A very long time ago, April would have sneered at all of this.
They lived a relatively… normal life, sans frequent outings to motels as the fleeing thief Janet Snakehole chased by the determined Burt Macklin. Besides, there were the frequent family movie nights which included movies that were a little too gruesome for young children. Children, even. April might have had fleeting thoughts, wonders, and she might have been curious about the idea but she never dreamed it'd be real before her.
The reality of it was always equal parts terrifying and impossible to fathom.
Jack spent his time out, driving with his newfound sense of freedom. Robbie spent more and more time bouncing out of the house then next door, and Sam and the twins stayed relative recluses. As April mentally checks her list as to where they are, a strange holdover that she couldn't imagine having years ago but as worrying motherhood loomed just took a stronger grip on her, she can't help but smile fondly at the thought of hearing Roberta exclaim her return, sigh, and slump onto the couch for one of her legendary, immovable naps; or see whether Sam wanted any part of the sun or outside at all for once.
"Hey babe?" Andy calls out for her, breaking the reverie. April blinks twice and sees the backyard clearly again. They're alone back out here, the kids secluded to their rooms or out with friends.
He looks at her expectantly and she remembers the cold, sweating glasses in her hands. Walking over to the hammock that Andy spent far too long setting up, stumbling quite a few times and bearing it with a grin that only matched hers and the kids' watching him, April slinks between his legs as best she can. She offers him one of the Adult Lemonades – his words, not hers – and she let herself sink into his chest.
"Hey," he says to her after a few moments of the idle, creaky swinging being their atmosphere.
"Hmm?" she asks without looking back.
"Oh… nothing," he says with that same sigh of content that April is always outright giddy to hear – giddy, a word April would have never used to describe herself if it wasn't over fake or real blood. "Love you."
"Yeah, love you too," she answers back and turns ever so slightly to settle into him better.
Just then, the hammock sends them toppling to the ground. Their glasses spill all over the grass, and April's in a heap in front of Andy. It only takes him a second to ask if she's okay, and for April to respond with a sincere fit of giggles at how ridiculous this all is.
Years and years ago, she might have leant into the fact that she was okay. Usually that meant deeper, warmer holding and that necessity of security. Right now though, she just wishes someone had filmed their likely ridiculous flop onto the grass.
Andy responds with that grin of his, lopsided as always, and a loud, warm cackle and that alone puts her at ease.