Page 188 of Twisted Needs
“There he is,” he smirks. “Bossy husband.”
“You like it.”
“Guess I do. Haven’t scared me away yet.”
I huff. “Well, the moment you start balding, I’m taking my children and Benito and we’re running.”
Benny’s ears perk up the moment he hears his name. Parker gives him a rigid look, because apparently I love the dog more than I love him…
He whistles and snaps his fingers. “C’mon, Benny.” That immediately gets him excited, because he thinks it’s time for a R-U-N…
Parker and my dog both disappear down the hallway, and I stare at the ceiling, listening to the apartment wake around me—the distant clang of cabinets, Parker swearing under his breath in Russian, tiny feet thundering somewhere across the hardwood floors.
Any time Parker cooks, my brain automatically prepares for catastrophe. A few years ago he decided it would be romantic to make hibachi from scratch, which ended in a minor kitchen fire and the building concierge threatening to revoke our grill privileges forever.
Now we have children. Children who are, unfortunately, very flammable. Candles are banned. Sparklers are heavily supervised. Parker is not allowed near cooking oil without adult supervision.
A few minutes later, the bedroom door bursts open.
“Happy birthday, Daddy!” Two curly-haired missiles launch themselves onto the bed before I can even brace for impact.
Nayah and Natalia climb all over me at once, all warm skin and tangled curls and sleepy morning voices. Their laughter fills the room so completely it feels alive, bouncing off the walls and settling somewhere deep in my ribs. When Parker and I first got together, we agreed immediately that we didn’t want kids. Parker didn’t want the responsibility. And me—I was selfish enough to want every piece of him for myself.
Then three years ago he flew back to D.C. for a Sentinels charity event focused on foster care outreach, and halfway through the weekend Aviva called me sounding deeply amused.
“Just warning you,” she said. “Your husband is about thirty seconds away from becoming a father.”
I remember expecting panic. Fear. Some certainty our lives would implode. Instead, when Parker came home with red-rimmed eyes and that devastated, hopeful expression, all I felt was certainty.
Like our lives had been waiting for them the whole time.
A’Nayah and Anatalia turn nine next month. Nayah is already thriving in ballet—graceful, disciplined, impossible determination—while Natalia has decided she’s going to be the next Alysa Liu and spends half her life spinning in the living room on her little turning pad.
“I hope Papa didn’t burn down the kitchen,” I laugh as they suffocate me with hugs. “You’re getting too strong for this,” I groan, holding them anyway.
We hear Anton before we see him. With Benny at his side, he comes barreling into the room wearing a Miles Morales suit, oversized Hulk gloves, and a Captain America shield strapped to his back like he’s personally assembled the Avengers himself.
Ant just turned five, and Parker had him on skates basically the second we brought the kid home. But he’s more like me than Parker realizes—always carrying books too big for him, already reading well above his grade level.
He launches himself onto the bed and growls a ferocious “happy birthday” into my ear before smashing his fists together.
“You guys are the best,” I laugh, kissing the girls’ heads. “C’mere, Ant. I want my hug.”
“Daddy,” he protests seriously. “I’m Hulk.”
“Okay, Hulk,” I say solemnly. “Come give me a hug before I call Iron Man.”
That does it. I trap him against my chest and blow a raspberry into his cheek until he shrieks with laughter.
From the doorway, Parker watches us quietly, a tray balanced in his hands. Sometimes I still can’t believed this is where we ended up.
Sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets. Three laughing curly-haired babies. Parker standing barefoot in the doorway looking at me like he’s won the lottery. And Benito.
“Fatin just got here, by the way,” he says. “I thought you said you weren’t working today.”
Fatin and Lee live in our building, which is perfect because Lee is my lawyer and Fatin is my crisis PR manager. “We have to discuss PR,” I groan. “Some YouTube girl made an hour-long video essay about controversial authors and used my face in the thumbnail, so somebody’s getting sued…”
I probably should’ve expected that when I published Twisted Needs. Turns out marrying Parker and writing morally questionable characters inspired by him tends to make people online lose their minds.
