2018
"Less squirming, please, Macsen," HG sighs, and the five-and-a-half-year-old finally sits still on the step, allowing her to tie up his baseball cleats. In his sling against her chest, five-month-old Alexander squirms a bit in his dozing. "Tonight we'll practice this a bit more. You're almost there."
"Will you teach me a double knot?" Max asks. "Mine always untie when I do 'em."
"Of course, darling. Will you be warm enough?"
She pulls down the sleeves of his turtleneck and does up all the buttons on his Cleveland Indians jersey.
"Too hot," he complains.
"That's because the heat is on in here. Outside it'll be quite chilly."
"Okay."
"There's another sweatshirt in your bag if you need it."
"Okay," Max nods.
"Very well. Let's get loaded into the car; I believe your father has agreed to meet us there."
2019
It's late when they get home, but the time of extra nights in middle America's motels is long over. Their whole worlds are waiting for each of them back in South Dakota, even if it is significantly past midnight.
Pete talks, nonstop, to keep them awake, but Myka only half listens, hands on the steering wheel, the familiar nothing of the highway stretching out on either side of her, fading into the distance. Every passing telephone pole notches them closer to home.
By the time to get to Leena's, even Pete is too tired to talk. He grabs their duffels out of the back and throws her hers. It's a warm early fall night, just a pleasant cool breeze cutting through the air. They climb the steps of the front porch in companionable silence, extra careful to not wake the occupants of the home. Before they get to the front door, though, Pete stops her with a tug on her sleeve, his other hand waving a hello towards the swing tucked to the side.
In the darkness, Myka sees Helena incline her head in greeting, hands otherwise occupied. Myka grins, the moonlight just allowing her to see enough to get the sweetest picture of both boys sleeping against Helena.
Seven-year-old Max is curled up on the bench of the swing, head pillowed on Helena's side, Pooh in his arms. An afghan blanket is pulled up around his shoulders, spilling into Helena's lap. Ally, barely two, acts as another kind of blanket draped across his mother's lap, and Myka knows from experience just how much heat their son produces while he sleeps away. He is facing Helena, face buried in her neck, arms falling limply over her shoulders, legs loosely wrapped around her waist.
"You look comfy," Myka says softly.
"They insisted on waiting."
Myka grins. "And you couldn't stand up to them?"
Helena grins at her warmly: "Not a chance."
2020
The boy has little patience for this type of work. He is preternaturally gifted with his hands at a keyboard, and Claudia is constantly complaining about (and beaming with pride over) his tendency to switch wires around in every piece of technology he finds around the B&B. But when it comes to machines that have no software, he's easily bored. And she is not letting him anywhere near her car's computer, given that a month ago he programmed Pete's navigation to gleefully giggle "Hee! You farted!" at random intervals.
Maintenance and repair of a car was one of the first things HG taught herself in this brave new world. She is attempting to pass that on to Macsen, or at least entertain and distract him until dinner.
"Macsen."
"Sorry, Agey," the eight-year-old winces.
"Shall I repeat it?"
The boy nods, and she has his attention for now, at least.
"How about this? You look at it for a few minutes and tell me how you think it goes together. Then we'll go from there."
Max stares into the engine while Helena looks to the porch, where three-year-old Ally is crafting a magnificent block tower with Leena. Despite being well into his toddler years, Ally has not developed the frenetic energy that marked Max's younger years and still rears his head. Ally has Myka's power of concentration and her big brain.
But Max is no longer easily entertained by blocks and such. So life skills it is.
"Oh!" Max exclaims, and Helena grins, excited for what comes next.
"Hello?" Myka calls into the quiet house.
"They're out back," Leena calls from the kitchen. "Dinner in twenty. Claudia! Hands off the sauce until it's ready."
"Fiiine."
Myka pushes out into the backyard and sees the lights on in the heated workshop. She grins and sneaks in the door, getting a brief glimpse of the adorable scene before she is noticed.
At the wide table in the center of the work space, all three of them hunch over papers. Eight-year-old Max taps his pencil against his cheek, a school folder (math, based on the color) laid out before him. Across the table, Helena has large schematics spread out; Claudia prefers to sketch hers digitally, but Helena still likes the feel of pencil and paper. Her brow is scrunched in concentration, right hand making marks on the paper, left reaching out to rest lightly on Ally's shoulder. Ally wears an adorably identical expression of concentration, chin resting on his left hand, the other hand grasping a crayon. His project of choice appears to be a coloring book.
"Are we working hard on homework?" Myka announces her presence.
"Mama!" Ally cries, jumping down to run into her arms.
"Hey, you," Myka greets into his shoulder, feeling him squeeze around her neck.
"Homework is the worst," Max complains.
"I find myself similarly frustrated," Helena sighs.
Ally on her hip, Myka goes to greet Helena and Max in turn, squeezing tense shoulders.
"I'm sure you'll both figure it out. Don't let me interrupt. You've got twenty minutes until dinner. I'll keep you company."
She's running late, and Myka hates running late.
At least she can always count on Pete being later than she is.
"Pete!" she yells as she hits the top of the stairs, still pulling her jacket on. "Pete, we gotta go!"
Pete bursts from his room and is close behind her.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'."
Downstairs around the breakfast table, looking far too serene for the time-crunch panic bubbling up in Myka, sit Helena and the boys.
"We'll be back tomorrow," Myka says, stealing half a bagel from Helena's plate and kissing her quickly.
"Have fun," Helena smirks, watching the rush, squeezing her wrist.
Myka leans down and finds a crumb-covered face already waiting for her kiss.
"Bye, Mama," three-year-old Ally says sweetly, reaching his arms up to give her neck a quick squeeze. "Love you."
Myka gives him a flurry of kisses all over his messy face, which makes him giggle.
"Love you, too, Ally. Be good for Mummy, okay?"
"Mhmm!"
Then Myka moves on to eight-year-old Max, kissing the top of his head.
"Bye, Aunt Myka," Max says with a sleepy yawn. He wipes off his mouth before kissing her cheek.
"You be good, too," Myka says, and Max grins.
"I'm always good," he objects.
"Me too!" Ally pipes up.
"Yes, angelic," Helena says ironically. Myka gives her an amused grin.
Pete, who took a few extra moments to steal many pastries from Leena in the kitchen, joins them and mimics Myka's earlier chain of goodbyes in reverse, kissing Max, then Ally, then pulling up short at Helena's chair.
"Yeah, no kiss for you."
He pulls a face that makes both boys laugh.
"I appreciate that, Peter. Be safe. Stay out of trouble."
"Ooh, the first one's easy. Can't promise the second one."
"Pete," Myka groans. "Go start the car."
Pete salutes and gives Max one last hair tousle and one last "I love you". Myka turns to follow him, but Ally calls out with a pout:
"One more kiss, Mama!"
Myka's smile is involuntary, and she works her way back down the row, a kiss each for the boys and then a lingering kiss on Helena's lips.
Outside, Pete honks the horn. Myka pulls away and steals a piece on cantaloupe from Helena's plate.
"Are you going to leave me any breakfast?" Helena asks as Myka heads for the door with one last wave.
As she heads out the front door, Myka hears Ally say:
"Here, Mummy. You can have my donut."
Myka pauses and frowns. Who's feeding him… She shakes her head. No time for that. She heads out to work, knowing Helena and Leena are keeping it under control at home. Plus, she can't be later than Pete. That's just wrong.
fin