I grabbed for my water goblet and took a long gulp because I knew all too well. "Yes. I do understand that."
"And it's always so awful when you realize people from work or school have moved on without you. That's why I know I have to stop stowing all my community eggs in one basket." She took a bite of her bread. "And, like I said, I'm happy you're here."
Because my life was a series of unforced errors, I said, "I hope I can stay."
"Why wouldn't you stay?" Magnolia asked.
The waiter was kind enough to arrive with our meals and save me from responding for a minute. When he left, I was met with two pairs of curious eyes, both ignoring their food in favor of my response. With a soft sigh, I said, "I'm still sorting out my next steps with work. It's all a bit…wonky at the moment."
While Zelda accepted this response with a sympathetic murmur, Magnolia pressed on. "But you want to stay here," she said.
I picked at my Cobb salad, pushing the croutons to one side and the tomatoes to another. "I hope I can," I repeated.
That was the truest thing I could say. Nothing was definite. Nothing was settled. It didn't matter how much I was beginning to enjoy the little life I'd cobbled together with my burly lumberbear and my DIY projects. It didn't matter that, sometimes, I wondered how I'd ever return to a world where my phone was an extension of my body and I woke up at five every morning only to discover I was already three hours behind on the day. I wondered how I'd go back to run-walking in heels as a matter of course and working weeks at a time without a full day off. And I wondered how I'd give up lazy evenings on Linden's sofa where he explained how, when filmingThe Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, the textually male Riders of Rohan had to be played by women because they couldn't find enough men with adequate horseback riding skills.
"We're going to cheer you on," Zelda said. "Regardless of where the wind blows you."
"Yes. What she said." Magnolia wagged her fork at Zelda. "But you're still coming to the anniversary party, right?"
"I'm sure I will," I said, hoping that put the topic to rest without forcing me into a blood oath.
"We're shopping for dresses today. You have to come to the party," Magnolia insisted.
"Sweetie, Jasper is doing her best. She's going to be there if she can, okay?" Zelda turned her attention from Magnolia and grinned at me. "Don't worry about Mag. She gets a little chippy when she's hungry."
"I'd blame it on the twins but I've always been this way. The twins just make it socially acceptable." She reached into the basket of fries as she eyed us from across the table. "I was wrong. I got it all wrong."
"No, stop it. You're always allowed to be hangry," Zelda said.
"Not about that." Magnolia swung a glance between us. "I was wrong about my brothers and who they needed. I mixed it up. I guess that's a good reminder that I have no business in matchmaking."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
She dropped a hand to her belly as she took a sip of water. After a pause, she said, "I had a vivid idea in my head of the people my brothers would end up with—"
I dropped my fork into my salad bowl. "Oh, we haven't—I mean, we aren't—I'm still—"
"I know," Magnolia said carefully, "I do. I know that and I understand. And I know it doesn't change the fact I was wrong about them. I had the right ideas"—she pointed one hand toward Zelda, another toward me, and then crossed her arms at her wrists—"for the wrong brothers."
I didn't know what that meant and I wasn't content with the apparent finality of it but Zelda rescued the moment, saying, "Enough about the men. We don't need them to make us interesting."
"We do not," I agreed with far more zeal than necessary.
"Not at all," Magnolia agreed. Then, "Oof.They don't appreciate those comments." She rubbed a hand along the side of her belly, her eyes glowing. "You have to feel this. Come on, both of you. I swear, they're break-dancing. Or wrestling. Oh my god, they're going to wrestle all the time, aren't they?" She patted the bench. "Humor me, please. You have to feel this. It's like a legit stampede."
Zelda and I shared a glance before joining Magnolia on the banquette side of the table. She grabbed our hands and pressed them flat to her bump.
"Just wait," she murmured.
A moment passed, and another, and then I felt very silly sitting here, waiting for something to happen inside Linden's sister's body. Just as I decided to politely pull away, a swift kick connected with my palm. "Oh—oh my," I stammered.
"That was an elbow," Magnolia said. "He's always throwing those elbows around. I think he's the instigator."
"Holy bananas," Zelda yelped. "How are you, I don't know, living through this? It's like big, bony popcorn popping but it's inside you."
"It only hurts when they get curled up under my ribs. Or wherever they are that feels like they're under my ribs and having a competition to see which of them can crack one first. Or when they're stomping my bladder. I barely got any sleep last week because they were having such a good time."
"That sounds dreadful," Zelda cooed. "I want to have a baby. Not right now, obviously, but someday. I want a little someone who likes to rumble around and throw elbows."
