into the folder.
Daniel stood.
“Do you want me to ask her?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Today.”
He reached for the folder, then stopped.
I put my hand over it.
“I will keep this.”
He nodded.
At 3:15, the Buick sat in the driveway with both empty car seats waiting beside the open trunk. Daniel carried one across the pavement while I stood at the kitchen window with the blue folder on my phone screen.
He set the seat down and checked the straps.
“These are tighter than they look,” he said.
“You have said that four times.”
“I am hoping the fifth time makes me an expert.”
I smiled despite myself.
He smiled back.
For a few seconds, we were only two people preparing for two babies.
Then he closed the trunk.
“I am going to ask Mom what she meant.”
I held up my phone.
The photograph showed the
