laughing.  “Come on Susie, let’s get home so that I can give you your nightly foot rub.”

             
I saw his eyes sparkling; I was betting he had more in mind than just her feet.

             
“Tristan, why haven’t we seen any videos of the twins such as you provided us with when Reese was newly born?” Clive asked.

             
“Dad, you and Mom are right down the road.  You can see them every day if you want; those videos of Reese were when we lived in Atlanta and you didn’t see him much.  Besides, Gina put the kibosh on my cinematography.”

             
I glared at Tristan who in turn was enjoying himself with his teasing.  Clive and Susan were both looking at me now to explain why I would prevent Tristan or anyone from videotaping their precious grandchildren.

             
“Whoa, wait a minute, Tristan.  I did not put the ‘kibosh’ per se, on your video recording the baby; I merely exercised my right as a mother for some censorship.  You were getting a bit too risqué with your subject matter.”

             
Susan burst out laughing remembering the particular clip that I had discovered Tristan had posted on Facebook for all to see.  I had been nursing Reese at about six weeks old.  Tristan had been video recording it with his Blackberry.  It was evident about thirty seconds into it that Reese was taking a major dump in his diaper while eating.  I had no clue that Tristan was going to post it for everyone to see.

             
“Yes,” she said, still chuckling, “I get your point, Gina. I am sure Reese will be horrified when Tristan shows him that someday.”

             
They departed then, both snickering as they went out the door, holding hands.  I hoped that Tristan and I got on as well as they did after forty-five years of marriage.

             
Tristan and I locked up and turned the lights out. We stopped to check on Reese.  He was dozing peacefully in his new ‘big boy’ bed.  His little teddy bear night light was plugged in; he had his arm circled around the big panda bear in his bed.  We both leaned over and kissed his soft cheek.

             
The girls were in our room in their twin bassinets.  We gazed down at them; their light colored hair was curly; they were both swaddled warmly, sleeping comfortably on their backs.  Sarah was sucking her thumb gently; Hannah’s little face was changing expressions; she was smiling with her eyes closed.

             
“She’s dreaming,” I whispered to Tristan who was watching her now.

             
“Yes, mostly likely visions of titties are dancing in her head. We need to make use of this quiet time, baby.”

             
I stifled a giggle.  It was true; breast feeding twins was a challenge.  I was going to continue doing it though for another few weeks.

             
We hurriedly discarded our clothing and climbed beneath the sheets of our massive bed.  Tristan pulled me into his arms; his lips finding mine.  We kissed tenderly, our passion growing steadily.  Tristan’s hands fondled me gently and thoroughly; we weren’t able to have much nipple play due to my breast feeding.  With twins, there was always the risk of low milk supply.  His lips brushed against my neck, gently kissing my sensitive area.  He knew where all of them were.

             
His tongue traced the column of my throat; my pulse quickened with the desire that was building.  It seemed like months since we had been able to enjoy each other like this instead of just weeks.

             
My arms encircled him as he continued his southward path; I massaged his well-muscled arms and back; my hands clutched his tight ass (or arse as Clive preferred to call it).  I felt his erection against my thigh.  My hand reached to grasp him there.  I wrapped my hand around it, allowing my fingers to press in and out as I stroked the length.  I heard his sharp intake of breath.  He loved it when I stroked him there.