by Aly White
I burst through the front door phone at the ready, 911 on speed dial. I hear the yip-yapping and the pitter patter of the corgis charging at me from another room. I get on my knees inspecting them for cuts and broken bones. None. They’re healthy like in all visible aspects.
“Where are your dads? Are they okay?” I whisper to the pups. They reply with a head tilt and a whimper.
“Aubrey? Is that you?” Julian calls, his voice echoing the cavernous halls of our home.
“Yeah, it’s me!” I yell back.
“I’m in the sunroom. Join me,” he says.
Sunroom? I didn’t even know we had one of those. I get up and brush off the dog fur accumulated on me. I really should invest in a lint roller.
“Take me to daddy!” I instruct the dogs.
They pitter-patter their way into a room I never bothered looking in. Inside is a rather large room connected by a concave glass wall, a Victorian-style greenhouse connected directly to the main house. In the glass dome is an iron table with four iron chairs.
In one chair, with his leg propped on another chair and his bathrobe slightly open, is Julian sipping on some tea. He pours me a cuppa and motions for me to take a seat next to him. My worries slowly start to melt away, with bewilderment taking its place. I feel just as crazed as Laurel as I take a seat next to him.
“Lucas has been trying to contact you all morning,” Julian says as leans over to give me a kiss on the forehead.
“Yeah! That’s why I’m here!” I nearly yell.
“He’s been freaking out all morning.” Julian continues.
“I know! He wouldn’t leave Laurel alone,”
“What was happening at work?” Julian asks.
“Some fat cat ate something that gave him smelly farts,” I tell him. “Wait where even is Lucas?”
As if on cue a disheveled Lucas bursts into the room. His hair is a mess, and his usual demeanor is gone, in its place is a worried and anxious version of himself.
He raises his ocean blue eyes and sees me, mouth agape as if he’s trying to say something. He starts to babble about babies and eggs. Julian pours him a cup of tea and Lucas gladly drinks it, ignoring the heat of his drink and the tiny dribbles that splashed on his large, barren chest.
Now that Lucas has calmed down a bit we could finally ask him what the problem was. He tells us that their snake, no not that one, the ball python—Mjölnir, the one they got for last Christmas, and apparently, Thor has more references than I can grasp—had just laid her eggs and he has no idea how to handle it.
“Take me to them,” I say, my professional calm washing over me.
I check everything and Mjölnir seems to be doing fine. She’s looking at us sleepily and Jörmundandr is coiled around their eggs like how his namesake Norse serpent would be coiled around the earth. I can’t believe I know that, but that’s probably what I get for having a nerdy boyfriend.
Lucas is ecstatic to find out that the snake is fine. He starts telling us about a terrarium he wants to build for the snakes that get to stay. “Something big and cozy for them,” he declares.
We all take a seat in the sunroom to have some tea. Lucas seats next to me as I sit next to Julian. We sip our tea and laugh as I scold Lucas about the events earlier. Like those ending montages you see in movies as the camera pans to the sky and shows you the end credits.
You probably know where this is going, right? We’ve had many misunderstandings, and the three of us are new to this kind of relationship—but this is just one of the many problems we’ll have to overcome; at least, if books, TV shows, and movies are any indication of things. I—we are sure whatever trials the universe has in store for us, we can manage.