Even I was feeling a little shocked at the thought. Our kids. Moving. It was either going to be amazing or a retread of the plot of Alien, and I don’t know if I’m excited or horrified.

“Maybe,” Megan says. “I think I even saw the shape of a foot on my stomach.”

Horrified. Definitely horrified.

Otter glances back at me, beaming. “Did you hear that? A foot, Bear. A foot.”

I nod tightly, knowing that if I opened my mouth, I ran the risk of vomiting in front of my husband, the woman infected with my super sperm, and this… drifter… that had somehow followed Megan to Lamazing Grace.

Which I still hate with a fiery passion that threatens to consume me.

“He calls you Daddy, huh?” the homeless drifter asks. “That’s righteous. No kink shaming here. Love is love, you know? You just gotta believe.”

I dig my wallet out of my back pocket and find a couple of dollars. “Here you are, sir,” I say, stepping forward and handing him the money. “Buy yourself a sandwich or something.”

“Whoa,” he says. “Awesome. Thanks, man. You’re pretty all right.” He rolls the cash up and places it under his headband. He doesn’t seem to have… pockets, in the tiny shorts he’s wearing. Which leave nothing to the imagination. And it’d be attractive, if I was into pasty chicken legs.

“Bear, what are you doing?” Otter asks with clenched teeth.

“Um, giving this nice homeless man some money so he can eat? Don’t be rude, Otter. He looks like he’s starving.”

Otter groans.

“This is Marty,” Megan says, sounding amused. “My boyfriend.”

I blink. “What.”

“Nice to finally meet you guys,” Marty says easily, his grin sunny and bright. “Thanks for getting Megan all swollen with your babies. Twins, even. It’s done wonders for our own sex life, you know?”

No.

No, no, no, no—

“STOP STARING at him,” Otter growls as we follow them into Lamazing Grace, the doors whooshing open, manufactured air rolling over us.

“I can’t help it,” I snap back. “His entire existence bothers me. And he’s having sex with our children.”

A woman gasps as we pass her by.

“He’s joking,” Otter tells her hastily. “It’s not what you think.”

She glares at us.

“Don’t be rude,” I say. “Also, congratulations on your pregnancy. You’re positively glowing.”

She glares a little less after that.

“That’s Marty, though?” I whisper to Otter while Marty and Megan check in at the front desk. “He looks like he probably has a bong named Terry.”

“Do you think he’s a hippie?” Otter asks. “You know how I feel about hippies.”