"Pick a story then," Cal directed the toddler. Was three still a toddler? Kind of was, even though Owen had got over his annoying tendency to destroy things. He was in regular day care sessions, preparing to go into the pre-kindergarten class and maturing. Lewis was at a sleep over birthday party and it was Owen's bed time. The first time he had gone to bed without his big brother sharing the room. Could be interesting. Cal was prepared for several nocturnal visits.

"This one," Owen approached where his father was sitting on the lower bunk bed. He dumped it in his father's lap, then climbed up and settled beside him. Cal righted the book in his hands, suspecting, but not having it confirmed until he saw the front cover. Well... it was time for this anyway.

"Where Babies Come From," Cal read the title. He opened the book and flipped through the first few pages to reach the start of the story. The information? Was it a story? He started reading, holding up the book so Owen could see the pictures. Owen turned the pages, looking at the images intently, but remaining quiet. With the stories he knew well he said the words along with his father. Or at least some of them, the ones he could anticipate. If Cal made up extra words at the end of the page Owen got annoyed. He knew what it was meant to say, even if he wasn't reading it.

Cal read the book cover to cover; explaining all about how babies were made by sperm and ova, by men and women, mum's and dad's. When he was finished Owen gave a little 'oop' and wriggled to the edge of his mattress to get another book. "Wait," Cal stopped him. "Take this one back." He held it out for his son, watching his face, trying to gauge a reaction to the information or not. They talked about babies around him and some of it must have gone in by osmosis. But this was probably the first direct information the kid had heard. Owen snatched it from his grip and came back with one about dinosaurs, slapping it down on his father's legs before climbing back up on the bed for the next story.

Cal read three more books to Owen before tucking him in and kissing him goodnight. He left the door open half way, to let in a bit more light than usual, because his big brother was not there with him. Just in case. Cal headed down the hall to the master bedroom. Gillian was also reading. "Want me to read you a bed time story too?" Cal asked, crawling over the mattress towards her. He settled with his head on her stomach. A hand fell to his hair, scratching against this scalp absently.

"Maybe you should read to me," Cal noted.

"I'm catching up to where you are," Gillian mumbled.

"Guess what bed time stories we had tonight?"

"Hm?"

"We had Timmy the Tyrannosaurus and The Little Red Engine."

"Classics," Gillian noted absently.

"Yes and Where Babies Come From."

There was a pause, then: "What?"

"Yeah."

"You read it to him?"

"He picked it off the shelf."

"Oh."

Cal turned and sat up, so he was facing his wife, even though her body was warm and soft and the perfect pillow with the gentle rolling of her diaphragm that lulled.

"What did he say? Did he say anything? What did you say?" Gillian also straightened up, her book abandoned.

"He didn't say a word about it and I wasn't sure what I should say if he didn't... start it," Cal gave a shrug. This was different to Lewis. Lewis asked questions and Lewis didn't have a big brother for them to practice on.

Gillian watched him for a moment. "I don't have an answer to that either."

"Maybe he's not bothered," Cal suggested.

"He probably needs time to process," Gillian countered.

Cal threw himself at his pillow. "Is it lights out?"

"Do you want me to read to you or not?"

"All right," he agreed awkwardly undoing his jeans and slipping them down his legs.

"After the earthquake ends."

Cal tossed his jeans to the floor and made a bigger show of taking his shirt off and getting under the covers. He jostled the bed until Gillian was forced to roll into him, laughing. Then they settled properly, her against his bare chest, the book up in her hands so it was in the light, so they both could read it.

PJ

"Ow that's my face," Cal's voice woke Gillian. She was curled up on the mattress, her back against her husband's side, facing the windows. She felt him shift and heard him murmur to their three year old to be quiet because 'Mum' was still asleep. So considerate. A squirmy little body settled behind her next and Cal's arm as a buffer.

"You read this Dad," Owen told him, not keeping his voice down at all. Oh well. Like she needed a sleep in.

Cal's voice was soft, barely above a whisper, more like a grumble in his chest that was comforting, reminding Gillian of hearing him in the room next door, when Lewis's room used to be adjacent to theirs, soothing his infant son when he woke up upset.

"Did you like this one?"

"Yup!" Owen announced.

"Where Babies Come From," Cal started and Gillian smiled.