"I like Micah," Orli disagreed. He and Jen had been arguing about baby names for the past half hour. Josh was attempting to be a part of the discussion (Orli couldn't understand why, but Jen had a feeling it was because he was afraid he would never have a baby of his own to name), and Michelle was reading the daily newspaper. All four of them were gathered in the parlor at Josh and Michelle's, having had lunch out together. It was mid-March, and they hadn't seen much of each other in awhile; Josh had recently made known that he was filming two new movies, and Michelle had conquered a bout of writer's block and rarely had free time for anything. Out of the blue, Orli had announced earlier that day that he was treating everyone to lunch, since he missed Josh and Michelle so much (it was difficult to be sure whether he was being sarcastic, but he appeared sincere). He was finished with his own filming for a while, so mostly he'd spent time with Jen for the last month, and they'd definitely enjoyed being alone, for the most part.
"Micah for what?" Jen snapped at Orli now. "A boy or a girl?" Apparently the two had spent a bit too much time together; they'd been uptight and snappish for the greater part of the past week.
"What about your idea for Ryan? I think that was supposed to be a name for a girl!" Orli exclaimed.
Jen threw up her hands and gave him a disgusted look, unable to come up with a clever answer. "Fine! So it doesn't have to be Ryan. We'll eliminate that, so long as we eliminate Micah, too."
Orli opened his mouth in protest. "What's wrong with Micah? It's sweet."
Jen glared. The comment clearly struck her as too ridiculous for words. "Well, what do you think about Aimee? Or Leigh?"
"Too plain," Orli responded dispassionately. "I think a two-syllable name would sound better anyway, with the last name Bloom."
Jen grabbed her hair with both hands, seemingly intending to pull it out by the roots. "Aimee is a two-syllable name," she yelled, then gave it up. "Then what do you suggest?" she cried. "Aside from Micah."
"I think Jason would be pretty good," Josh put in.
"Jason's not bad," Jen said thoughtfully, but Orli frowned.
"What are our other options?" he asked.
"What's wrong with Jason?" Josh asked, sounding offended and quite ready to start the same argument over again.
Michelle turned a page in her newspaper.
"Jason's not bad," Orli tried to explain, echoing Jen without even realizing it. At last they had agreed on something, but were too busy disagreeing about everything else to notice. "I'd just like to see what else we come up with."
"We're not even deciding anything yet," Jen nearly yelled. "We're just discussing."
"Pretty violent discussion," Michelle murmured. Mostly absorbed in her paper, she was only half-listening. Nobody heard her.
"We need two names of each," Orli declared. "We don't know if we'll have two girls, or two boys, or one of each."
Jen gave him a look. "Thank you, Captain Obvious!"
"I'm just thinking aloud," he protested.
Jen closed her eyes, trying to contain her frustration. Nobody was quite sure how the conversation had gotten so out of hand, but all three of them were getting angry for seemingly no good reason. It wasn't even something they had to worry about just yet, but it was apparently quite a touchy topic for everyone involved, except Michelle, who simply turned another page.
"Hey," she said mildly, doing a double take. "We seem to be at war."
Orli looked at her, one eyebrow raised. "Do you really think this is that bad?" he inquired.
Michelle finally looked up. "You idiot," she cried, exasperated. "Are you living under a rock? This whole country is about to be at war. The president's making some speech tonight, and we're probably going to be invading Iraq within the next few days."
"Oh, that," Orli responded dismissively. "I have bigger problems."
Michelle raised an eyebrow of her own. "And you're handling them so well. Can I ask why you're all so upset over names for babies that won't be born for months?"
Josh, Orli and Jen all stared blankly, each trying to come up with a reason that would both satisfy Michelle and make the other two seem like the ones in the wrong. Finally, Michelle threw down the newspaper and announced, "You people are giving me a migraine. I'm going to lie down someplace quiet."
Apparently, Michelle's idea of a quiet place was the toilet. She sighed. "I guess the flu's going around." Frowning, she slipped into the master bedroom and slid into bed.
Josh, Jen and Orli resumed their argument.
"How about Kelly?" Jen asked.
"Why are you so convinced we'll have a girl?" Orli responded, at the end of his temper. "Let's come up with some boys' names too."
Jen threw herself into the nearest chair (luckily it was cushioned) and heaved a melodramatic sigh. "I'm just trying to think here!"
"I like Brian, or Justin," Orli suggested, ignoring her. "They both sound catchy with Bloom. Brian Bloom, Justin Bloom…"
"We get it, Orlando," Josh interrupted in the middle of his speculations. "You can stop now. No one's actually listening to you."
"I like Brian," Jen contributed quietly, but Orli had already jumped on Josh's remark. "Why do you think you're going to be the one who picks names for our babies?" he demanded. "What makes you think that you can come in here and act like these are your babies?"
Jen winced, afraid of what Josh might say in response. But he merely looked hurt, and answered quietly, "I just wanted to be here. I don't want to miss anything."
Orli's look softened, and he voiced Michelle's question of earlier. "What are we so angry about?"
Jen ran her fingers through her hair. She'd finally come up with a partial answer. "We don't want to mess up. We want to do everything perfectly, because we don't want any regrets. And we're scared- we thought we wouldn't be able to handle one baby, and now we're going to have two. And I feel them kicking inside me… and I'm thinking, there's life inside me, that's not my own. And when they're born, they'll be tiny and weak and defenseless, and we want them to have perfect lives." She shrugged. "So, we're tense."
It was a pretty good explanation, and it rendered the others speechless for a moment. At last Josh spoke. "This is completely off-topic, but something I have to say that I wanted to get out of the way." He took a deep breath, and his serious demeanor captured Jen and Orli's attention. "I checked up on Rachael Leigh Cook, and… she seems to be insane."
Jen stared. "That's your big news? I think we knew that."
"No," Josh amended, "clinically insane. She's in one of those hospitals right now, going through some sort of rehab. They let me talk to her; she's just downtown."
"So…" Orli prodded.
"So, she didn't have much to say. She seemed pretty angry that I'd even found her out in the first place, which I guess is to be expected. But she said all she ever wanted was someone to be with her. That she was crazy is what made her go to extremes to try and get somebody."
Jen picked up a magazine off the end table; something on the cover had caught her eye. "Oh dear," she commented, flipping to page 78.
Orli glanced up. "What?"
Wordlessly, she handed him the magazine. Orli looked at it briefly and made the same comment, before handing it to Josh. His eyes widened in shock as he read it.

Actor Josh Hartnett was seen last month at a downtown hospital in New York City, with best friend Orlando Bloom's wife, Jennifer. The two were spotted in the maternity ward. Hospital records specify an ultrasound indicating that Mrs. Bloom is roughly, at present, twenty-six weeks pregnant with twins. Naturally, people may wonder why Mr. Bloom was not present with his wife, and why Josh Hartnett, husband of writer and actress Michelle Hartnett (who was nowhere to be seen) was there instead. Research into the matter suggests that the two may have had a love affair, and Mrs. Bloom is mothering the children of her husband's best friend. Whether Mr. Bloom or Mrs. Hartnett is aware of this remains to be seen.

There was more, but it was mostly about their personal lives, which apparently were less than private. Josh blinked several times after reading, before questioning, "Why do they say Michelle wasn't there? She was with us."
Orli shrugged, disgusted. "They probably knew that. It makes it more dramatic if they say it was just you two alone together. And doubtful anyone will know any other way." He groaned. "This is nice. At least it doesn't seem to be world news yet."
"I think yet may be the operative word there," Jen remarked. She ran her fingers through her hair, distracted. "Are there pictures in there?"
Josh marked the page number with his finger and flipped to the front cover of the magazine before responding. "We are never buying Cosmopolitan again. Piece of-" He let the sentence hang before flipping back to the offending article and handing it to Jen.
"We look cute together," Jen declared cheerfully as she looked at the picture showing her and Josh, at a sideways angle to the camera, smiling at each other. As best as Jen could recall, Michelle had disappeared briefly to grab something to drink in the cafeteria downstairs, and they had been talking about the ultrasound, and Dr. Neelson's surprise news. Of course they'd been smiling at each other like that! Somehow they hadn't noticed the camera at that moment.
Orli looked at her suspiciously. "You don't seem all that upset."
Jen shrugged. "They'll get over it. It's just an exciting bit of gossip for them. Besides, we know it's not true. Josh and Michelle can't even-" She cut herself off, aware that she'd said too much, but it was too late. Josh was glaring at her and Orli looked confused. Jen looked down at the floor. "Sorry," she muttered, embarrassed.
"What…" Orli asked softly. "I think I missed something."
Jen said nothing; she'd already said too much. With a sigh Josh stared up at the ceiling as though he found it fascinating and explained, "Michelle and I seem to be having… problems getting pregnant. We might have fixed it, but… we don't know, and after this long we're not feeling so optimistic."
Orli's brow furrowed. "Who's having problems, you or Michelle?"
Josh shrugged and stared off into space, apparently tired of the ceiling. Orli was wise enough to let it go but couldn't think of anything to say to turn the tide of the conversation.
They sat that way for a while, silently, each lost in thought. The ringing telephone shattered the silence, but just as Josh placed his hand on the receiver, it stopped. Michelle had picked it up in the other room. After a few minutes she tottered outside, looking unsteady and very much like she wanted to be back in bed.
"My mother's dad slipped and fell in the shower," she announced. "They think he might have fractured his ankle. I'm going to Jersey to be with my Nana." Her normally sparkling green eyes, at present dark and opened to their full extent, looked huge and out of place in her pale face.
Josh got up. "I'm coming with you. You can't drive anywhere, you're sick."
Michelle shrugged. "I just grabbed a few things that I'll need. I'm only staying for a few days. I don't want to wait much longer to leave."
Josh hurried into the bedroom. "I won't be long."
Michelle, dragging a small backpack behind her, came and sat down next to Jen. "Heard you talking about our problems out here."
Jen had the grace to look ashamed. "It just slipped out. I'm sorry."
Michelle grinned weakly. "It's all right. You knew about it; I guess we should've told Orli too."
Orli reached over and grabbed her hand. "You all right?" he asked, concerned.
She shrugged. "Life sucks sometimes. Knowing I'll probably never have kids sucks. But there's nothing I can do about it right now." She squeezed his hand briefly, then brushed it away with the pity he offered: she didn't want pity. With an effort, she smiled, fighting off dizziness and waves of nausea. It was definitely not one of her better days.
Josh reappeared, carrying a tiny suitcase containing his barest essentials. "Ready?" he asked Michelle.
She stood up, and after brief hugs from Jen and Orli and well wishes, she and Josh left. Jen and Orli quietly let themselves out.
"It wasn't exactly the perfect end to a perfect afternoon," Orli commented, "but it was good spending some time together. I can't believe how little we've seen of each other since my birthday."
Jen nodded silent agreement. "I feel so bad for them. I would sit there and about give up living if I found out I could never have kids."
"On the optimistic side," Orli observed, "they might someday. It doesn't have to be a permanent problem, necessarily. It's just going to be much harder for them."
Jen shook her head. "You're so upbeat about everything." She smiled.
Orli did likewise. "I try."

A week later, Michelle returned, still feeling slightly off-color, but happy. Her grandfather (she called him "Pop-Pop") had indeed fractured his ankle. He'd gotten a black cast "so it won't ever look dirty," as he'd explained, and he seemed in good spirits. Michelle's aunt had stayed most of that same week helping out around the house, just as Michelle had, and they had spent some rare quality time together.
When she called, Orli and Jen were relieved to hear her news, and glad that she sounded more contented than she had in weeks. Jen had some exciting news of her own: "I can feel the babies kicking inside me! It's so exciting."
It didn't seem to bother Michelle. Rather, she was just as thrilled as her best friend. "That's great! You only have… what, two months left?"
"A little more. It's actually about three," Jen corrected, trying to damper her own enthusiasm, if only slightly. Inside she was near to bursting with excitement. She wasn't really sure she could handle twins, but she was ready to try. "I have another ultrasound next week."
"Interesting," Michelle commented, and her voice held a tone Jen couldn't decipher but was not at all sure she liked. "Is Orli going to be there this time?"
Jen felt defensive even though her husband's absence at the last ultrasound had upset her too. "Yes, he is. He tries, Michelle. It's not like he plans to not be around when important stuff happens."
Michelle said nothing. Obviously Jen hadn't quite hit on what she was really trying to say. After a moment of silence, she explained. "I know. It's not exactly that that makes me mad. It's like, hey, he has a life, after all, and he can't sacrifice it to be around sometimes. It's just… it almost seems like he doesn't appreciate what he has. I don't think he knows how lucky he is." Her voice wavered, though with grief or joy, Jen couldn't tell. "He's going to be a father!" She changed the subject, obviously embarrassed at her emotional display. "Have you decided on names yet?"
Jen sighed inwardly, glad for this new topic. "I really like Jayme and Brian, and Orli likes Allyson, Justin and Hayden." She laughed. "We don't quite know yet, but we're getting there. We're not arguing about it anymore: we have rational discussions and everything."
She could hear the grin in Michelle's voice on the other end of the line. "That's always a relief. Why don't you come over? Josh is out for the day, and you can just leave Orli all by his lonesome at your place. We haven't spent time alone together in forever."
Five minutes later Michelle heard the key turning in the lock and got up to let Jen in. "So what's new with you?" she asked. "It's been awhile."
Back in Michelle's house, Jen suddenly remembered something. "Did you see this?" she asked, picking up Cosmopolitan and handing it to her.
Michelle gazed at the cover. "What am I supposed to be looking at? Sexy men uncensored? What guys really want during sex? How to be a hooker? Shocking love scandal- Oh, dear." She glanced up. "Has my husband been cheating on me with my best friend?" she demanded, sounding falsely indignant. Underneath the love scandal subtitle were two names in smaller print: Josh Hartnett and Jennifer Bloom.
Jennifer couldn't help grinning. "You seem pretty concerned."
Michelle shrugged. "It's in my nature. My mother always told me, 'Take it with a grain of salt.' Of course, I think she was talking about eating my vegetables at dinner, not my husband hooking up with my best friend, but…" She made a face. "It all goes to the same place. Besides," she continued, obviously determined not to let this twisted version of their personal lives bother her, "this magazine is a piece of crap. I don't know why I bought it, and they'll be over this in a week anyway." She changed the subject with, "So what have you been up to since I last saw you?" which sent the two spiraling into a three-hour conversation. They talked about Orli's movies, and Josh's filming, and Michelle's writing, and Jen's singing career, which was temporarily at a standstill, as her boss was out of town; his father was dying ("I still need some help writing lyrics, though," Jen admitted; "he'll expect something whenever he gets back. The man never rests"). They talked about their summer plans (Michelle was flying to California to visit friends and meet her family out there; Jen was heading to Texas to see her parents), and Jen's babies, and baby names, and the possibility of Orli's heading back to New Zealand that summer for final Lord of the Rings reshoots, and his idea of bringing all three of them along. They talked about their lives in general and found that they never ran out of things to say.
Finally Michelle stood and stretched. She yawned lazily. "I just remembered. I need to go to the grocery store and pick up some milk and food for dinner. You want to come?"
"I have nothing better to do." Jen shrugged.
Michelle narrowed her eyes. "I'm so glad. I wouldn't want to keep you from something you really wanted to do."
Jen's lips curved upwards. "Shut up."
Michelle sneered and swaggered out of the room, car keys in hand.

The checkout line was fairly short; it was, after all, a Thursday afternoon. Jen helped Michelle pile milk and cold cuts and taco shells and meat onto the counter as Michelle gazed absently at the tabloids. Tabloids were some of her favorite things in the whole world and always good for a laugh. Jen had even found a copy of the National Enquirer (June 2002) in a drawer once (why she'd been looking in the drawer at all, Jen couldn't remember). It contained a small article about Jen and Orli's marriage, and Jen had often wondered why Michelle never bothered to share what was being published about them. That time, there were numerous implications that Orli was cheating on his ex, Kate Bosworth, and also various references to Jen's high school boyfriend, Matthew Rock, whom she'd hooked up with her junior year and had stopped seeing only a month before she'd met Orli. The ludicrous idea of all four of them constantly cheating on each other seemed to be the only good topic the teen magazines and tabloids had on them, though it was undeniably lacking in honesty; for the most part, their true lives were kept relatively quiet, as compared to those of other stars.
Michelle clapped her hands together suddenly. "Look, Jen!" she half-squealed.
"What?" Jen didn't see where she was pointing.
Michelle was nearly jumping up and down with glee. Jen gazed at her with weary affection. Michelle was forever telling her to lighten up, but sometimes Jen found her incredibly embarrassing, although always good for a laugh (whether she meant to be funny or not). At any rate, Jen finally saw what had Michelle so excited.
"You're on the cover of Globe!" Michelle exclaimed. "This is the first time they've published anything good."
"You're holding up the line, miss," the checkout boy, a teenager with zits and wild, dirty blonde hair, began. Horn-rimmed glasses winked in the light reflected from the ceiling; metal braces with blue bands drew attention away from his sweet-natured smile. Michelle turned on him and flashed her most dazzling smile. Jason, to tell by his nametag, stumbled over whatever he was about to say as Jen faced him also. He opened and closed his mouth several times, then gave up and said nothing.
"I'm sorry," Michelle apologized sweetly, and managed to look truly apologetic. Maybe she was, but Jen could never be quite sure. "Can we throw in this magazine… or is that too much trouble, since you've already rung up the total…?"
"N-no trouble at all," Jason stuttered, and added the magazine to the total, glancing up at the girls repeatedly. Jen felt bad for him; he obviously had no experience with girls, but Michelle didn't seem to notice at all. She already had her nose buried in Globe. She apparently found what she was looking for, flipped the corner of the page down, and seized her two grocery bags, flashing one last smile to poor Jason, who looked up at her and grinned hopefully.
"You are so embarrassing," Jen told Michelle in the car. "I don't think you're allowed to hit on people after you marry."
Michelle looked puzzled. "Was I hitting on someone?"
"The checkout guy!" Jen cried.
Michelle frowned. "Checkout guy?" There was a brief pause, then, "Oh! That checkout guy. Happens all the time," she finished dismissively, then winced. "That sounded pretty arrogant, didn't it?"
Jen chose to glare rather than answer. "Let me see that magazine."
Michelle sighed dramatically and surrendered the magazine, which, up till then, had been tightly gripped in her left hand.
Jen flipped to the previously marked page. "Listen to this!" she exclaimed, skimming the article. "Actor Orlando Bloom, who only last year married virtual unknown Jennifer Trayan Bloom ("Virtual unknown?" Michelle interjected, sounding rather insulted on her friend's behalf), is not content with only one woman. Rumors say Orlando is actually secretly seeing singer Mandy Moore, who broke up with her boyfriend of two years just last month. The two were spotted in a coffeehouse in New York City several weeks ago and drove off together upon leaving.
Yet Orlando may be in good company. Recently, suspicions of his wife having become pregnant by her best friend's husband, Josh Hartnett, arose. Josh and Jennifer are "very close," a good friend of theirs, who wished to remain anonymous, confided to Globe. "They spend a lot of time together, and Orlando was never around when Jen got pregnant because he was filming his movie Pirates of the Caribbean. It wouldn't surprise me at all if those babies aren't Orli's."
Michelle made a soft whistling noise through her teeth. "That sounds familiar. I wonder who the 'close friend' is?"
"If I ever find out, they won't be alive much longer," Jen responded threateningly.
Stopped at a red light, Michelle gave over a moment to glance at Jen. "Try to breathe," she instructed soothingly. "It's not that big a deal."
Jen glared. "It would be if it were you."
"They'll get over it. Ignore them. They live to work people up. There were a lot of vicious rumors going around when Josh took a year off acting. And the more they run you down, the more famous you become, in a sense."
"I don't want to be famous!" Jen cried. "I just want to lead a relatively normal life!"
The light turned green. Michelle, always cautious, glanced both ways before moving, then, deeming it safe, stepped on the gas.
"Michelle," Jen began as she pulled away. But she didn't need to. A car on the wrong side of the road, seemingly come out of nowhere, was racing right for them; Jen had the feeling it had just pulled out of its proper lane for no apparent reason. Michelle jerked the wheel wildly, but not quickly enough.
The impact was shocking. Jen felt the airbag pressing against her, but having hit her head on the window, she noticed little else, though she did clearly comprehend that no airbag had popped out in front of Michelle.
The world began to spin and lost color as Jen felt herself losing consciousness. She wondered dizzily why she heard a car horn sounding ceaselessly, and then realized that Michelle's head rested on the steering wheel, and one long, continuous beep issued from the horn. Her nose detected the faint, yet distinct, acrid reek of smoke, and her ears picked up the hideous clamor of screeching tires, but all she could think of was why Michelle couldn't pick up her head and make the noise stop.

She woke up suddenly, without warning. The first thing she registered, of all things, was that she was in an itchy, and on the whole rather uncomfortable, white gown that fell to just below her knees. She tried to sit up, but groaned as her head spun and found herself forced to lie back down.
The next thing Jen realized was that she only had complete control of her left hand, and that that whole arm was bandaged. Pulling herself up just barely enough to look over the side of the thin mattress she lay upon, she realized that Orli had hold of her right hand. His head was bent, and he'd given no reaction to her attempted movement; to all appearances, he was sleeping sitting up.
"Where are we?" Jen muttered groggily. Orli jumped, startled, and finally looked up. "Jennifer," he whispered, and she felt him grasp her hand more tightly. Jen was shocked to see how paper-white his face was. Staring at him, some remembrance of the accident returned to her. She shook her head, very gently, trying to clear her thoughts. "How long was I unconscious?" she asked finally.
"Awhile," Orli told her. "It's almost midnight." As he said so, Jen glanced outside through a small, square window at eye level. It was dark out. Jen remembered, it had been bright outside when they left the grocery store, the sun just preparing to think about setting for the night. So it must have been hours on end. Poor Orli, he had to have been sitting there for a very long time.
Just then the door to the little room opened, and a doctor, with large square glasses perched upon his crooked nose, came in, bearing a clipboard and a solemn expression. "You're awake," he said briskly, and Jen refrained from telling him yes, she was aware of this. "Good," the doctor continued. "You've been lucky," and again Jen had to stop herself opening her mouth to counter that lucky people didn't get into car wrecks in the first place. She glanced at the doctor's nametag, surprised that it didn't read "Captain Idiot." Dr. Albright, as she had just discovered he was called, continued, "You suffered a concussion from when you hit your head on the window, but fortunately it wasn't too serious. You also picked up some burns when the car engine caught fire, but you'll be fine. I'd like to watch you in the hospital overnight, though. I understand you're pregnant with twins?"
Jen responded in the affirmative.
"Well," the doctor explained, "sometimes in car wrecks, if the airbag has enough force behind it, it's possible that it can damage the baby's organs, or restrict its air supply, or interfere with the normal functioning of the umbilical cord. With twins, this can be a double threat if the babies are situated in the uterus such that the airbag presses in and forces one baby backwards, which could also harm the other. It's not a commonality, since most airbags don't have the power needed to make a significant difference, and most fetuses aren't positioned just right so as to be affected, but it's always a possibility. I would recommend another ultrasound, just to be on the safe side, and I would like to monitor your vital statistics for the next twenty-four hours to ensure that no lasting harm has occurred to you or your babies."
Though Orli looked worried about the babies, his face had brightened visibly during the course of the doctor's generally optimistic report. Yet Jen still sensed that something was wrong. "Michelle," she said finally. "She was driving. Where is she?"
Dr. Albright glanced at Orlando. He nodded, indicating that the person Jen was talking about was also under the doctor's care. Dr. Albright gently explained the defective airbag, and that Michelle had cracked her wrist on the dashboard, and hit her head on the steering wheel. "It most likely is not a fatality," he concluded, "but at this stage it's hard to say how much damage might have been done. She may have a concussion, or amnesia or even brain damage in an extreme case. She was burned as well, but that may be the least of her problems. We'll let you know as soon as we have more definite news." With a sympathetic glance that took in both of them, the doctor spun on his heel and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him and the noise echoing throughout the tiny room in the silence that followed his departure.
"Orli," Jen asked finally, talking softly so as not to disturb the quiet, which it suddenly seemed very important to maintain (though Jen craved answers more than silence), "what happened?"
He glanced up, eyes suspiciously bright. "From what they've told me…" he began, and then paused to collect his thoughts. "I think, when Michelle saw the driver coming towards you, she steered to the right, and she was almost completely turned in that direction when the driver ran right into you. So her side of the car was hit close to the front, and your airbag popped out, and you were jerked to the right, which is why you hit your head. I don't know much more about Michelle than you do. I think there was a hole in her airbag, or so I overheard, so when it didn't pop out, she slammed backwards, and then jerked full force into the steering wheel, which accounts for her possible concussion, and her wrist was run into the dashboard. She was cut when the window shattered, but that's minor, and I don't think she's very badly burned. We told the doctors neither of you smokes, so they think the fire was just spontaneous combustion. People stopped to drag you both out of the car, otherwise you probably would've been in it when it exploded." He stopped talking for a moment, obviously disturbed. "I thought I heard someone out there saying Michelle might have crushed a lung or at least broken some ribs on the bottom of the steering wheel." A shudder ran through him. "At least you're all right," he whispered, and bent his head again.
Jen sat up slowly, fighting off nausea as the room spun. She became aware of a faint but steady beep, beep above her head and, glancing up, watched a small screen that recorded her heartbeat in neon green against a black background. She stared, morbidly fascinated by this machine, and wondered if there was one above Michelle's head, wherever she was, beeping just as reassuringly. She squeezed Orli's hand tightly. She was mildly frightened, yes, but also she felt a peculiar sense of detachment, as though she were a stranger, watching this scene from somewhere near the ceiling, unable to share in the intensity of feeling that she knew must -or at least should- be passing between herself and her husband.
The door opened again, and Jen looked up, expecting Captain Idiot again. But no, she chided herself mentally, the good doctor was doing all he could for them. That he'd informed Jen of her wakeful state did qualify him as automatically stupid.
At any rate, it was not the unfortunate doctor, but Josh, even paler than Orlando. "How is she?" Orli asked quietly.
Josh did not respond right away. Indeed, he seemed not to be sure where he was. "Jennifer," he murmured. "You're awake."
"So I've been told," Jen muttered, feeling more focused on the moment and discovering that her wits were returning along with her common sense. As she realized this, the feelings she had kept at bay were released in a surge of internal terror and a pain inside her that no doctor could cure. She was very much afraid of what the next few days, or even the next few minutes, might bring. She repeated Orli's question, and Josh shrugged helplessly, collapsing into the only chair in the room, other than the one Orlando occupied.
Jen reached out to squeeze Josh's hand, and he glanced up, trying to smile in reassurance. Whether he was trying to reassure himself, Jen or Orli, Jen wasn't sure. His next words told little. "She's about the same. I don't know what that means. Nobody will tell me what's wrong." He pulled his hand back from Jen and ran it through his hair, frustrated.
And they sat that way for eternity. Soft footfalls could be heard outside the door from time to time; the monitor steadily beeped over Jen; rapid breathing dominated the tiny room. Josh left once to buy food for himself and Orli, and they both passed the rest of the night by Jen's little hospital bed, without talking. The sun slowly rose on a new day.

A nurse knocked softly and entered; Jen idly wondered what the point of knocking was if the woman wasn't going to wait for a response. Josh practically leaped from his seat, but the nurse simply said, "Jennifer Bloom?"
Jen started. "That's me."
"We're going to take you to have an ultrasound," the nurse explained. She glanced at Josh and Orli. "But the doctor won't allow visitors." Orli looked enraged, but too tired to open his mouth in protest. Josh sank back into his chair, eyes glazed over in concealed disappointment. Jen just shrugged, with an apologetic glance at Orli, and allowed herself to be wheeled out of the room in a wheelchair. Her insistence that she was fully capable of walking did not earn her the privilege of using her legs.
Jen was familiar with the procedure, of course, and didn't flinch as the cold gel made contact with her stomach. She watched silently, almost stonily, feeling some measure of last night's strange detachment return. The doctor spoke little and did not smile, though Jen doubted, from first glance, that he'd ever smiled a day in his life. He seemed a grim little man; little, for he was shorter than Jen, probably not more than two inches taller than Michelle, though of a much stockier build than either.
At last the doctor began to talk. Pointing out black-and-white images on the small screen, he began with, "It's impossible to say whether lasting damage has been done," and Jen, who had come to believe that technology was no further along than the eighteenth century, when "high-tech" meant sweating out a fever, rolled her eyes and immediately took the doctor for a fool. Jen wasn't feeling all that compassionate, and desperately hoped he would have something good to tell her in order to prevent an imminent temper tantrum, which, until then, she prided herself on having long since outgrown. The doctor, unaware of this insensitive train of thought, continued, "It seems that one fetus was affected by the airbag, but it's difficult to predict whether it was significantly harmed. The other fetus was untouched, and that's good news. The first one-"
"Listen," Jen interrupted, not in the mood to patiently listen to pointless blathering. "Are my babies all right or not?"
"Well," the doctor stammered, "they should be. One of them may have heart damage, but most likely that one could be given special medicines at birth and would be fine after. I don't think a c-section will be necessary for early removal-"
"Fine," Jen cut in once more. "Thank you. Have a nice day." Her chopped sentences betrayed her impatience.
The doctor looked puzzled. "Mrs. Bloom," he began pleadingly, "I'm only trying to tell you what's happened."
Jen shook her head angrily. "I don't care what's happened. I want to know what's going to happen."
The doctor's eyebrows lifted. "I'm trying to tell you what's going to happen…"
Jen sneered. "You're guessing. And I'm not talking about my babies." She shifted. "I'd like to leave now."
The doctor surrendered, obviously understanding the stress Jen was feeling. Later, Jennifer would wonder at his empathy, and how he could stand to be treated in such a manner and still be able to paste a polite smile on his face. She owed him much more credit than she'd initially given him. "I'll file a report in case you decide to look through it," he told Jen, and called in a nurse to wheel her back to her room.
When Jen arrived back, breakfast was waiting for her. At least, she assumed it was supposed to be breakfast. Orange juice was perched on the corner of a red plastic tray; hashed browns and scrambled eggs quivered in the middle of a small plate. Jen made a face at Orli. "Did nobody inform these people that I do not eat breakfast?"
"How was the ultrasound?" Orli asked, ignoring the question.
"I don't know." Jen shrugged.
Orli's eyes widened. "You don't know," he repeated. "How could you not know?"
Jen pursed her lips. "The doctor was an idiot. 'Maybe' this happened and 'It's possible' this will happen." She raised her shoulders again. "So, I didn't pay too much attention."
Orli stared in disbelief. "Do you not care what happens to our babies?" he demanded.
Jen looked as though she were seriously considering it. "Of course I do," she declared after a moment's pause. "But that doctor back there sure didn't know." She still wasn't fully capable of possessing emotion, and she felt devoid of fear and pain. She wanted to keep it that way. She was tired of fear and pain.
Orli jumped up. "Stop acting like you're the only one with problems, Jennifer," he snapped. "You think I'm not worried sick that our babies might not live? You think Josh isn't worried about that, and about Michelle too? You think you can just shut down and say, oh, nothing bad happened, everything's fine? I don't know what's wrong with you. Maybe it's normal to be in denial when stuff like this happens. But I like you better when you actually have feelings."
With this fine speech, Jen felt reality return. She felt cold and sick and shocked at herself. Words wouldn't come, so she simply stared down at the ground as tears welled up in her eyes.
"Hey." Orli's voice was softer now. "Jennifer."
She looked up, afraid of what anger she might see in his eyes.
He squeezed her hand gently. "Don't worry. We'll get through this. Everything will be fine." He smiled slightly. "Eat your breakfast."
Jen made a face and grudgingly picked up her fork. She didn't ask why she had to. She needed her strength.
"Where's Josh?" she asked between mouthfuls of hashed browns, which she detested even warmed up, and these were stone cold.
"He went to see Michelle."
Jen looked up sharply. "Did they tell you anything more?"
Orli sighed. "Nothing. I'm hoping he comes back with some good news." Jen closed her eyes; what little appetite she'd worked up vanished, and the hand that held her fork trembled.
A knock on the door made them both jump straight up in the air, but it was only a nurse, one they hadn't seen before, with a file folder in hand. "The ultrasound report," she explained when she saw them staring at her. Orli reached out, and she placed it gently in his hand.
Before she left, Jen blurted, "Do you know how our friend is?"
"Friend?" the nurse echoed, puzzled.
"Her name's Michelle Hartnett. She was in the accident too. We've been waiting for more news on how she's doing," Orli clarified.
The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, I just got here. I work an eight to four shift. I haven't heard anything about your friend." With that, she pivoted on her heel and left. Orli flipped through the report expressionlessly. Either it didn't make much sense to him or it was exactly what he was expecting.
Fifteen minutes hadn't yet passed, according to Orli's watch, but it felt like forever between nurse's departure and the arrival of a doctor informing them that Josh had requested their presence elsewhere. It was obscurely worded enough that neither Jen nor Orli had any clear idea where they were being escorted, but knew that at least they would see Josh, who could tell them more than the uninformative nurse.
"I don't understand why I'm not allowed to walk," Jen complained just moments later. "It's good exercise!" She made an attempt to sound energetic and swung her arms out wildly, bouncing slightly to emphasize her point.
Orli seized her hand just in time to stop her from knocking over a nearby vase. "I wouldn't say you're altogether well just yet," he responded serenely, walking beside her.
"But my legs are all cramped up," Jen whined. "They need to be used. Legs are meant to be used."
Orli made no comment as they were led down a long hallway. It was a bit too intensely lit, probably to make the depressing place seem cheerier.
Eventually they came to the Intensive Care Unit, ICU. It did not feel like a happy place, no matter how many lights beamed down from the ceiling, no matter how many lamps sat perched against the walls (it seemed to Orli and Jen a complete waste of electricity to have both lights and lamps). The ICU was not a happy place. It was where people came to die and friends and relatives came to make their final good-byes. Jen and Orli ceased talking as they drew nearer, intuitively sensing the reverence held in silence in this place.
They entered a room far down the hall. The first thing they saw was Josh's back; the first thing they heard was his voice.
Creeping (in Jen's case, wheeling) quietly into the room, they saw him talking quietly to an unmoving form on the bed. A long, thin needle was run into her left arm, smooth and shiny with first-degree burns; a neon blue cast (Jennifer hadn't realized they came in that particular shade) covered her right arm from hand to elbow.
She gave no response to their entrance, and for a moment Jen feared the worst. But then Josh looked up with a small smile. "She was up before. She lodged several complaints against the breakfast they gave her," and Jennifer felt the corners of her mouth tugging upwards in a diminutive rendition of a smile, thinking of the cold hash browns and salty scrambled eggs on her own breakfast plate.
"She'll be fine?" Orli asked, needing to hear those words.
Josh's smile flickered. "She'll have that cast for at least a couple of months, but I'd say considering the whole situation, she was pretty lucky. No crushed lungs or broken ribs or anything, like they were afraid of."
Jen frowned at the thought of having a cast for that long. "Could be worse."
"Could be," Josh affirmed, sounding optimistic.

They were right. The next few days brought new improvements for both her and Michelle. Jen was finally allowed the use of her legs, much to her relief, and was released after spending one more night in the hospital. Josh rarely left Michelle's bedside; Jen and Orli came to visit at least once a day. The hospital staff in the ICU came to know them personally, as they were there so often, and the two were always let in, no matter what time of day. After a few days, when Michelle was moved into a regular ward, it proved more difficult to bend the rules about visiting hours, but they managed.
Michelle was allowed to return home a week later. Apart from her cast and burns she did not appear much changed by the accident. Apparently close brushes with death were not life altering when one was unconscious the whole time.
Jen, however, felt strange about the whole thing, rather as though she'd cheated death. She spent so much time wondering what would have happened if they'd died- Orli and Josh would be lost, and their families and friends would be crushed, and Jen's babies would have died with her, and Jen herself would never have gotten the chance to make something out of her life- that Orli, more than once, came home from visiting friends and found her on the couch in the front room in tears, greatly distressed about what might have been. Orli himself- who did not trouble with the hypothetical when it wasn't absolutely necessary- had overcome his blind terror of Jen's alternate universe when he knew everything would turn out fine.
Apart from Jennifer's episodes, April passed with little event. It grew unusually warm, and then too cold, and finally the temperature leveled off. The flowers in Jen and Orli's front yard were in full bloom, spring hues of reds and purples and whites and pale pinks. Jennifer was overcome by a bout of spring-cleaning, much to her husband's dismay, and spent several days dusting every piece of furniture in the place, along with all the fan blades and blinds. Josh and Michelle decided, for no apparent reason, that, rather than replacing the wrecked BMW Z3, they would simply sell their Toyota Echo and buy another BMW, this one a four-door that seated five instead of two, claiming it was more practical; and Orli and Jen wondered when they'd ever particularly worried themselves with the practical. Michelle was in boisterous good spirits, though Jen and Orli weren't quite sure why, and took up an enthusiastic exercise program, working around the difficulties of her broken wrist, which she convinced Jen to do with her, claiming it was good for the babies. It involved at least a mile of alternate jogging and running each day, as well as trips to the gym to work out with the smaller weights and, occasionally, swim laps. Orli lazed about and visited friends while Jen and Michelle were out; Josh was much occupied with filming, some of which was being done in the city, so he wasn't forced to leave home for a long period of time, although in late April he did announce that he was jetting off to California for three weeks. Michelle ended up going with him, and Orli and Jen spent some more quality time together.
Another ultrasound produced much the same results as the last doctor had predicted, and though Jen couldn't fully shake off her worries about her unborn children, she was truly happy for the first time in months. The doctor had also given a due date, but warned that most often, first babies were late in arriving: his prediction was around June 20. Jennifer noted, not without some measure of ironic amusement, that they were due right around their first anniversary, and wondered if she'd be fighting off labor pains when she should be out celebrating the completion of one wonderful, turbulent, wild and amazing year with her husband.
Mother's Day rolled around, and Jennifer and Orli were still alone. Michelle had called from Hollywood the night before, apologetically explaining that they'd probably be in California for another couple of weeks. She'd wished Jen a happy Mother's Day and sent her a sweet mother-to-be card and a big silk pillow she'd found in Chinatown.
Meanwhile, Orli's idea of Mother's Day was to ignore Jen's protests that she wasn't a mother just yet and didn't want to make a big deal of the occasion. Though they were low-key, Orli had still insisted on booking a private room for two in a downtown hotel, where they'd enjoyed dinner and each other's company, and where Jen had worked her way through two salads, a baked potato, an eight-ounce steak (having decided that being a vegetarian simply wasn't practical when one was pregnant), a bowl of ice cream and a generous portion of cheesecake. Forget exercising, she thought. This was more fun. It occurred to her that she was having serious cravings for food because of the whole pregnancy factor, but she didn't trouble herself about it.
They arrived home two hours later, Jennifer thoroughly exhausted; all that food had lulled her to a dreamlike state even before they'd left the city, and her eyes were not willing to stay open of their own accord. She fell happily into bed, sinking into the soft mattress beneath the silk sheets, and surrendered herself to sleep, sinking into a peaceful oblivion that promised to surround her until the morning, when she knew she would wake up to the smell of Orli making breakfast, and walk into the kitchen to be greeted with a smile and presented with a plate of pancakes, still warm and drizzled with maple syrup, and they would sit down at the table and talk, and Jennifer would know exactly what she was living for in perfect moments like the one that waited for her. Life was good.