When they were seventeen and eighteen, respectively, they sat beneath the tree. (They didn’t know what kind of tree it was; they could have asked their librarian botanist, but he looked much like a hobo or a lumberjack, depending on the state of his beard, so they didn’t care enough to bother.)

• She gestured to the sky wildly and tried to make up an identity for the birds. “That one’s definitely the prime minister of those birds. Look how they scatter when he rolls on by, like, ‘Oh shit, son, the leader of our free-ish bird world is com- HELLO SIR HOW ARE YOU MAY I GET YOU SOMETHING TO DRINK MISTER BIRD SIR?’” She giggled, the laugh turning into an unbecoming snort.
• He laughed back. It was more in response to her pigletlike snuffle than her supposed bird voices, but he laughed nonetheless. Shoving her face into his shoulder, she grinned, then smiled in a happier sort of way. Being with him felt weird and wonderful, like a wish wrapped up in a dream.
• “Wait,” he said, pointing to a crow, who was staring beadily at the other birds, who were smaller, browner, and preening on a tall branch. ”It’s the Darth Vader of birds. ‘Luke Sparrow-walker, I am your father.’ ‘Noooooooooo!!’” He dragged out the last syllable, his whole body acting out the scene while his butt didn’t move from the slightly damp grass.
• Her own butt was on his jacket, her red jeans perfectly dry. She had protested, but he had insisted. Chivalry wasn’t completely dead, she decided then and there, and sat down quickly, pulling him down with her.
• Their mutual love of Star Wars was something they valued highly. She stood up a little, still leaning over, and scampered over to the other side of the tree, his jacket forgotten a few feet away. His back was against the trunk, his knees pulled up a little. She ducked behind the trunk, but leaned back to face him, crouching down.
• “I love you,” she declared.
• “I know,” he grinned.
• He couldn’t object to being Leia ever again so long as his lips were occupied with love.

He didn’t want a dog. They were too noisy and got into everything and would distract him when he was doing important, mathy, businessman work. “Plus,” he added, “won’t the piano and just everything about two twenty-four-year-olds disturb him- you know, hurt his ears?”

• She dragged him to the adoption shelter anyway.
• They went every few weeks: never to adopt, only to look. And play with one or two or ten. If they had time (which they usually did). “He doesn’t want a dog,” she would coo to the rott and pit puppies. Shaking his head, he scratched behind the ear of a particularly chewed-up manx cat.
• One Christmas Eve, they bundled up some blankets and treats in a basket to take to the shelter. She insisted. “They’re all babies, hon.” He begged to differ, but she had had none of it.
• They tried to drop the gifts off at the desk, where the yawning secretary just said gently, “Why don’t you hand them out yourself? I won't be shutting the door for four hours or so, so take your time.”
• The small man led them through the door to the indoor kennels and smiled. She adjusted her basket and gave a quiet “Thank you” as the man walked away.
• Quickly coming up on the first kennel, she sighed and slipped the first few biscuits into the cage. A big-eyed Basset hound slunk forward, staring at her for a moment. The dog dragged the bites back into the dark with him. It took all she had not to cry.
• Shivering Malti-poos and tabbies received blankets, huddles of inseparable Siamese kittens and dalmatian puppies a bundle of biscuits. They reached the final cage, where a light copper corgi with an emaciated midsection and scars on his nose lay, face pressed against the chain link door. He exhaled as a squeak escaped her mouth. Both twenty-four-year-olds stared at the dog, and he immediately draped the blanket over the corgi’s too-skinny body. He laid the treats by his front paws and dropped into a squat, whispering something into his still-perked ear.
• He led her away, the basket empty, smiling good-naturedly at the receptionist as they left. She drove them home in his white SUV. Bing Crosby was the only sound filling the car.
• They quietly turned off the lights- leaving the tree softly glowing and flickering- got into bed, and went to sleep.
• She didn’t notice when he got up and left forty minutes later in the middle of the night.
• The tree in the morning was as bright as ever, presents littered beneath. And as she sipped her hot cocoa, he handed her a heavy present labeled, “à ma mademoiselle belle.”
• With some effort, she lifted out a slightly battered, totally happy, tail-wagging Aeroplane. “He needs some help staying up, doesn’t he?” she commented, plopping him down into her pyjama shirt.
• “We all do,” he said, laughing at the faux-deepness of the sentiment. “I know I said-“
• “Who cares what you said, babe? He’s our baby Aeroplane. Thank you. I know you didn’t want one. So, thank you. Merry Christmas.”

She toddled towards the couch, hiccuping sobs wracking her body. Flopping down on her back, she wailed louder, gasping for breath before whimpering at her little dog’s butt on her pelvis. The corgi had come to investigate on the sofa but got lost behind her very pregnant belly.

• Unable to reach the dog, she snapped her fingers. Aero hopped down and nestled by her neck instead. Her husband popped out of the laundry room, a sock clinging to his thermal shirt. “What’s wrong?”
• Sniffling, she whispered, “The- the bag of pop- popcorn.”
• He bustled over to the kitchen and checked the microwave. “What? I-“
• “Half the b-bag didn’t pop!!” she wailed, causing Aero to skitter across the wood floor, startled.
• He half-smiled at her, a sympathetic look in his eyes as he tried to suppress a chuckle. He strode over to her, sitting on the floor next to her tummy. Leaning over to her swollen stomach, he put his cheek up to it, murmuring, “Hey, hey baby. I’m talking to you. It’s your daddy.”
• She stopped hiccuping, taking deeper breaths as her husband tried to calm her down through her bub.
• “Stop giving your mom a hard time. She’s trying, you know. Popcorn isn’t that important. Your fist is probably smaller than a popped corn right now. You can’t even digest it yet. What’s wrong with you, baby?”
• Her sniffles began to subside, replaced by a soft giggle.
• They would later find out their baby was twins.

“Dear God, how do I- Achilles! Erica! Time to go!”

• She juggled her binder and notebooks, trying to shove her belongings into her tote bag while trying to label the twins’ lunch sacks with a Sharpie which, of course, was dried out. Grabbing a different one out of the oversize mug on the kitchen counter, she scribbled her children’s names on each of them, pausing for a moment and glancing inside to affirm their contents.
• Her makeup case tumbled out of her bag, rolling to a stop by the foot of the stairs. ”Babe! I’m taking the kids to scho-!” Her call was abruptly ended by the presence of her husband, who scooped up her case and planted a kiss on her forehead in one fell swoop, their still-yawning children in tow. “Well!”
• Achilles frowned as his father ruffled his hair, ducking away and plucking his paper lunch bag off the granite countertop, shoving it unscrupulously into his already-disorganised backpack.
• Erica’s perfectly straight ponytail swayed as she pranced down the steps behind her brother, receiving a kiss from her mother. Her own backpack crumpled to the floor as her father swept her up for a pre-goodbye secret, at which she giggled and nodded.
• Sighing impatiently (his father’s son), Achilles stated impetuously, “It’s time to go, Erica!”
• “Be kind to your sister, Lee,” said his father, who winked at him conspiratorially, drawing the faintest smile out of his son.
• “We really have to get going, hon,” she said, glancing down at her cell phone. “And you should be gone! Okay, okay, time to go!” She quickly tied her black trenchcoat shut, opening the front door and ushering her kids onto the not-quite-busy-yet 7:30 New York sidewalk. Stealing a kiss on the lips from her husband, whose own bag was tightly latched and jacket secured, she pulled on one heel, then the other, teetering momentarily before regaining her footing and hopping down the three steps onto the sidewalk.
• Her husband locked the door behind her, waving at his kids, whose hands were locked together, the other clinging to their backpack straps, and his wife, who smiled back before nudging her kids forward. He walked toward the subway in the other direction.