Chapter 10: The Morning Sickness
The scent of clove and orange blossom was usually Rose’s favorite, a clean, spicy warmth that felt like autumn in a bottle. Today, it was a cloying wall. She stared at the invoice for essential oils, the numbers swimming into indecipherable blurs. A slow, oily wave of heat climbed from her stomach to her throat.
She dropped the pen, pressing her palm flat against her middle. Breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The small back office of The Soapbox, her sanctuary, felt suddenly airless.
Monday. Wednesday. Now Friday morning.
Three times this week, the world had tilted. Once while she was stirring a vat of melted shea butter. Once in the grocery aisle, staring at a wall of crackers. And now, here, over paperwork. It wasn’t the flu. She knew her body, the scars it carried, the rhythms it had fought to reclaim.
You’re never late.
The thought, cold and clear, cut through the nausea.
With a hand that felt detached from her arm, she swiped her phone open. Tapped the calendar app. Scrolled back. January… February… She’d been busy with Ella’s arrival, with the shop’s spring line, with family dinners. The little dot marking her last cycle was a tiny, accusational moon on the screen, dated deep in March. It was now nearly mid-May.
She counted. Twice. A hollow, rushing sound filled her ears, the roar of her own blood.
The office door cracked open. Liam’s head appeared, his brow furrowed behind stylish glasses. “Darling, the delivery guy is here and he is unholy levels of cute. I need a second opinion before I commit to flirting. You look… green.”
“I’m fine,” Rose said, her voice too bright, too thin. “Just a headache. Go, assess. Report back.”
He hesitated, his sharp eyes missing nothing—the sheen on her forehead, the white-knuckled grip on the edge of the desk. “Rosebud.”
“Liam. Please. The cute delivery guy is waiting.”
With one last concerned look, he withdrew. The door clicked shut. Rose slumped forward, her forehead touching the cool wood of the desk. The framed photo of Tommy, caught in a moment of toothless, joyful laughter, watched her.
A baby.
The joy was instant, a sunflower bursting open in her chest, so potent it was painful. She and Bear had talked about it, a nebulous someday. They wanted a big family. Tommy asked for a brother weekly. The want was a deep, quiet current in her life.
Then the terror followed, cold and sluicing, dousing the sun. It wasn’t the fear of motherhood. It was the memory of a different bathroom, a different positive test, a different man. The memory of his face, not joyous, but contorted in a rage that said this is mine, now you’re trapped. The memory of a fist, not a hand, on her stomach. The phantom ache of old broken ribs flared beneath her skin.
She shoved the memory back, locking it in the iron box she kept in the basement of her mind. That was then. This was Bear. Bear, who had held her through night terrors. Bear, who traced her scars like they were maps to treasure. Bear, whose first words to Tommy every morning were, “Hey, buddy, how’s my best guy?”
She straightened up. She needed to know. Now. Before the panic could set up camp.
“Chloe?” she called out, her voice remarkably steady. Her assistant manager appeared a moment later, her expression mild and ready to help. “Can you and Ella mind the front? I need to run a quick errand. Liam’s… doing market research by the loading dock.”
Chloe smiled. “Of course. Everything okay?”
“Just a thing,” Rose said, grabbing her purse and jacket. “Be back in thirty.”
The pharmacy was three blocks away. She walked fast, the cool Montana spring air helping to clear her head. She didn’t allow herself to think. She moved. Aisle seven. Family planning. The options were overwhelming. She grabbed a two-pack of the digital kind, the ones with the clear words, unable to handle the ambiguity of faint pink lines today. She added a bottle of water and a bag of pretzels as camouflage, her heart a trapped bird against her ribs.
The teenage cashier scanned the items with utter boredom. Rose’s face felt like it was on fire.
Back at the shop, she bypassed the front entirely, slipping in through the back alley entrance. The bathroom was a tiny, tiled space next to the office. She locked the door, leaned against it, and squeezed her eyes shut.
The instructions were simple. Wait three minutes.
She set the stick on the edge of the sink and turned away, washing her hands methodically, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The woman staring back had freckles across her nose, rose gold in her dark curls, and eyes wide with a wild hope so profound it edged on fear. She looked at the faint, silvery scar near her hairline, a relic of a different life. She looked at the new laugh lines around her eyes, gifts from Bear.
A soft chime sounded from the sink.
Her breath stopped. She turned.
In the little digital window, a single word glowed with definitive, life-altering clarity.
PREGNANT.
The sunflower in her chest exploded, showering her insides with golden light. Her hands flew to her mouth. A tear, hot and sudden, traced down her cheek. Then another. She was crying, silent, heaving sobs of sheer, staggering joy, the plastic stick still clutched in her trembling hand. A baby. Bear’s baby. Their baby.
The fear whispered again, a hiss under the joy. What if… But she stomped on it. This was her life. This was her choice. This was her love, solid and real as the mountains outside.
A gentle knock on the door. “Rose?” It was Ella’s voice, tentative. “Liam said you weren’t feeling well. I brought you some ginger tea from next door.”
Rose swiped at her face, took a shuddering breath. She unlocked the door, opening it just enough to take the steaming cup. “Thanks, Ella. I’m… I’m okay. Really.”
Ella’s gaze was knowing, soft. She’d seen that particular blend of terror and euphoria before, in her own mirror. She didn’t pry. She just nodded. “It’s quiet out here. Take your time.”
Rose locked the door again. She disposed of the evidence, washed her face, and drank the tea. The warmth centered her. She had a shop to run. A secret to hold, just for a few more hours.
The day passed in a surreal haze. She moved through her tasks—approving a new label design, fielding a call from a boutique in Billings, helping a customer choose between neroli and sandalwood. Her mind was a thousand miles away, in the ranch house, with Bear. How would she tell him? When?
She wanted it to be perfect. Not a grand gesture, but something intimate, real. Something that was them. She thought of his hands, so capable and gentle. She thought of the way he looked at Tommy, like the boy had hung every single one of those stars in the Montana sky.
At closing, Liam shooed her out. “Go. You’ve been in a parallel universe all afternoon. Whatever’s in that universe, go deal with it. We’ve got this.”
She drove home slowly, the wide sky streaked with the fading pinks and oranges of sunset. The ranch was a postcard of peace. Cattle dotted the pastures. The cabin’s windows glowed warmly; she could see Ella and Noah moving around inside. The main house stood solid and welcoming, smoke curling from the chimney.
Bear’s truck was already parked out front. He was in the kitchen, as she knew he would be, his big frame moving with an easy economy. The radio was on, some classic country station playing low. He was seasoning a stack of steaks, a beer beside him on the counter.
He looked up as she came in, and his face did the thing it always did—it lit up, just for her, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening. “Hey, you. Long day?”
She dropped her bag and walked straight into him, burying her face in his chest, inhaling the scent of him—soap, leather, and pure, solid Bear. He enveloped her instantly, his arms a haven. He kissed the top of her head. “Whoa. That kind of day, huh?”
“Just needed that,” she mumbled against his flannel shirt.
He held her for a long moment, his hand stroking her curls. “Tommy’s at Mom’s for a sleepover. Figured we could use a quiet night.” He pulled back, searching her face. “You sure you’re okay? You look… radiant. And a little spooked.”
She forced a smile. “I’m good. Better than good. What can I do?”
They cooked together, their familiar dance in the kitchen. He grilled the steaks while she made a salad and roasted asparagus. They talked about the ranch—a fence line that needed reinforcing, a heifer that was due soon. Normal, grounding things. Every time she looked at him, the secret fizzed inside her like champagne, threatening to bubble over.
After dinner, they settled on the big couch in the living room, a fire crackling in the hearth. Bear had his arm around her, her feet tucked under his thigh. The silence was comfortable, full of the soft pop of burning logs.
Now. She had to tell him now, or she’d combust.
“Bear,” she said, her voice quiet in the dim room.
“Hmm?” He was playing with a strand of her hair.
“I need to tell you something.”
Something in her tone made him still. He shifted, turning to face her more fully, his blue eyes intent and serious. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Suddenly, all her planned, perfect words vanished. It was just her, and him, and the monumental truth. She took his hand, the one so much larger than hers, calloused and strong. She placed it flat against her lower abdomen, over her sweater.
He looked at their joined hands on her stomach, then back at her face, confusion flickering in his gaze.
She looked right into his eyes, her own filling with fresh tears, but these were pure, unadulterated joy. “There’s a baby in there,” she whispered.
For a second, he didn’t move. He didn’t breathe. The words just hung between them in the firelight. Then, a tremor went through his hand. His eyes widened, searching hers, looking for any hint of a joke, of uncertainty. He saw only the blazing truth.
A soft, punched-out sound escaped him. “Rosebud?”
She nodded, a smile breaking through her tears. “Yeah. I’m pregnant.”
The transformation on his face was the most beautiful thing she’d ever witnessed. The confusion shattered, replaced by a wonder so raw it was almost painful to see. His lips parted. His eyes, locked on hers, shimmered with instantaneous tears. He didn’t speak. He just leaned forward, slowly, deliberately, and pressed his forehead against hers, their noses touching. His hand spread wider over her stomach, a warm, protective weight.
His breath hitched. A single tear escaped, tracing a path through his beard. “A baby,” he breathed, the word a reverent prayer.
“A baby,” she echoed.
He pulled back just enough to cradle her face in his massive hands, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “You’re sure?”
“Did two tests. Very sure.”
The joy erupted from him then, not in a shout, but in a deep, resonant laugh that shook his shoulders. He kissed her, not with passion, but with a profound, staggering gratitude that made her soul ache. When he broke the kiss, he was grinning, his dimples on full display, tears still tracking down his face.
“When? How far? Are you feeling okay? The nausea today—was that it?” The questions tumbled out.
“About six weeks, I think. And yes, that was it. I’m okay. Just… overwhelmed.”
He moved then, sliding off the couch onto his knees on the rug in front of her. He pushed up her sweater gently and pressed his lips to her stomach, right over where his hand had been. He stayed there for a long moment, his breath warm against her skin. When he looked up, his expression was one of utter devotion.
“Hi, in there,” he whispered, his voice thick. “I’m your dad. I’ve been waiting for you.”
Rose’s heart shattered and rebuilt itself in the space of that sentence. She threaded her fingers through his hair, her own tears falling freely.
He rested his cheek against her, just breathing her in. “You’re amazing. You know that? You’re this… miracle.” He looked up, his gaze fierce. “Are you happy? Are you scared?”
“Both,” she admitted freely. “So happy I could fly. And… the old ghosts try to whisper.”
He nodded, understanding completely. He got to his feet, scooped her up effortlessly, and sat back down on the couch with her cradled in his lap. He wrapped himself around her, a living fortress. “Listen to me. Every appointment, I’ll be there. Every craving, I’ll drive to Bozeman at 3 a.m. Every backache, I’ll rub it. You are safe. This baby is safe. This joy is yours. Ours. Nothing gets to touch it.”
She believed him. In his arms, with his heart thudding steadily against her side, she believed him absolutely.
They talked for hours in the dying firelight. About names. About whether Tommy should be the first to know after the first trimester. About turning the room next to Tommy’s into a nursery. Bear talked about building a new, bigger rocking chair. Rose talked about how she’d need to train Chloe and Ella on more of the management side as her pregnancy progressed.
It was practical, and dreamy, and perfectly them.
Later, in the dark of their bedroom, wrapped in each other, Bear’s hand splayed possessively over her still-flat stomach, he spoke into her hair. “I thought my life was full. I thought I had everything. I didn’t know there was this piece missing. Now I do.”
She fell asleep with his words wrapped around her like the blankets.
The next morning, the secret was a golden bubble between them. They moved around each other in the kitchen with goofy, secret smiles. He made her toast, watching her like she might vanish. She caught him staring at her stomach while he drank his coffee.
“It still looks the same,” she laughed.
“Nope,” he said, shaking his head with certainty. “It’s different. I can see the glow.”
Tommy came home after lunch, a whirlwind of energy from his grandma’s. He babbled about helping Grampy fix a tractor and eating pancakes shaped like dinosaurs. Normal, beautiful chaos.
Rose watched Bear swing him up into a hug, their son’s small legs dangling. Bear met her eyes over Tommy’s shoulder, and the love in his gaze was a palpable force. It held the past, the present, and this dazzling, terrifying, glorious future. He winked at her, then blew her a kiss.
Tommy squirmed down. “What was that for?”
“Just lovin’ your mom,” Bear said easily, setting him down.
“Oh. Okay.” Tommy deemed this acceptable and ran off to find his trucks.
Rose spent the afternoon at the shop, the secret making everything seem sharper, more vivid. The colors of the soap, the laughter of customers, the way the sun hit the wooden floors. Liam eyed her but said nothing, just hummed show tunes with extra vigor.
It was Chloe who approached her in the back while Rose was updating the inventory log.
“So,” Chloe said, leaning against the doorframe, a gentle smile on her face. “You’re pregnant.”
Rose’s head snapped up. “What? How?”
Chloe tapped her own nose. “Three kids. I can spot it a mile away. It’s in the eyes. A sort of… focused wonder. And you’ve been touching your lower belly all day, just a little protective brush with your fingers.” Her smile widened. “I’m so happy for you guys. Does Bear know?”
“He does,” Rose said, giving up on pretense. She felt a rush of relief at saying it out loud to someone else. “We just found out last night. We’re waiting a bit to tell everyone, but… yeah.”
Chloe came over and hugged her, a warm, sincere squeeze. “It’s the best thing. The very best. And you,” she said, pulling back and holding Rose’s shoulders, “are going to be amazing. Again.”
The simple confidence was a balm. “Thanks, Chloe.”
“Does Ella know?”
“Not yet. I think she suspects. She brought me ginger tea yesterday when I was… uh… indisposed.”
“She’ll be thrilled. That boy of hers needs more friends. This baby will have a built-in best friend in
That boy of hers needs more friends. This baby will have a built-in best friend in Noah, and a big brother in Tommy. It’s perfect.” Chloe’s eyes misted over. “I’m just so happy for you. For all of you.”
The validation settled the last fluttering nerves in Rose’s stomach. She finished her workday with a new sense of purpose, the secret now a shared, sparkling thing between her, Bear, and Chloe. The shop closed, and she drove home under a sky the color of washed denim, her mind turning practical. She needed to call Dr. Evans. She needed to make it real, official, on a chart somewhere.
That evening, after Tommy was in bed, she took her phone to the porch swing. The night air was crisp, scented with pine and damp earth. Bear was inside, paying bills at the kitchen table, the low murmur of a baseball game on the radio behind him. She found the number in her contacts, her thumb hovering over it.
A part of her, the part that still lived in a cramped apartment in New Orleans jumping at slamming doors, hesitated. Making the appointment made it a fact in the world, outside the protective bubble of their home. It invited the scrutiny of paperwork, of medical history, of cold, clinical confirmation. She took a deep breath, the clean Montana air filling her lungs, pushing the old fear out. She pressed call.
The receptionist at Bozeman Creek Women’s Clinic was cheerful and efficient. “First available with Dr. Evans is next Thursday at ten-fifteen. Will that work?”
“That’s perfect,” Rose said, her voice steady. She gave her information, her name, her date of birth. “It’s for a pregnancy confirmation. I’m… I think I’m about six weeks.”
“Congratulations, honey,” the woman said, warmth bleeding through the professional tone. “We’ll see you then. Drink lots of water before your ultrasound!”
Rose hung up, the appointment a solid block in her calendar, in her life. She went inside. Bear looked up from his laptop, his reading glasses perched on his nose, making him look both scholarly and wildly out of place. “Who was that?”
“Dr. Evans’ office,” she said, leaning against the doorframe. “Appointment is next Thursday at ten-fifteen.”
He took the glasses off, setting them carefully on the table. A slow, deep smile spread across his face, transforming it. “Okay. I’ll clear my morning.”
“You don’t have to. It’s just a confirmation. Probably bloodwork, a quick scan.”
“Rosebud,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m going to be there. For all of it. The boring stuff, the scary stuff, the amazing stuff. Try and stop me.”
She couldn’t help but smile back. “Okay.”
The days until Thursday passed in a strange, suspended animation. Rose moved through her routines—making soap, managing the shop, loving her family—but everything was tinted with anticipation. Bear watched her with an almost comical level of attentiveness, fetching her water, asking if she was tired, his hand constantly finding the small of her back or her shoulder. It was sweet, and a little smothering.
“I’m pregnant, not terminally ill,” she finally laughed on Wednesday evening, swatting him away as he tried to take a full laundry basket from her.
“I know,” he said, not relinquishing the basket. “But you’re carrying my kid. Humor me.”
Thursday morning dawned clear and bright. Rose dressed with care in soft, comfortable clothes. Bear wore a clean button-down shirt, which was practically formal for him. He was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive into town, his large hands flexing on the steering wheel.
“You’re nervous,” Rose observed, watching the muscle work in his jaw.
“Aren’t you?” he asked, glancing at her.
“Terrified,” she admitted quietly. “But in a good way. Mostly.”
He reached over, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “Me too.”
The clinic was calm and smelled faintly of antiseptic and lavender from a diffuser. They checked in, Rose’s knees bouncing slightly as they waited. A nurse called her name. Bear stood up with her, a solid, reassuring presence at her side.
The nurse, a woman named Gail with kind eyes and a no-nonsense manner, took Rose’s vitals. “Blood pressure’s perfect. Weight’s good. Any nausea?”
“Some,” Rose said. “Mostly in the mornings.”
“Normal. Try the crackers and ginger ale routine. If it gets debilitating, call us.” Gail made notes on a tablet. “Dr. Evans will be in shortly for your ultrasound. You can leave your clothes on from the waist up, just undo your pants and slide them down a bit. There’s a sheet for coverage.”
Dr. Evans entered with a warm smile. She was in her fifties, with a calm, grounded energy Rose had appreciated from their first meeting over a year ago for her annual exam. “Rose. Good to see you. And this must be Bear.” She shook his hand, her gaze appreciative and professional. “I’ve heard a lot about you. Let’s take a look and see what’s going on in there, shall we?”
Rose lay back on the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath her. Bear stood beside her, his hand finding hers and gripping it tightly. The room was dim, the only light coming from the large monitor. Dr. Evans squeezed cold gel onto Rose’s lower abdomen, making her flinch.
“Sorry, always chilly,” the doctor said absently, picking up the transducer.
The grainy, black-and-white image flickered to life on the screen. Rose’s breath caught. It was a chaotic, shifting landscape of shadows and pulses. Dr. Evans moved the wand, pressing gently. She was quiet for a moment, her eyes intent on the screen, a small frown of concentration on her face.
“Okay, there we are,” she said softly, her voice changing, becoming focused. “Measuring… let’s see.” She clicked a button on the machine, and a small crosshair appeared on the screen, measuring a tiny, bean-shaped blob. Rose stared, her heart hammering. That was it. That blurry little peanut was their baby.
Dr. Evans moved the transducer slightly, angling it. She was quiet again, her movements precise. She clicked another measurement. Then she moved the wand to a different spot, and another similar bean-shaped blur came into focus. She measured that one too.
Bear leaned forward, his brow furrowed. “Is everything… is it okay?”
“Everything looks perfectly fine,” Dr. Evans said, but her voice held a note of something else—not concern, but deliberate calm. She clicked a few more buttons. “I just want to be very thorough with my measurements here. Bear, why don’t you pull up that stool and have a seat.”
The request, so gentle, sent a jolt of pure ice through Rose’s veins. Her eyes flew to Bear’s. He looked pale. He slowly sat on the stool, never letting go of her hand.
“Rose, you said your last period was the end of March?” Dr. Evans asked, her eyes still on the screen.
“Yes,” Rose whispered, her mouth dry.
“Based on that, and the crown-rump length I’m measuring here…” She clicked again, and a rapid, rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh filled the room. It was fast, like galloping horses. A heartbeat. Their baby’s heartbeat. Tears sprang to Rose’s eyes. Bear’s grip on her hand became almost painful.
“That’s beautiful,” Dr. Evans murmured. She moved the transducer a centimeter. “And that puts you right at six weeks and two days. Perfect.”
Rose let out a shuddering breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Bear’s shoulders slumped in relief.
But Dr. Evans wasn’t done. She moved the wand back to the first blob. “Now, let’s just listen over here…” She adjusted a dial.
Another rhythmic whoosh-whoosh-whoosh filled the room. Similar, but distinctly separate. A slightly different tempo. It overlapped with the first, creating a strange, beautiful stereo effect of life.
Rose froze. Her brain stuttered, trying to process the second sound. It wasn’t an echo. It was its own heartbeat.
Bear straightened up on the stool, his head cocked. “Is that… is that the same one?”
Dr. Evans smiled then, a wide, genuine smile that reached her eyes. She turned the monitor slightly so they could see more clearly. She pointed with the tip of the transducer. “See this little gestational sac here? And this little embryo?” She moved the pointer. “And see this sac right here, right next to it? And this second embryo?”
The world narrowed to the screen, to the two distinct, pulsing little shapes. Two sacs. Two tiny, bean-like forms. Two separate, galloping heartbeats thrumming through the speakers.
Rose’s mind went utterly, completely blank. No thoughts. Just a white, static roar.
Bear made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. “Two,” he breathed, the word barely audible.
“Two,” Dr. Evans confirmed, her smile softening at their stunned faces. “You’re having twins, Rose. Fraternal twins, by the looks of it. Two separate sacs, two separate placentas. Everything looks textbook perfect. Two strong heartbeats.”
Twins.
The word dropped into the silent room after the heartbeats faded, heavy and immense as a mountain.
Rose stared at the screen. Two. Not one. Two babies. Two heartbeats. Two of everything. The joy that had been a sunflower in her chest now felt like a supernova, terrifying in its magnitude. Her hand went instinctively to her stomach. She was housing two entire human beings.
She looked at Bear. He was staring at the screen, his jaw slack, his eyes wide with a disbelief so total it looked like shock. He blinked slowly, then looked at her, then back at the screen. The heartbeats continued their syncopated rhythm.
“Holy shit,” he whispered, the crudeness of the word so at odds with the reverence on his face that a hysterical bubble of laughter caught in Rose’s throat.
“That just about sums it up,” Dr. Evans said with a chuckle, wiping the gel from Rose’s stomach. “It’s a lot to take in. I’ll give you two a few minutes. Then we can talk about what this means, prenatal care, all of that.” She handed Rose a towel and quietly left the room, the printouts of the ultrasound images fluttering from the machine.
The door clicked shut. The room was silent except for the hum of the equipment.
Rose pushed herself up on her elbows, the paper sheet rustling. She looked at Bear. He was still sitting on the stool, frozen, his gaze locked on the now-blank screen as if he could still see the ghosts of their children there.
“Bear?”
He turned his head toward her. His eyes were sheened with tears, his expression one of utter, profound astonishment. He opened his mouth, closed it, tried again. “Twins,” he finally managed, his voice rough.
“Twins,” she echoed, the word feeling foreign on her tongue.
He stood up, the stool scraping softly on the floor. He didn’t go to her. He just stood there, in the middle of the dim room, and ran both his hands over his face and through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He let out a long, shaky breath that was half-laugh, half-sob.
“Two,” he said again, as if trying to make his brain believe it. “We’re having two babies.”
The reality finally crashed over Rose, wave after wave. The joy was still there, brilliant and blinding, but it was now mixed with a primal, logistical terror. Two cribs. Two car seats. Double the diapers. Double the feedings. Her body, which had been bracing for one, now had to grow and nurture two. The memory of her past trauma, the violence her body had endured, whispered a dark question: Can it handle this?
She must have made a small, distressed sound because Bear was at her side in an instant. He knelt by the table, his hands framing her face, forcing her to look at him.
“Hey. Look at me.” His eyes were blazing, intense. “This is the most incredible thing that has ever happened. To us. To me. Do you hear those heartbeats? They’re strong. You’re strong. We are going to do this. Together.”
“Two, Bear,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t… I don’t know the first thing about twins.”
“We’ll learn,” he said, his thumbs stroking her cheeks. “We’ll read books. We’ll ask people. We’ll figure it out. We have a whole family to help us. My mom will probably move in.” He said it like a joke, but she saw the serious truth behind it. Eleanor Cooper would indeed likely try to.
A slow, wobbly smile broke through Rose’s panic. The image of formidable Granny Cooper presiding over a nursery of two screaming infants was somehow comforting. “Two,” she said again, but this time it was filled with wonder.
“Two,” he agreed, leaning in to press his forehead against hers. “Our kids. Our family.” He pulled back, a wild, giddy light in his eyes. “Tommy is going to lose his mind.”
That did it. The image of Tommy’s face, his freckles bunching up in sheer delight, his endless questions about two babies, broke the last of the tension. Rose laughed, a real, full-bodied laugh that shook her shoulders. “Oh my God. He’s going to be insufferable. He’ll want to name them both.”
Dr. Evans returned with a folder of information and a longer, more detailed list of instructions. She talked about nutrition, about more frequent check-ups, about signs to watch for. Rose listened, but the words swam around her. The only things that felt real were the two black-and-white images Dr. Evans handed her, each showing a tiny, blurry form, and the solid warmth of Bear’s hand holding hers.
They walked out of the clinic into the bright midday sun, the world looking exactly the same and completely different. Bear held the door for her, his other hand hovering at the small of her back. They didn’t speak until they were in the truck, the ultrasound photos sitting on the dashboard like sacred artifacts.
Bear turned the key but didn’t pull out of the parking space. He just sat there, staring straight ahead, his hands on the wheel. Then he looked at her, a slow, dazed grin spreading across his face. “Twins.”
She grinned back, the hysterical laughter bubbling up again. “Twins.”
He started the truck, shaking his head in continual disbelief. “We need to tell people. But we should… we should wait, right? Until the second trimester? That’s what you’re supposed to do?”
“I think with twins, waiting might be harder,” Rose said, her mind starting to click into a practical gear. “And after last time… I don’t want to keep secrets from the people who love us. Not a joy like this. I want to celebrate it, every second of it.”
Bear nodded, his grin softening into something more tender. “Okay. Then we tell them. But let’s have tonight. Just us. To let it sink in.”
They drove to a quiet diner on the outskirts of town, not ready to go home and face the questions just yet. They sat in a corner booth, the ultrasound pictures propped between the salt and pepper shakers. They ordered cheeseburgers and milkshakes, a celebratory, childish meal.
“A boy and a girl,” Bear said suddenly, dipping a fry in ketchup. “That’s what I think.”
“You’re already assigning genders?” Rose teased, sipping her chocolate shake.
“Just a feeling. One of each. Chaos and calm.” He took a huge bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “We’ll need a bigger truck.”
Rose laughed. “We’ll need a bigger house! The nursery… we planned for one crib.”
“We’ll build an addition,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “A whole new wing. With a soundproof room for us to hide in.”
They talked like that for an hour, spinning wild, joyful plans out of thin air. The fear was still there, a small, cold knot under Rose’s ribs, but it was being steadily surrounded and outnumbered by a growing, ferocious love. Two. They were having two.
When they finally pulled up to the ranch house, the secret felt too big to contain. Tommy was still at preschool. The place was quiet. Bear helped her out of the truck, his hand lingering on her waist. He looked down at her, the sun catching the gold in his beard. “My beautiful, incredible wife,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her, slow and deep. “Carrying my two babies.”
He pulled her into a hug there in the driveway, lifting her off her feet and spinning her once, carefully, before setting her down. She squealed, clinging to his shoulders. “Bear! Put me down, you’ll break something!”
“Never,” he said, but he set her down gently, his hands cradling her face for another kiss. “I’m just… I’m so happy, Rose. I didn’t know I could feel like this.”
They went inside, the ultrasound photos clutched in Rose’s hand. She went to the fridge, where Tommy’s latest artwork was held by a magnet. She moved a drawing of a lopsided dinosaur and placed the two grainy images side-by-side, right in the center. A declaration.
Bear came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, his hands splayed over her stomach. He rested his chin on her head. They stood there, silent, looking at the first pictures of their children.
“We should call your dad,” Bear said softly. “And my mom. Before we tell Tommy. He can’t keep a secret to save his life.”
Rose nodded, her throat tight. She pulled out her phone, her fingers trembling slightly. She Facetimed her father. Tom LaRue answered on the second ring, his face filling the screen, his reading glasses perched on his nose. “Sweetheart! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Hi, Dad.” Rose’s voice wavered. She angled the phone so he could see Bear behind her, his head leaning next to hers.
Tom’s smile faded into a look of fatherly concern. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“We’re more than okay,” Bear said, his voice a rumble of pure joy. “We’re just… we had a doctor’s appointment today.”
Tom’s face went through a rapid series of emotions: confusion, dawning comprehension, hope. “Rose? Are you…?”
“I’m pregnant, Dad,” she said, the words still so new and wonderful.
“Oh, my girl!” Tom’s face broke into a brilliant smile, his eyes instantly glistening. “That’s wonderful news! Congratulations! When are you due?”
Bear couldn’t hold it in. The grin that split his face was one of pure, unadulterated triumph. “Well, that’s the thing, Tom. See, they did an ultrasound today…”
Rose held up the two pictures to the camera.
Tom peered at the screen. He was silent for a long, long moment. His mouth opened, then closed. He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and put them back on, leaning closer to his own screen. “Is that… are there… two?”
“Twins, Dad,” Rose said, laughing through the tears that were now freely falling. “We’re having twins.”
Her father’s face did something remarkable. It crumpled, just for a second, with the sheer weight of the emotion. Then he beamed, a laugh bursting out of him that was half-sob. “Two! My God! Maggie is going to lose her mind! Oh, my darlings!” He launched into a stream of congratulations, questions, and joyful exclamations that lasted several minutes.
Next, they called Eleanor Cooper. Bear put her on speakerphone. “Ma, you sitting down?”
“I’m kneading bread, Jacob. What’s wrong?” Granny’s voice was sharp, laced with immediate worry.
“Nothing’s wrong. Rose had a doctor’s appointment.”
The sound of kneading stopped. “And?”
“And we’re pregnant,” Rose said.
A beat of silence. Then a soft, “Well, praise Jesus. That’s fine news. Truly fine.” They could hear the smile in her voice. “A new little Cooper. Your father would have been over the moon.”
“Ma,” Bear said, his voice thick with mischief and love. “It’s not just one.”
Another silence, longer this time. “What do you mean, ‘not just one,’ Jacob Cooper?”
“I mean, there are two heartbeats. Two babies. Twins.”
The sound that came through the phone was not a word. It was a gasp, followed by a thump. “Ma? You okay?” Bear asked, alarmed.
“Dropped the damn dough,” Granny muttered, her voice choked. They heard her fumbling with the phone. “Twins? You’re sure? Two?”
“We have the pictures,” Rose said.
Eleanor Cooper began to cry. It was a soft, ragged sound they had never heard from the stoic matriarch. “Two blessings,” she whispered. “After everything… two. I’ll be over tomorrow. We need to plan. You’ll need help. More than you know.”
By the time they picked Tommy up from preschool, the news was spreading through the family tree like wildfire. Rose’s phone buzzed incessantly with texts from Liam (“TWINS? I’m designing matching crib mobiles NOW!”), from Chloe (“I KNEW IT! I’m already knitting!”), from Brody (“Does this mean I need to build a double-sized saddle?”).
Tommy climbed into the truck, chattering about his day. He was halfway through a story about a ladybug he’d found when he stopped, his little-boy senses picking up on the charged atmosphere. He looked between his mom and dad, his eyes wide. “Why are you guys smiley-weird?”
Bear glanced at Rose, who nodded. He pulled the truck over to the side of the ranch road, putting it in park. He turned in his seat to face his son. “Buddy, we have some really big news. The biggest.”
“Did you buy a dinosaur?” Tommy asked, deadly serious.
Bear laughed, the sound rich and full. “Better. Mom went to the doctor today. You know how you’ve been asking for a brother or a sister?”
Tommy’s entire body went still. He looked at Rose’s stomach, then back at Bear’s face. “Yeah?”
“Well,” Bear said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “The doctor found something amazing in there. Not just one baby.” He paused for maximum effect. “Two babies. You’re going to be a big brother to two babies.”
Tommy’s mouth fell open. He blinked. He looked at Rose, then at Bear, then back at Rose’s stomach. His little face was a canvas of utter, profound shock. “Two?” he squeaked.
“Two,” Rose confirmed, her heart swelling until she thought it might burst.
The shock on Tommy’s face melted away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated triumph. He punched the air. “YES! I asked for one and you got TWO! That’s even more!” He launched himself across the seat, wrapping his arms as far as he could around Rose. “Are they boys? Are they girls? Can I help name them? Can I hold them? Where will they sleep? Can I teach them to ride a horse?”
The questions poured out of him, a torrent of excitement that lasted all the way home and through dinner. He told his mashed potatoes the news. He informed his stuffed horse. He was a whirlwind of plans and possibilities.
That night, after Tommy was finally asleep, dreams of twin siblings undoubtedly dancing in his head, Rose and Bear lay in their bed. The house was quiet, the moon casting silver stripes across their floor through the blinds. Bear’s hand was on her stomach, as it had been every night since they’d found out.
“Two,” he whispered into the dark.
“Two,” she whispered back, placing her hand over his.
The future stretched before them, vast and suddenly double in size. It was terrifying. It was magnificent. It was theirs.