"You're the first," Tyler says. "We wanted you to all hear it together."
"After... everything,” I say. “We wanted to be sure before we told people. But this time, everything's perfect. Babies are measuring right on track. I'm feeling good. Just tired and emotional."
“We can confirm that,” Tyler says, beaming.
"That's normal," Catherine assures me. "Perfectly normal. Oh, Thomas, twins! Can you imagine?"
The conversation flows, questions about due dates, whether we know the sex yet (too early), if we need anything (we have everything), plans for the nursery (still working on it).
Margaret surprises me by offering to help with whatever we need. "You'll want proper furniture. Cribs, changing tables. Let us provide those. Please."
"We can manage—" Calder starts.
"I know you can," Margaret interrupts. "But let us do this. Let us be part of it. Grandparents are supposed to spoil their grandchildren."
Catherine immediately chimes in. "I'm making blankets. Hand-knitted. One for each baby. You can't stop me."
"I'm getting them books," Thomas adds. "A whole library for when they're older."
Rebecca's already planning ahead. "I'll arrange my leave so I can come and help after they're born. If you want me. No pressure."
"We want you," I assure her. "All of you."
When we finally end the call, the room is full of happy chaos. Pen and Maya bombard us with questions about names. Mira makes tea because that's what she does when emotions run high.
Calder's hand finds mine, fingers lacing together.
Tyler's pressed against my other side, basically vibrating with joy. "We're having babies. Actual babies. Plural."
Julian watches us with that analytical precision that can't quite hide the emotion underneath. "The statistical probability oftwins with a multi-alpha pack is actually elevated compared to?—"
"Julian," Tyler says fondly. "Stop being adorable."
"I'm not being adorable. I'm being accurate."
"You're being both."
Later, after Pen and Maya have left with promises to visit again soon, after Mira's returned to her cottage, the four of us sit on the porch watching the sunset paint the valley in shades of amber and rose.
The goats are secured in their pen. The greenhouse is locked up for the night. The farmhouse glows warm behind us.
"I'm going to decline the fellowship," Julian says quietly.
We all turn to look at him.
"Julian—" I start.
"Let me finish." He's choosing words carefully. "Harvard is an honor. It's prestigious, it would advance my career significantly. But this…" He gestures to the farmhouse, the valley, us. "This is my life's work. Not pack dynamics in abstract. Pack dynamics in practice. With you. All of you."
"What about the research?" Calder asks.
"I can research from here. Publish from here. I've already been in contact with several journals interested in my India documentation. And there are other fellowships, other opportunities that don't require leaving for two years."
"But Harvard—" Tyler tries.
"Is a building," Julian interrupts. "You're home. The babies are home. This valley, this life we've built, this is what matters."
"You're sure?" I already know the answer.
