“I’m fine,” Beth insists, still looking down at her brother.
Bobby rises and quickly plucks baby Frederic from Beth’s arms, ignoring her huff of protest. He sinks back down into his armchair, the warm bundle of sleeping baby tucked to his chest.
“Spill,” he says, staring Beth down.
Without her brother to focus on, Beth squirms. “Everything’s really fine.”
Bobby just waits, rocking slightly to keep Frederic dozing. Beth sighs and slouches in her chair, her face finally losing that fake look of calm to expose an exhausted young woman.
“It’s just hard, you know?” she says.
“What is?” He can think of many difficult things they’re all facing now that they’re back at home. And a few he’s patentlynotfacing as well.
“Being back. It’s just—being at your manor was so... free,” Beth admits. “Like a place out of time.”
“Yeah,” Bobby agrees, swallowing against a sudden lump in his throat.
It certainly felt that way to him. But he’s never stopped to think about what his cousin and Beth really go through. He only ever thinks they’re lucky, safe and secure under Uncle Dashiell’s roof, with their own quarters and lives.
But of course it’s not really like that. They aren’t married,and outside of this house, they’re nothing but friends. Worse, they’re technically stepsisters, an uncomfortable label on a relationship that is as real as any marriage.
He’s been drowning in his own unhappiness and never stopped to think that Beth and Gwen are living an equally difficult reality.
“It’s just hard, to come back and attend teas and dinners and not be...” Beth trails off, shrugging, her eyes stuck on baby Frederic in his arms.
It bubbles up in his brain, the image of Beth holding Frederic—the yearning look on her face now. “Beth, do you want children?” he asks.
Beth blinks and then meets his eyes. “I...” she starts, her hands twisting together. “Maybe,” she admits, shoulders falling, that exhaustion looking heavy across her shoulders.
“And Gwen?” he wonders.
Beth’s face crumples. “Maybe,” she whispers. “But—”
“It would be a sacrifice,” Bobby agrees, seeing the bigger picture. He’s been so distracted by his own problems he never even thought toask.
“Even if one of us thought we could do it—could marry someone and do... everything necessary to have children—I don’t think the other one would survive it. I don’t want anyone but Gwen,” she finishes, her voice hoarse, eyes shiny.
And he’s gone and made her cry. “Beth,” he starts, no idea how to truly comfort her through this.
Beth shakes her head and wipes at her eyes. “But I have Gwen, and my mother and Frederic and Dashiell. I’m happy, really,” she adds, taking in what must be the distress on his face. “I’m just wistful, sometimes. He’s really something,” she says, looking back at Frederic.
Bobby follows her gaze and stares down at his little cousin. He’s angelic, asleep like this. And so warm and soft, and there’s a faint smell that’s mildly intoxicating. What must it be like to have a little person of your very own to cuddle all day, and raise, and be proud of, and support?
“Do you want children, Bobby?” Beth asks.
Bobby slowly brings his eyes up to find her watching him knowingly. They haven’t talked about the luncheon, nor that final day at the manor. He hasn’t wanted to burden Beth or Gwen. Hasn’t wanted to rip open his heart for them to see.
But maybe he should, given everything he’s been ignoring about Beth’s life. Maybe it would make her feel seen, and comforted, and like there’s someone she can talk to, rather than bottling it all up. And it might make him feel better, like maybe he can sit still for a moment without the weight of it all crushing down on him.
“I’d love to have a family,” he admits softly, stroking his thumb along the edge of Frederic’s blanket. “But like you, I don’t think I could make the necessary sacrifice. I don’t think I’d be happy.”
“If you could, though,” Beth says, bringing his eyes back up to hers. “And the world was a different place—a better place—is there someone you’d want a family with?” Beth smiles encouragingly.
“If I could have what you and Gwen have? What Albie and Meredith have? What your mother and Uncle Dashiell have? Yes,” he admits.
“Anyone in particular?” she presses.
And even though the very thought of James makes his chest hurt, he can’t help but mildly enjoy her teasing. “Maybe,” he hedges, watching as she giggles, delighted. “But the world isn’ta better place. I don’t think it will ever be a better place enough for him to want to risk it,” he says, letting his gaze drift to the fire.
