Chapter 353: The Baby Is Picky Like Leo
Arianne woke to the sound of someone moving through the room without sound.
The curtains had been drawn back just enough to let in the midday light, pale and gold across the bedspread. The smell of fresh linen and a trace of floral and familiar—Aunt Estella’s soap, the kind she had used for decades—drifted through the air. Arianne lay there, orienting herself. Franz’s room. His bed. The sheets tangled around her legs. The pillow beside her empty but holding the soft impression of his head.
Aunt Estella was tidying the nightstand, her movements efficient and unhurried, the way she had moved through Arianne’s life for as long as she could remember. She had been there when Arianne was born, and through the exile and the return and the slow rebuilding of everything that had been broken. She was here now, in Franz’s bedroom, folding a throw blanket that had slipped to the floor.
Arianne moved, and Aunt Estella turned immediately. Her face, lined with age and care and the particular steadiness of someone who had weathered every storm this family had thrown at her, softened with relief.
"You’re awake." She crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, her hand finding Arianne’s and holding it. "How do you feel?"
"Tired." Arianne’s voice was rough with sleep. She pushed herself upright, the movement slower than usual, her body heavy with exhaustion. "I’ve been sleeping for hours. I shouldn’t be tired."
"The doctor said you would be. Your body is doing something very demanding." Aunt Estella’s grip on her hand tightened. "Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since yesterday."
Arianne paused. She was hungry. The kind of hunger that came from deep within her body rather than the absentminded need for fuel she usually experienced during long workdays.
"Yes. I think I am."
"Good. I’ve prepared something light. Broth, rice, steamed vegetables. Nothing greasy, nothing too strong." Aunt Estella paused, her dark eyes studying Arianne’s face. "Gio told me about the baby."
"I’m pregnant," Arianne said. The words felt strange in her mouth, heavy and unfamiliar.
"I know." Aunt Estella smiled. It was a small smile, full of something Arianne couldn’t quite name. "He told me this morning. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up so I could congratulate you myself."
Arianne didn’t know what to say to that. Congratulations felt premature. She was carrying the dread alongside the child, trying to find her footing in a landscape that had changed without warning. Aunt Estella didn’t seem to expect a response. She helped Arianne to her feet and steadied her while she found her balance.
"Gilbert and Audrey are here," Aunt Estella said. "Nate came as well. They arrived this morning. They’re downstairs with Franz and the twins."
"They came?"
"They were worried about you. Gilbert looked like he hadn’t slept." Aunt Estella guided Arianne toward the door. "I can bring your meal up here if you’d prefer. You don’t have to see anyone until you’re ready."
Arianne considered it. The old Arianne would have stayed upstairs. She would have retreated into her room and processed alone, the way she had always processed everything. The old Arianne had not been pregnant. The old Arianne had not wept in her husband’s arms in a hospital room while the world tilted around her.
"I’ll go down," she said. "I want to see them."
The kitchen was full of people.
Arianne paused in the doorway, Aunt Estella’s hand steadying her elbow, and took in the scene. The twins were at the table in their pajamas—Lily’s with the rabbits, Leo’s with the stars—their breakfast dishes pushed aside to make room for whatever game they were playing. Lily was mid-sentence about something, her hands gesturing, her voice bright and animated. Leo was watching her, the whale in his lap, his tablet on the table.
Franz sat across from them. He looked exhausted—the kind of exhaustion that went beyond sleeplessness and into the bone-deep weariness of someone who had been holding himself together for too long. His hair was tied back, but loosely, strands escaping around his face.
Gilbert was in the chair nearest the window. He looked better than Aunt Estella had implied, but something tight remained around his eyes, a residual tension that hadn’t fully released. Audrey sat beside him, her hand resting on his knee. Nate was at the counter, a cup of coffee in front of him, his expression the particular brand of relief that came after fear had been dismissed.
The twins saw her first.
"Mommy Aria!" Lily’s face broke into a wide smile, and she was out of her chair and running across the kitchen before Arianne could take another step. She stopped just short of collision, her hands hovering as if she wanted to hug Arianne but wasn’t sure if she was allowed. "You’re awake! Are you feeling better? Do you need to sit down? Leo and I made a list of ways we can help you. We’re going to be very helpful."
Leo appeared beside his sister. He didn’t type anything. He just looked up at Arianne with his dark, steady eyes and nodded. The whale was under his arm.
Arianne reached out and touched Lily’s hair. "I’m feeling better. I’d like to sit down."
"I’ll get you a chair." Lily darted back to the table and pulled out the chair beside Franz. "This one. It’s the most comfortable. I tested it."
Arianne made her way to the table, Aunt Estella beside her. As she passed Gilbert, she met his eyes. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Relief was in his face.
She sat. The kitchen settled around her. Aunt Estella stepped away and returned with a tray: a bowl of clear broth, steamed rice, vegetables cooked soft and pale. No grease. No strong scents. A meal designed for a body learning how to function.
Lily noticed the difference immediately.
"Why is your food different from ours? We had pancakes. Well, we had pancakes earlier. Now it’s lunchtime, so we’re having meat and pasta. But your food looks like—" She paused, searching for the right word. "It looks like a hospital meal."
"It’s a special meal," Aunt Estella said, settling into the chair beside Leo. "Your Mommy Aria needs light food right now. Nothing greasy, nothing too strong. Her body is working very hard."
"Because of the baby," Lily said.
"Yes. Because of the baby."
Lily furrowed her brows, studying Arianne’s tray with intense concentration. "So the baby is picky. Like Leo. Leo doesn’t eat beans. He says they’re mushy."
Leo made an indignant sound—a small, sharp noise of protest. He grabbed his tablet and typed quickly: NOT PICKY. BEANS. BAD TEXTURE.
"Same thing," Lily said.
NOT SAME.
"You also don’t eat broccoli."
BROCCOLI IS TREES. NOT FOOD.
"You ate trees last week. You said they were good trees."
Leo paused. His fingers hovered over his tablet. Then, with great dignity, he typed: THAT WAS DIFFERENT TREES.
Nate laughed, a surprised sound that seemed to startle even him. "The baby’s not even born yet and it’s already causing arguments about food."
"Like a hospital meal," Lily repeated, satisfied with her earlier observation. "But for babies."
The table laughed. The sound was loose and genuine, filling the kitchen with something that had been missing since yesterday. Arianne didn’t laugh. Neither did Gilbert. They sat at opposite ends of the table, subdued in their own ways, watching the people they loved fill the silence with joy.
