"You will." Judge’s certainty is absolute. "Your research project—Tucker showed me the abstract. Sloane, that's exactly the kind of work that changes things. You're going to be incredible in this field."
Something in my chest loosens. "I spent so many years having adults tell me what I couldn't do. My mother, my ex-husband. They had opinions about my capacity, my choices, my future." I touch my grandmother's necklace—the sun pendant Tucker returned to me. "My grandmother Essie believed I could beanything I wanted. Even if she wasn’t sure how to make it happen."
"And now?" she asks gently.
"Now I feel like I’m on the roundabout road toward a goal." I laugh a little, watery. "It's overwhelming and wonderful and terrifying."
Judge Juniper grins. "You’re working so hard."
I set down my soup container. "I never had this before. People who just... show up. No conditions, no judgments. Just love."
She reaches over and squeezes my hand. "You're family now, Sloane. That means you're stuck with us."
"I'm starting to think that's not such a bad thing."
As she gathers her things, I can tell she wants to say something but is holding back. “What is it?” I bite my lip, still uncertain about how to think of her, what to call her. Tucker’s parents have been so wonderful and I am working on relaxing into their informal way of being.
Judge looks at me, eyes watery, smiling. “I am just really glad you’re here with us.”
Something warm and pleasant blooms in my chest. “I’m glad, too…Juniper.” I grin and she leans in for a hug, which I return to the best of my ability from my position lying down with an entire globe jutting from my middle.
After Juniper leaves, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about family and futures. The babies are doing their afternoon gymnastics routine, little feet and elbows poking out at odd angles. I rest my hand on my belly, feeling them move.
"We need to give you actual names, huh?" I murmur. "Can't keep calling you 'the girls' forever."
Tucker and I have been circling around names for weeks, but nothing felt right. He suggests options, asks my opinion, and tries to find something meaningful. And then we can never decide.
More and more, I find myself wanting to do something special for him, to thank him for his patience with me, for the love he’s teaching me to accept. As I digest the food his mother brought for lunch, I realize what I can do to stoke this fragile fire we’ve ignited together.
The names we give these girls should mean something, honor the full span of their heritage. An hour later, I've made my decision.
My heart pounds as I finally make a purchase with my own credit cards–a custom art project that should arrive this afternoon if I pay a steep enough rush fee. Which I happily do.
The afternoon drags after my shopping spree. I try to focus on reading for my last class, but my eyes keep drifting to the clock. The babies seem to sense my anticipation, kicking and rolling constantly.
"Your daddy's going to be excited," I tell them. "At least, I hope he will. If he doesn't, blame it on pregnancy hormones."
Finally, blessedly, I hear the elevator. Tucker's voice booms through the apartment: "WHERE ARE MY GIRLS?"
"Bedroom!" I call back, grinning despite my nerves. As if we’d be anywhere else.
He appears in the doorway, looking sexy in a T-shirt and sweats, hair damp from a shower. His face lights up when he sees me. "Hey, beautiful."
"Hey, yourself." I twirl a curl around my finger. “Did you bring up the packages from the lobby?”
“You know I did!” He holds up a finger, ducks out of the doorway, and returns holding a crate. "What's all this?"
"Open it." I pat the bed beside me. "Sit down first."
Tucker kicks off his shoes and settles next to me carefully, mindful of my massive belly. He examines the note on the crate. "This is from a frame shop."
"Open it," I repeat, my heart hammering.
He pries open the lid and pulls out two wooden frames. They're simple, elegant, and natural wood with white matting. And in the center of each, in beautiful calligraphy:
Shula Juniper Stag
AuroraEstelle Stag
