You're about to have twins,Emily finally wrote.The last thing you need is a houseguest who doesn't understand social boundaries.
You're not a houseguest. You're family. And Gabriel's family is here all the time. Thomas practically lives in the workshop. Willow shows up after school most days. It's already chaos. You'd fit right in.
I don't know if that's a compliment.
It is. Trust me.
The dots appeared again. Beth waited.
Can I think about it?
Of course. No pressure. But the offer stands. We have a spare room, a very comfortable couch, and more apples than we know what to do with.
It's March. You don't have any apples.
Okay, we have apple cider. And apple butter. And frozen apple pie filling. The point is, we have apple-related hospitality.
Emily sent back a single emoji: a tiny red apple.
I'll think about it,she wrote.And Beth?
Yeah?
I hope the tiny humans go easy on you today.
Beth typed back.Me too.
She set the phone down and leaned back in her chair, one hand returning to its permanent resting place on her belly. The babies had quieted for now, perhaps exhausted from their morning acrobatics. She could feel them shifting occasionally, the strange rolling sensation that had become as familiar as her own heartbeat.
Outside, the gray sky had brightened slightly. Not sunshine, but the promise of it, somewhere behind the clouds. Beth could see Gabriel through the workshop window now, his silhouette moving among the workbenches. Thomas was there too, his white hair visible even from this distance. The two of them worked well together, father and son, their movements synchronized by years of practice.
Beth thought about Emily, alone in Vermont, surrounded by someone else's books. She thought about the job interviews that hadn't worked out, the life plan that needed recalibrating. She thought about how lost she herself had felt a few years ago, before she found this farm, before she found Gabriel.
Sometimes people just needed a place to land.
Her phone buzzed again, and this time it was her mother… again.
Just wanted to hear your voice. Call me when you can. Love you more than coffee, and you know how much I love coffee.
Beth smiled, tears pricking at her eyes. Stupid hormones.
She picked up the phone and dialed.
“Mom, we just talked last night. You’ve got to stop hovering.”
“How can I be hovering? I’m fifteen-hundred miles away.”
“You’re cell phone hovering. It’s a thing.”
Maggie laughed. “I promise not to hover, but you can tell me how you’re feeling, can’t you?”
“I’m still as enormous as I was yesterday,” Beth said. “Exhausted. Emotional. I cried because Gabriel looked at me nicely.”
“That sounds about right,” Maggie said. “I cried during your pregnancy because a commercial showed a baby learning to walk. I had to leave the room.”
“I remember. You told Michael he wasn't allowed to watch television for a month.”
“He survived.”
