That's Amore

The subtle rocking back and forth was the only reason Molly was able to focus on anything but the life that sat within her ready to burst free anytime within the next month—of this she was certain. Her eyes were burning fresh holes into the soda stained carpet of their apartment, which complemented the previous owner’s cigarette burns quite nicely.

Her left hand stayed completely frozen on her bump, with each finger conspicuously empty. She knew he had his reasons, though.

Tom always had his reasons.

“Can you smell…what The Rock…is cooking?”

“No, but I can smell your freakish pasta sauce from all the way over here,” she retorted, though certainly not without love. He grinned at her from the kitchen, the low-watt lighting still able to give that Adonis-like shine to his smile. “And speaking of, I think you’ve got a little sauce right…” she attempted to locate the place on her own face, the face she was proud to say completed his perfect puzzle, “here.” She bopped her slender index finger on the very tip of her nose, wanting to help but following her strict doctor’s orders not to stand unless necessary.

He let his own finger trace aimlessly all over his face, a confused expression making silver bells of laughter ring out from her voice box. “Tom, you know exactly where I’m pointing,” she giggled, unable to help herself, “stop fooling around.”

“Listen, if you don’t like my fooling around, you’re more than welcome to leave me for Gustav.” His face was dolled up in mock seriousness, almost challenging her to say she would.

“I know Gustav’s dreamy and all, Tom, and that you have this huge crush on him, but he’s already taken. You should know that by now.”

“Very funny.” Holding his wooden spoon with more care than he probably would their baby, Tom sauntered over to her, softly blowing on its contents, the tiny wisps of steam now flying through the air as if on wings. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She tentatively licked her lips, putting the smallest possible portion of sauce into her mouth, and letting the flavors meld together before reluctantly swallowing. “I don’t understand it. It’s the absolute most disgusting recipe I’ve ever read in my life…and yet every time you make it, it tastes better than the time before.”

“It’s because of my Kaulitz magic.”

‘Well, don’t I know damn well about your Kaulitz magic…’ she thought idly, pretty sure that magic was the only thing keeping her around for so long. Well, that, or maybe it was the sex. She contemplated this, before deciding that they were essentially the same thing.

His goofy smile grew when his free hand lingered over her growing belly; he loved nothing more than moments like this, even though his feelings never were good at manifesting themselves into words. They usually just lingered deep in his throat, glued down by insecurities.

Tom had never been really good with words.

“Don’t let that sauce burn. The only thing I can make is Easy Mac.”

“As you wish.” He left the living room—she wanted to have good reason to rename it the family room—and dutifully shuffled over to the kitchen, his pants rubbing against the floor and making a subtle scuffscuffscuff noise. As much as she hated those pants (considering they, more often than not, turned him into a penguin), she couldn’t deny the fact that she loved that noise.

“Does it ever…you know, hit you? That we’re…uh, that you’re…” Tom awkwardly shifted from one foot to the other, opening and closing his mouth as if to finish his thought.

“That my eggo is preggo?

He said nothing more, simply grinning and looking down, head shaking in amusement. One hand stirred the sauce while the other held the pan like he must have done at least a hundred times, the motions automatic. “If I lived with you for twenty more years I don’t think I’d ever understand you…” His eyes lifted, peeking through thick dark lashes that were more feminine than any of his other features, and that smile never left his face.

Tom’s smile was one reason she wanted him to stay and try.

Buzzbuzzbuzzzzzzz.

Tom pulled the pasta and sauce off their respective burners, throwing his "official chef towel" over his right shoulder. Scuffscuffscuff over to the door, where he pressed on the button and very reluctantly uttered, “What is the air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow?”

A mechanical sigh sounded through the shoddy speaker system, matching the sigh omitted from Tom’s weary vocal cords. “Honig, I didn’t expect the Spanish Inquisition.”

“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition,” Molly said knowingly, tapping her tired fingers on the arm of the rocking chair, the taptaptap from her nails loud enough to be heard on the intercom.

Tom smirked softly and rolled his eyes. “Please, just humor her.”

Yet another sigh. Pause. “An African or a European Swallow?”

“Let her in.”

The door opened about two minutes later, revealing a fashionably disheveled woman of about twenty-six, though still very girlish in her figure. She wore her hair up in a very messy bun, with strands hanging here and there, unintentionally framing her face. She had large framed glasses that paid homage to the Coke-bottle style of the eighties and a necklace with the Hebrew letter chai on it—showcasing, of course, her pride in her heritage.

“Really, Molly? Every single time I enter this apartment…”

“Speaking of grand entrances to this apartment, Andy,” Molly said, pressing the heels of her palms down into the cherry wood of the chair so that she could stand up, “feel free to explain why you are making one alone.”

“Today, I realized that I am dating a true diva.” Andy’s hands went straight to her hips, and all Molly could think was that the phrase ‘opposites attract’ certainly didn’t describe this relationship. “Bill is sitting outside in the car, waiting to be fashionably late. MLIA,” she griped, shaking her head in still lighthearted laughter. Molly bit her lip to keep the better part of the boisterous laughter inside, save for a few escaping chuckles at Bill’s expense.

The two women hugged, having gone about three months without seeing each other. Andy had just been on an extensive book tour promoting her novel Star of David, and Molly had been on pregnant house arrest and maternity leave from her internship at the elementary school.

“Welcome to my childhood,” Tom reflected, leaning casually against the wall and watching their interaction otherwise silently.

Molly's eyes—albeit teasingly—nearly popped out of her head. "Tom...you dated Bill?"

Tom’s palm plastered itself to his face, sliding down it slowly before deciding that draining the noodles was the least painful response.

“So, how much hell did diva Bill give you for being ready two hours before he was?” Molly joked, referring to her friend’s loosely fitted shirt and jeans whose pockets housed her slender hands.

“I promised to give him a spa manicure tomorrow if he didn’t say a word,” Andy reported proudly. “How’s baby Casanova treating you?”

“Both Casanovas are treating me just fine…trying to entertain me is an exhausting job when I can’t go out clubbing or go to the movies or anything, but we manage.”

Buzzbuzzbuzzzzzzz.

“Are you really going to make everyone else do it as well?” Andy said, assuming the incredulous appearance of Bambi after his mother was shot.

“No, with you it’s for my own personal amusement. With Karissa, well…there is absolutely no possible way to mistake that girl for someone else. Observe.” Molly meandered, slow and steady, over to where the intercom sat on the wall, and pressed the button, preparing herself for what was to come.

“Hey douche, open the fucking door or I’ll scale your wall and tape that deer picture to your window.”

“Really, Kari?” a quiet voice that could only belong to Gustav mumbled through a chuckle.

“Is Geo out there with you two?”

“Nah,” Kari replied, “he’s in Scotland at this music festival with his gifted middle school kids. Some extra credit trip for class. But you know Hobbit, he’s always coming up with new and exciting ways of bending the curriculum to its breaking point.”

“He sends his love,” Gustav uttered, once again able to be heard only with an ear pressed right up against the speaker.

“It’s just as well that he’s not here,” Tom half-yelled while mixing the pasta in a frosted glass serving bowl, “he used up all the—”

“Tom Kaulitz, if you make one more joke about Georg’s shit…”

“Cool your jets, Karissa. Get your lazy asses up here before this pasta gets cold,” Tom yelled back with a smile on his face. Molly let go of the button before a legitimate fight ensued between the two of them. “Oh, come on, Molly. You know it’s all in good fun,” Tom joked, rolling his eyes as he finished tossing the pasta.

A soft yet noticeable beeping broke the subsequent silence that ensued. As Molly hobbled Tom/penguin style back over to her rocking chair, Andy whipped open her phone and groaned, the rolling of her eyes more impressive than Tom’s by at least half.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Pause. “Yes, we’re all here.” Pause. “Yes, I’m positive.” Longer pause. “No, I am not just saying that. Kari and Gustav are on their way up, and Georg’s in Scotland.” Exasperated sigh attempting to hide amusement. “Ich liebe dich auch.”

Gustav pushed open the already ajar door just in time to hear the one-sided conversation Andy was taking part in. He chuckled softly as usual, but Kari covered her mouth, trying, unsuccessfully, to stifle the too-powerful laughter working its way out of her.

“He really waited out there in the cold just so he—”

“Kari, don’t even finish that sentence,” Andy cut her off, sighing. “You know he hasn’t changed since the glory days… To be honest, I don’t think he’s changed since he was ten.”

Tom shut his eyes and bit his top lip so far that it went in his mouth, refusing to comment on the absurdity that was his younger twin’s personality. He was silently laughing, and Andy could tell, but she also stayed silent, eyes rolling once more.

Molly opened her mouth to say something, but heard rustling behind the door and decided against it. A loud, deep voice filled the hallway and most likely the streets as well, mimicking an awards show announcer.

“And, driving up to the red carpet in a beautiful brand spanking new car is Tokio Hotel’s very own Bill Kaulitz. Fashionably late, and of course ever fashionable in every other way, he sports skinny dark-washed jeans, black vinyl knee-highs, and a gorgeous t-shirt from his very own, very successful clothing company, Freiheit 89. Always much better looking than his twin in every way, shape, and form, he glides down the red carpet, flashing his new line any way he can flaunt it. Hallo, world,” Bill declares, stepping in the door as glamorously as ever, “you may get down on your knees and praise me now.”

“Billa, liebling, are those my pants?” Andy uttered, wholly incredulous. Her face was a cross between shock and amusement, mostly because her legs were about a foot shorter than his, and he sported her jeans with some black diva boots. “Are you even a real person?”

“Wow, way to annihilate the moment,” Bill grumbled, refusing to deny that she spoke the truth. He crossed his arms like the five-year-old he was before sitting down at the head of the table. “And they look great on me, regardless.”

“Of course they do, Bill. You know I love your fashion sense. If I didn’t I’d be with your brother, would I not?” Andy queried, trying to repair his bruised ego. She stood, gracefully, walking over to him with her arms wide open. He nodded, still pouting, accepting her hug even though she was so much smaller that he couldn’t even rest his chin on her head.

“Well, pasta’s ready, and for the record I’m perfectly happy with the way I dress and the girl I’m with, you lovable little poltergeist,” Tom said, giving Andy a noogie and placing the pasta dish in the center of the table. Andy glared, but sat down without arguing, holding Bill’s hand under the table.

“Seriously, we’re eating your creepy pasta again? I knew we should’ve just gotten Italian,” Kari muttered with a smirk on her face. She thrived on pissing Tom off, even after so many years.

“That’s not very nice. I made it without sausage just for you because I am the most selfless person I know. I mean, since I know how fucking weird you vegetarians are.”

“What?” She snapped, knocking the salt off the table.

“Could you…uh, grab that? I kind of want some,” Molly said pointing at the fallen saltshaker, mentally biting her nails until they bled. She hated when they fought, it always made her so tense. Kari pushed her seat out, sighing as she knelt to the ground to retrieve it.

“God, Kari. I know you love being on your knees and all, but I didn’t even think you liked meat.” Tom trailed off, trying to look innocent.

Kari, fuming at Tom for his success in their last verbal battle, didn’t even realize that she was clutching her fork so hard her fingers went white. “Uh, Kari?” Molly uttered, pursing her lips and frowning at Tom.

“The baby needs a father…the baby needs a father…” Kari mumbled to herself until the blood flow to her knuckles had been restored. She shut her eyes, refusing to look in Tom’s direction, meanwhile feeling the calming caress of Gustav’s hand on her shoulder.

An awkward silence fell over the old friends as they ate their dinner, trying to consume it as quickly as they could in order to avoid more uncomfortable conversation. Gustav cleared his throat, making the most noise in several seconds. “So, Molly, the pictures I took of you came out so well I hung them in my studio.”

The smile on Molly’s face warmed Tom’s heart. It was so genuine and radiant that it was difficult to be upset when around it. She was one of those people who could make the world look just slightly off when she wasn’t smiling, but when it was there, things around it paled in comparison.

“I wish I could come and see them. Not to, you know, toot my own horn or anything, but I bet they’re pretty beautiful. I guarantee that it’s all your doing, of course.”

Gustav blushed, but said nothing more. Tom, on the other hand, took this opportunity to mumble something that sounded very similar to “You’re beautiful.” But then, again, Molly could have just been hearing things.

“Tom, this Kaulitz pasta is the best yet. I just want to take it, and graffiti a tribute to it on a city wall where everyone will be able to see my love for it. I might just marry it,” Bill said, with his mouth full of the delicious sauce. Andy kicked him under the table and pouted like he had just stolen the last swing at the park. “Ahem…or you…”

“Last I checked, Bill,” Tom interjected, “graffiti was my thing. I’d be happy to make a little pasta tribute for you though. Hell, I’ll even throw in some free prints for you, but only because you’ve got connections,” he said with a smirk, feeling more at ease now that he could roll jokes off his tongue with a practiced comfort. “Right, so, whenever people are done, I’d kind of like to take you to see my most recent piece. I haven’t had a chance to take pictures yet, but even so, it’s kind of one that you need to see up close and personal.”

Kari, for once, made no snarky comment to him. Andy just grinned. Molly found both actions equally disconcerting, but that feeling was no comparison to how irritated she felt that she couldn’t read minds.

“Um…well, I’m done. So…I’d like to see it,” Gustav said, which made sense considering he was the slowest eater out of the bunch.

Tom gentlemanly took Molly by the hand and helped her stand up. “Tom, you know I can’t really leave the apartment,” she reluctantly muttered, truly wishing that the twins inside her didn’t limit her movement so much. She missed running eagerly over to the wall to go see Tom’s art, and kissing him amidst telling him how beautiful it all was.

“I’m not going to leave you alone here. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

He held her tightly to his body, her legs draped over his one arm and his other wrapped around her back, as everyone made their way down the stairs out to what had been deemed “Tom’s wall”, the place where he made all of his most important pieces.

As they arrived, Tom whispered in Molly’s ear to shut her eyes as he gently set her down. She obliged, rather enjoying the element of surprise. She felt his warm hands on her shoulders, slowly moving her until he was satisfied with her position. “Open your eyes, liebe.”

She blinked a few times, unable to believe what she was seeing. In fact, she was pretty sure she stopped breathing for at least a few seconds; if happiness could punch someone in the gut, she was pretty sure it had just beat the shit out of her.

Covering the entire wall was a spray-painted design of a man in baggy penguin pants and a tuxedo t-shirt—unmistakably Tom—on one knee, sliding a diamond ring on the slender finger of what looked like an angel, winged and all in white, with a very noticeable bump on her belly. In bright purple and outlined in black, it said, “May I?”

For a moment, she forgot words. Tom caused that feeling a lot.

There was a dense silence in the air, and Tom was sure he was breathing in the tension with every slow-motion breath. Andy, Bill, Gustav, and Kari all stared at her in anticipation. She could feel each movement any of them made distinctly cutting through the atmosphere around her.

Finally, “Well, it’s about damn time, Tom.”

Tom laughed, and suddenly she felt like she was only really anchored to the ground right now because of the smile he let the laugh fall through. He fumbled as he pulled a ring out of his much-too-large pocket, and slipped it clumsily on her finger. He pulled her into an elated kiss and said, “You see…that’s why I’m marrying you.”

And she knew it well.

After all, Tom always had his reasons.