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“Okay,” I say and run a hand along his back. I still can’t get over how big he and all the boys have grown. His shoulders are wider than Sam’s, and he’s just as tall.
BeLew tower over us both, and this week they turn eighteen.
There’s something symbolic about that number, knowing they made it to adulthood. Truthfully, the last six or seven years have been easy, free from the dramatics of our first year together.
“What’s that?” Hank asks, pointing to the bottle.
“Your father found a message in a bottle,” I announce.
Hank laughs. “I remember that from storybooks or something. Let’s open it.”
Luke reaches forward and swats his hand. “That’s for BeLew’s birthday.”
Hank’s eyes light up. “Fuck yeah. They love shit like that.”
I give a grumble at the cursing, but Hank and Tucker are well over eighteen. Morgan’s not around to influence, and at eleven, she’s no saint either.
“Language,” Morgan says, striding into the room.
Whoops. Guess I was wrong.
“Shoes,” Sam says, pointing at her dirty boots. She stops and takes them off before she comes over to give me a hug, and I kiss the top of her forehead. She’s almost as tall as me and the spitting image of her father.
She wiggles her eyebrows up at me. “Uncle Luke found a message in a bottle.”
“I’ve heard,” I smile.
I give her another kiss on the forehead, and she turns to greet Sam, who picks her up in a hug.
“How were the nets today, baby?” he asks her.
“Overflowing,” she exhales and plops down next to Hank, who hands her the other half of his sandwich and starts making another.
Even with four teenagers and a growing girl in the house, we still need to can a few hundred tomatoes by tomorrow and I sigh, thinking about the work ahead.
It’s work I prayed for, that we needed. This community has thriving farms and enough animals to make some dairy. We’re all vegetarian until the population gets high enough, but good food fills our bellies.
BeLew tumble in with Tucker like a pack of wild animals, all three skidding toward Luke.
“Where is it?” Beau’s shaking from excitement, looking over the bottle right before their eyes.
“The table,” Luke points.
They bypass me and fight over who holds the bottle, their eyes dancing around the glass.
“Say hello to your mother,” Sam chastises them, and they look up, seemingly shocked to find me standing right next to them.
I tilt my head at them. “Hi, boys.”
They’re still just as identical, using their unspoken language all the time. They stop the fight over the bottle, and one by one, wrap their arms around me and kiss the top of my head.
“Sorry, mom,” Beau says.
“We’re just excited,” Lewis adds.
“Over a message in a…” I pause and set the knife down, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward. “What have you seen?”
The room grows quiet. Even Hank stops chewing for a minute, his eyes growing wide. I know I haven’t had a vision about a bottle like this, and really much else over the past few years. Glimpses of things to come find their way to me, but the push and pull in my mind slowed when our life relaxed. Gemma thinks my sight is stress-induced, and since the last few years have been blissful, my visions are few and far between. I like that, knowing that I won’t drift every time I close my eyes. The flashes of my children older every once in a while are enough to keep me calm, knowing our future is secure.
