Page 43 of Twins with Daddy’s Bestie

I stand at the counter, looking through recipes on my phone that I think she would enjoy. Olivia loves comfort food. That's the inspiration for the restaurant she wants to open, anyway. When I think of comfort food, I think of something simple and easy to make. For me, that's crispy, fried chicken tenders and mashed potatoes.

I have a vague idea of how to make them thanks to the cooking shows Olivia always has on. I know I need to bread the chicken and fry it, but I'm at a loss when it comes to seasonings and general tastiness.

Turns out, there are hundreds of thousands of recipes on Google claiming to make the best fried chicken tenders. I look through a couple, trying to figure out the best before landing on one that looks mouthwatering in the photo.

I grab the ingredients from the cabinets and fridge, setting out the components as I've seen Olivia do countless times. Then, I prepare and mix the egg wash and dry batter. I make a huge mess mixing everything and battering the chicken before putting it in a pan to fry. It's louder than I intended, and Olivia comes into the kitchen with a surprised look.

“Need a hand?” she asks as she takes in the chaos.

“Absolutely not,” I say, shooing her away from the stove. “I want to do this for you. It might look like a mess, but you have to trust the process because this is going to be the best damn fried chicken you've ever had.”

She laughs and raises her eyebrows in a silent challenge before taking a seat at the counter to watch. I can see her questioning everything I do, wishing she could take my place and make this chicken the right way. I hold out hope that I will impress her because I want to more than I care to admit.

I force her into the dining room when I'm almost done so that I can plate everything and serve it to her just like she did for me the night she catered dinner here.

After setting everything in front of her, seeing how perfectly golden brown the skin of the chicken is and how creamy and buttery the mashed potatoes are, I feel proud. I sit beside her and watch intensely as she picks it up, analyzing it for a moment before taking a bite. Her eyes widen as she looks at me.

“I was prepared to lie to you, but I'm so relieved that I don't have to,” Olivia says, taking another hungry bite of the food. “Maybe I should let you in the kitchen more often.”

“This is what you have to look forward to when you're on bed rest,” I say, surprising myself with how good the chicken tastes.

“Well then, I can't wait.”

Olivia and I spend the rest of the day together. We don't do anything, it's mundane and simple and somehow the best way I could imagine spending my life. If I had to choose between this or some extravagant trip to Italy or New York, I would always choose this. I think that's what falling in love is. I just want to be with her, all the time. Whether she's reading a book or mixing dough in the kitchen, I'm content.

We have a long road ahead, but I am ready to spend the rest of my life with her.

29

Olivia

Over the next six months, everything in my life changes. I go from being a young woman who recently graduated from culinary school and set out to achieve her dream of opening a restaurant to a soon-to-be mother. People warned me about how much motherhood would change my life, and I didn't believe it. Maybe I was being naive and hopeful that I could still have the best of both worlds, but everything is different.

Drake makes more money than I can wrap my mind around, so I was thankfully able to quit my job. It was difficult to accept that at first, because it felt like losing my independence, but growing two children while I spent ten hours at work every day was not ideal. Now, instead of going into the office, I stay at home and rearrange the toys and decorations we've bought for the nursery.

Still, I don't enjoy not working and am getting restless. The more time I spend not working on something, the more time I have to start thinking about the fact that sooner or later, I'm going to give birth to twins, and I will be responsible for two tiny lives.

It's a lot of pressure.

The doorbell rings, and I slowly rise from the couch, pause the TV, and waddle to the door. Standing on the doorstep and carrying a bag of greasy Chinese food like a knight in shining armor is my dad.

“You’re a hero,” I say, excitedly grabbing the bag from him as I rush to the kitchen to grab plates.

He meets me at the counter, cautiously looking around for any sign of Drake. While we are on good terms, he still isn't thrilled that his best friend went behind his back and is sleeping with his daughter.

“Don't worry, I understand that Chinese food is more important than me,” he says, sticking out his tongue as I shovel fried rice on a plate, giving myself a heaping portion and leaving less for my father.

“I'm glad we could clear that up because it would have been awkward if I had to tell you.”

We sit in the dining room and eat lunch. He tells me about some new clients at the gym and asks me about the pregnancy.

“Your mom would be so happy for all this,” he says after a lull in conversation. “I remember talking to her about our retirement plans. She always told me that she wanted to live wherever you were because she wanted to be close to her grandkids. She was so young, but she was so excited about spoiling them.”

We smile, and I clear my throat to keep from getting teary-eyed. “I'm putting some pictures of her in the nursery. Even though they'll never get to meet her, I want the kids to know her.”

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand, looking away from me so I don't see the tears in his eyes. It breaks my heart to see him like this. I know he's happy thinking about my mom, but this is one of those things that he wished she was here for.

“Are you ready to see what I need you to do?” I say, slowly guiding him through the house to the nursery. Drake has been very busy at the office over the past couple of weeks getting everything in order before his paternity leave begins. Because of that, it's fallen on me to assemble a lot of the nursery furniture, and the results have admittedly been hit or miss.