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Having a twin was a blessing and a curse. There were a great many perks to it such as you have a built-in best friend, you have the so-called “twin telepathy,” and you can play tricks on people if you two look alike. Then there are the drawbacks of being a twin. Even if you don’t want it to be, everything is a competition (who loves Dad more, who can get the highest grades, who can buy Morgan the better Christmas present, etc.), you have to share everything , and you were always compared to your twin.
After having to deal with all of these shenanigans for fourteen years, Harley and Peter were sick of it.
“Give it back, Harley! It’s mine!” Peter screamed, lunging at his brother.
“No, Dad bought you the red one, the blue one's mine, stupid.”
Morgan, sweet and precious as can be, peered into their room only to almost be clocked in the head with a book.
“Harley! That one’s mine! I swear!”
Whatever they were arguing about, it was causing such a chaotic ruckus. Clothes, books, and toys were everywhere, it looked like a small bomb had gone off in the boys’ room.
The two of them looked up at where the book had gone and saw it out in the hall, next to their sister. They dropped what they were both holding and rushed over to her.
“Morgie, don’t tell dads about this. It’s fine, we promise.”
“But you guys always fight! I don’t like it. And it’s always for a dumb reason!” She gestured at the floor where items were trashed and strewn about the place.
Morgan looked up at her brothers with big doe eyes. Her bottom lip stuck out, trembling a bit. “But you two keep fighting about dumb things! I don’t want you to hate each other!”
Harley walked over to their sister and picked her up. “Morgie, it’s okay, we’re allowed to fight. Daddy and Papa do it all the time and they’ve been married for twenty-something years! It doesn’t mean that Peter and I hate each other any less, ‘kay?”
He kissed her on the cheek and set her down.
“Papa?” Morgan asked as she stood in the doorway of Steve’s art studio. She was wearing a red and blue pajama set (hand-me-down from Peter) and chewing on the cuff.
Steve set the chalk pastel down and wiped his hands off on a rag. Turning around he saw his daughter, the big brown doe eyes that his kids and husband were famous for. The eyes that he got lost in the day that he met what would be his future husband.
“Hi, Morgs,” he said, scooping her up, her head resting on his shoulder. He looked at the clock. Ten fifty-seven. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, young miss? Daddy and I are going to bed soon.”
“I’m worried, Papa.”
“Why’s that, baby?” He asked, combing his fingers through her hair.
“Because Harley and Peter are always fighting and then Harley said that you and Daddy always fight. I don’t want you to get broken up! Please don’t!”
She cried softly, clutching the stuffed bunny that Tony had given to her for a birthday present.
“Oh, baby,” Steve cooed. Just because people fight, doesn’t mean that they love or hate each other any less, okay? Daddy and I love each other very very much and no amount of fighting is going to change that. We will always be your dads, no matter what happens.”
He stood up and carried her back to her room, setting her down in her bed.
The nightlight spun slowly, casting the shadow of horses dancing around the walls of her room.
He kissed her on the top of her head and, after covering her up with blankets, padded quietly out of her room and closed the door.