[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]
A cradle.
Marin sat down heavily in the rocking chair in the corner, bile rising in her throat. She tried to swallow it back down, to ignore the sourness that slicked the back of her tongue and burned in her throat. Thom watched her as he worked one boot off, then the other, wincing only slightly as he straightened back up again.
“The look on your face makes me think you’re worried,” he said softly. “Are you?”
“A little,” she said weakly, then swallowed hard, blinking. She took one breath, then another, her stomach slowly starting to settle as she did. “You really don’t remember drawing it?”
He shook his head. “No. I was talking to Matt and was just doodling without really thinking. When I looked down was when I realized what I’d drawn. It was mindless except maybe it wasn’t.”
“Maybe,” she whispered, scrubbing a hand over her eyes as she started to tug off her sweatshirt. “Holy shit, Thom. Do you—”
“You think maybe it means the same thing I do.”
Marin nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I probably do. Holy shit.”
They probably don’t even know. Of course, we could be wrong. They might not be. It might be coincidence. It could be nothing.
Or it could be a really, really big something.
It sent her heart soaring, at least for a few seconds. They deserved to be happy, though she suspected that Hecate might worry herself sick over it, at least at first. She knew that the worry would be there, more intense than the usual pregnancy concerns, worse than the normal first time mom worries—worries that Marin had to admit she had herself with Lin, but had tried her best to bury.
After all, everything was different now—this was uncharted territory. No one before them—before she and Tala and Neve—had given birth after the end of the world, at least not anywhere near them. They were all figuring things out as they went along.
Matt and Hecate…
She felt tears gathering in her eyes even as she smiled.
