“Pluto?” she questions. “Like the doggy?”
He gives me a confused look.
“Pluto is the cute puppy on Disney,” I explain.
He laughs and shakes his head. “No, this Pluto was a very powerful god.” He gives me a knowing look. “He stole Proserpina and brought her into the Underworld. And because he loved her so much, he tricked her into staying by tempting her with delicious food. She, of course, took the bait and was sentenced to remain with him for the rest of eternity.”
I grin at his version of the story. It was my version. The safe version. The one that made Pluto out to be the bad guy and kept Proserpina innocent. But as I look at my handsome husband holding our daughter in his arms, I realize my view of the story has changed. That I’ve changed.
“He didn’t trick her,” I say out loud.
Kostas’s eyes gleam with excitement. “No?”
“No, that would be giving him too much credit and her not enough,” I admit. “I think you were right before. If she didn’t want to stay, she wouldn’t have eaten the seeds. But she did so because she wanted to.”
I attempt to stand, but my big belly weighs me down.
“Moró mou,” Kostas says. “Let me help you.” He sets Zoe down, who runs over to the fountain to dip her hand in the water.
As he helps pull me into a standing position, my stomach tightens, and I cringe slightly at the pain that shoots down my back. “I made Proserpina out to be the damsel in distress,” I tell him. “The victim, but maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was just scared and he helped her come to the realization of what she already knew.”
“And what’s that?” Kostas asks, gripping the curve of my hips and leaning over to kiss my lips.
“That she was always meant to be loved by Pluto and to be the Queen of the Underworld.”
I can imagine how she felt. When she met Pluto, there was no turning back. She fell for him the moment she laid eyes on him. He didn’t have to drag her there, because she belonged there. She just needed to come home.
Another pain shoots down my back and then it feels as though I’ve peed myself. I glance down and liquid is dripping down my legs under my bathing suit.
“Talia, are you okay?” Kostas asks, his eyes widening in fear. It’s not often I see my husband appear to be scared.
“Yeah.” I nod with a smile. “But our baby is finally coming.”
Kostas
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“Stop saying fuck,” Talia seethes, “or I will rip your tongue out of your mouth.”
The doctor smirks at me from between her legs and I tense. Clearly I’ve been chanting the words that have been running inside my head from the moment she was put into this hospital bed. I wonder if she heard the other ones.
She’s brave and resilient and strong.
The best mother in the world.
Beautiful beyond reason.
“A real Casanova, that one,” the nurse says to Talia, winking.
I look down to find Talia’s eyes watering. “I love you,” she whimpers.
Leaning down, I kiss her plump lips. “I love you too. You’re doing great.”
“Oh shit,” she whines. “I can’t do this.”
“You’ve done it before,” I remind her.
“And her head wasn’t as big as Nora’s either!”
I can’t help but grin at her. The moment we found out we were having another little girl, Talia asked if we could name her after my mother. It broke my heart and healed it all at once. Of course I said yes. My mother would be so fucking proud of me. She would’ve loved those girls with everything she had. Thankfully, we have Melody and she does the job of two grandmas at once.
“I see dark hair,” the doctor says, his eyes crinkling with delight. “The baby is coming. Want to watch?”
I dart my eyes to Talia, who nods. I missed Zoe’s birth, so seeing Nora’s is a gift. Releasing Talia’s hand, I shuffle down to the end of the bed.
“Holy shit,” I utter, completely transfixed to see the head of my daughter trying to come through the small hole. “Talia, she’s almost here.”
“Another contraction,” the nurse says. “That’s it, honey, push and hold.”
Talia bears down and the head begins to push out. When she can’t push anymore, the dark hair disappears some. Another contraction hits right after the other and my incredible wife pushes harder. I’m awestruck by how strong she is—scrunched face in determination, purple flesh as she uses every ounce of strength she can muster, sweaty hair stuck to her forehead.
“There we go,” the doctor says, drawing my attention back to our daughter.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“STOP SAYING FUCK!” Talia warns through gritted teeth.
I gape in part horror, part fascination as I stare at the head sticking out of my wife’s body. A film of something covers her face and she’s as purple as her mother. Birthing a baby is a fucking miraculous thing.