“I’m good, babe, go ahead. Take Ryan.”

He nodded, squeezed my hand once more, then he and Ryan headed for the cafeteria. Mimi came and sat down in front of me and leaned against my legs.

“Play with my hair,” she commanded, pulling out her ponytail and shaking it out. I ran my fingers through it, separating it for braids. She loved to have her hair braided. “Simon seems worried.”

“I think anytime anyone is in the hospital he gets a little jittery. I don’t even think he’s aware of it,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the door where they’d just left. “He’ll be fine as soon as we know how Mama’s doing.”

“It’s so crazy. I mean, this morning, Sophia was just Sophia. By tonight? She’ll be someone’s mother.”

“She might already be.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Mimi said, crossing her legs and sitting up straighter. “I always figured I’d be the first with the kiddos.”

“So did we.” I chuckled, flipping her hair under and over my fingers, weaving it into a plait.

“We’re trying, did I tell you that?”

“Shit no! When did that start?”

“Pretty much right after the honeymoon, I stopped taking the pill. We thought we’d wait at first, but we talked about it and we both want a family right away. So we figured, what the hell. Let’s do it.” She turned back to look at me over her shoulder. “And believe me, we’re doing it.”

“Atta girl,” I said, tugging on her new pigtails.

“I didn’t want to say anything until after she had the baby, you know. I didn’t want any thunder stealing.”

“I don’t think you can steal thunder when you don’t technically have thunder yet.”

“True,” she replied, then turned around as the boys came back in.

“Any news yet?” Ryan asked, carrying a tray of coffees. “We grabbed extra, just in case you changed your mind.”

“Nothing yet,” Mimi answered, springing from the floor to snatch up a coffee. “Come on, let’s go look at the babies behind the glass.” She led him by the hand as he handed off the tray to Simon.

“How’re you doing?” I asked him as he handed me a coffee and sat in the chair next to mine.

“Me? I’m fine, why?” he replied. I looked pointedly at his leg, which was bouncing up and down nervously. “Eh, a little edgy I guess.”

“I know.” I sighed and leaned my head on his shoulder. We sat in silence for a bit, as silent as a hospital waiting room can ever be.

“I hate hospitals,” he said, and I nodded my head against him. “I just hate them. Even good news, like this is obviously going to be, I hate being in them.”

“I can imagine,” I whispered, and looped my arm through his. He didn’t say anything else. And he didn’t have to. I sat next to him, and kept my head on his shoulder. A few minutes later, Mimi and Ryan came back in. And a few minutes after that, Neil came walking around the corner from the nurse’s station, wearing scrubs and a pie-eating grin.

“You guys want to come meet my daughter?”

Mary Jane: 6.2 pounds, 19¼ inches long. Tiny and pink, with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. And one giant voice. We didn’t stay long, since by then both sets of grandparents were swarming. But we stayed long enough to see both Sophia and the baby. Each of us got to take a turn holding her; each got to take a turn hugging Neil, who was Mr. Waterworks. There were many dudes said, many backslaps and half hugs exchanged. And when the four of us finally left the new parents, we were exhausted. Not as exhausted as Sophia, but tired nonetheless.

We said good night, or good morning actually, to Ryan and Mimi, and headed back across the bridge to Sausalito. The sky was just beginning to lighten, just a barely lighter gray than the rest of the sky. Simon was pretty quiet, although he’d been so happy at the hospital. He’d held Mary Jane as long as they would let him. He was so gentle and sweet, nervous, sure, but willing to try it. Did my eyes fill a bit? Oh my goodness, yes. Simon? Holding a baby girl? It was like a bomb of cute went off inside me. Still, he was quiet now. Thoughtful.

I pushed the door open first, bracing myself for a rush toward my ankles. First came Norah, our sweet little calico. Always the first to greet, she trotted over and promptly laid on top of my feet, rolling back and forth in delight that her people were home. Only a few seconds later, in strolled Ella, long and lean and beautiful. She headed straight for Simon, as ever. She was a one-woman cat for sure. She tolerated me, but she adored Simon. Thumping down the stairs one at a time came Dinah, meowing and chirping at the top of her lungs, seeming to say “Hello hello, where have you been? Hello hello, why did you leave? Hello hello, why would anyone ever leave here?”

“Hi, sweet girls, how’ve you been? Did you miss us?” I cooed, scooping up both Norah and Dinah, while Ella languished in Simon’s arms like she was born to be placed there. And on the landing, just around the corner, sat Clive. Calmly licking his paws and staring at us all with bland disinterest.

When Clive ran away last year, we had been devastated. He was lost for weeks, and while we had kept up the search, over time I had to admit that the chances of him ever returning were growing slimmer by the day. Until one night when he surprised us both by just waltzing into the backyard and back into our lives. And he wasn’t traveling alone. No sir, my boy had been busy squiring half the town. He’d brought home not one girlfriend, but three. And as ridiculous at it seemed at the time, adopting three more cats into our household had proved to be a wonderful idea. Now Clive had his harem, and we had three more personalities to keep us entertained. And entertained we were, on the daily.

“Are you hungry? I can make you something,” I offered as we all headed into the kitchen. Clive in tow now as well, winding his way through my ankles in greeting.

“I don’t think so,” Simon replied, looking out the bay window, still holding Ella.

“Okay, I’m going to go run through the shower real quick then before bed.”

“Okay, babe,” he said, and before I went upstairs I went to him.

“Love you,” I whispered, planting a kiss on his neck.

“Love you,” he replied.

I left him standing by the window, thinking his thoughts, whatever they might be. In the time I’d been with Simon, I’d learned that sometimes he just went inside himself a little, needed a moment or two alone when something was particularly emotional. Like today had been. He’d talk when he was ready.