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CJ overhears the twins a few weeks after they’ve talked.
They’re sitting at the kitchen table trying to catch up on some emails while Molly and Huck are coloring on the floor, surrounded by Amy’s balloon animals. They’re not trying to listen in — they swear they’re not trying to hear if the twins will say anything. But it’s hard not to.
Molly’s never been the quiet type anyway. It’d be harder not to hear a word she says. All of seven with her father’s stubbornness and her mother’s volume — CJ was always going to hear.
Huck’s coloring in a picture in total silence, leaned against Amy’s side but ignoring her presence otherwise. Amy stopped asking questions about that when the twins turned five.
She has her hands full keeping up with Molly, anyway.
Molly has finished making a picture of her family — Andy, CJ, Toby, Huck, the two cats, and a concerning amount of floating frogs in the air around the figures. She’s proud as can be to point everyone out for Amy.
“That’s my dad. He’s bald but I gave him more hair. He has a frog because when the frog babies grow I’m going to give him one.”
CJ stifles a laugh in their hand. Ever since they and Andy had agreed to let the twins gather frog spawn in the small pond at the edge of their garden, the twins have been feeding each other’s obsession with getting a frog to Toby’s place — a frog in the New York apartment their dad resides in.
They can’t understand what’s so funny about it to Molly and Huck. Neither can Andy.
“That’s my mom,” Molly continues. “She works on a hill to help people. Her hair’s red but Huck broke the red so I made it pink.”
Amy comments that she thinks Andy would look really pretty with pink hair. Molly disagrees with a huff, reminding Amy it was only out of necessity that she made the artistic choice.
CJ loves that kid.
“That’s my— CJ. They’re not mom, but they’re like mom. They help people too. And they hold hands with mom because one time I saw them holding hands outside and Huck didn’t believe me.”
CJ doesn’t have a lot of bandwidth to try and understand what Molly could mean when they know absolutely certainly that Huck’s seen them and his mom hold hands plenty of times. They’ve kissed in front of the twins plenty of times — have never been shy about showing each other affection around the kids.
Molly’s, or Huck’s, confusion at that front is nothing compared to the ease and casualness with which Molly described them. They’d been nervous, despite Andy trying to be comforting about it. They hadn’t quite expected the twins to pick up so quickly on the pronouns they’d been so nervous to start using only between them and Andy.
Amy picks up on it, too. CJ knew she would — knew better than to expect of the twins that they’d understand what CJ would want to keep private and what’s okay to share.
Outside the house, they think it’ll be pretty easily written off as children still learning to use their words. Amy knows CJ much better than that.
It would’ve made her panic if it wasn’t Amy. If it wasn’t Molly.
“That’s CJ? You drew them so nicely. What else do you know about them?”
Molly twirls her pen around her fingers and CJ does a very poor job pretending not to listen in but neither twin is paying them enough attention to notice anyway.
“They’re really tall. Taller than mom. They don’t work on a hill and they don’t live in New York. I’m going to give them a frog, though. I think they like frogs.”
Molly hesitates at that, and then turns to CJ with a sudden serious expression on her small face. “Do you like frogs?”
CJ assures her that they do. Molly turns back to Amy with a satisfied “they like frogs.”
They catch Amy’s eyes for a second as Molly says it. Amy smiles at them, and CJ understands it as a silent promise not to push them on this.
“I’m sure they do,” they hear Amy say. “What about you?”