“The amount of light in here is so refreshing,” Mom murmurs as she looks around the living room. “You know, the more sun you get, the happier you’ll be, and the better you’ll sleep.”

I set the salad bowl on the table and smile over at Jay, who’s bringing the lasagna to the table. We’ve been in this apartment for over half a year, but Mom and Dad have only been able to drop by a few times. Brooklyn, as they like to remind us, isn’t exactly right around the corner from them.

Any time they say something like this, my blood boils, and I start to get angry. But then, I inevitably hit the pause button, and remind myself of what Jay taught me: my parents aren’t perfect. I’m not perfect. But we love each other, and that’s what counts.

“Did you look into that new preschool around the corner yet?” Dad asks.

Jay and I glance at each other. Dad’s been forwarding us emails full of school information for weeks.

“It’s kind of early,” I say, sitting down and touching my big belly. “Considering the baby hasn’t even been born, yet.”

“Your due date is next week,” Mom reminds me, like that’s necessary.

Dad purposefully points his fork in my direction. “It’s not too early to look at preschools in New York. Not these days. The best preschools fill up years ahead of time. You have to stay ahead of the game if you want your child to get a good education.”

I nod agreeably, since that’s the best thing I can think of to do.

Mom waves her hand through the air. “We can talk about school another time. That little baby is going to be here soon, and that’s what we need to be focusing on. Lauren, do you have a schedule set up yet?”

I exchange yet another look with Jay. “Um…”

Jay explains for me. “I’m done with gambling for a few years at least, so the baby will be with me while Lauren’s at her studio in the afternoon.”

I smile at Jay. My parents have never said much about his career, though I know they don’t absolutely understand it. I know they’ll be pleased at his decision to slow down and be around for the baby, and with his prize money savings combined with my own earnings, we’ll have enough to live off for a long time.

Mom nods, seemingly satisfied with Jay’s answer. “Your father and I have been thinking… We’ve both been working a lot lately, and we don’t want to miss any time with the baby.”

“So I’m taking weekends off,” Dad announces. “Permanently.”

“And I’m not going into the office on Fridays anymore,” Mom beams.

I stare at my parents in amazement. It might be fairly standard for most people to announce that they are going to begin observing weekends, but the two people who raised me are workaholics. I have as many memories of being little and playing with toys at my mom’s office as I do at home. Even after dinner, if she had something she needed to take care of at work, she’d just take me over there.

I don’t know if my Mom and Dad will ever even formally retire, so this little bit of news is big.

“That’s great,” Jay says. “You deserve some time off.”

I feel the grin spreading across my face. “Yeah,” I agree. “That’s great. And the baby will love having you around.”

We dig into lunch, the talk turning to the new community garden around the corner, what the best Christmas destination with a baby will be, and what we’re going to wear to Willow’s very first movie showing—which may be a small indie film, but still includes a VIP-only pre-release viewing for friends and family.

The second the front door closes behind my parents, I turn to Jay. “Can you believe that? My parents, taking some time off of work.”

He walks over and pulls me close to him—or as close as the giant baby bump between us will allow me to get.

“I guess miracles really do happen.” He kisses my forehead. “I’m going to go finish up that wall in the nursery.”

“I’ll help.”

He gives me a concerned look. “You need to rest.”

“Jay. All I’ve been doing is resting.”

“You call fielding phone calls and meetings all day resting?”

“What can I say? I am my parents’ daughter.”

He takes my hand. “Okay, you can come with, but no lifting anything.”

“I’m sorry; do paintbrushes suddenly weigh forty pounds?”

He swats me lightly on the butt as we head down the hall.

The apartment that we found the very week we arrived back in New York is my dream home. There’s no other way to describe it. Being on the ground floor, it has its own backyard full of lush, green grass. The day we moved in, I strung white lights around the fence and in the branches of the little tree that grows back there. Now, when the sun sets, the yard shines like something out of a fairy tale.

We move down the hallway, passing our bedroom and my studio, the walls of which are covered with post-it notes and sketches. Getting things running for my business was easier than I expected it to be, especially with my parents finally on my side. With their combined business advice and introductions to people who knew people in the illustrating and publishing business, emails and phone calls just started flying at me.

I’ve already illustrated three children’s books. Jay was so proud that he framed the covers and hung them in the living room.

At the very end of the hall sits the nursery, the spot that will soon belong to our son or daughter. The crib is assembled and full of stacks of baby clothes and diapers, but other than that, the space is pretty bare. We’ve held off on filling it with furniture, since the walls aren’t even fully painted yet.

Jay cracks a window and a paint can while I survey the outline I drew on the wall weeks ago. It’s a map of the world, with the names of the places we want to visit written out. Someday, when the baby is old enough, we’ll travel to all of those countries and cities as a family. We’ll learn new languages, taste new foods, glide down rivers, and hike through jungles—and I’ll sketch it all out in a book.

Until then, we’ll enjoy the mural as we feed and rock our little one to sleep every night.

“Alaska needs a stronger outline,” I tell Jay as he climbs onto the step stool.

“Why does it have to be all the way up here?” he complains as he stretches to reach it.

I laugh. “Hey, I didn’t create the world. I just drew it.”

“I need that angled paintbrush.”

“I’ll get it.”

I bend down to grab the roll of brushes, but a sharp pain in my torso stops me. I straighten up and touch my belly.

“Lauren?” Jay is staring at me, his face worried.

“I’m fine. I just bent down wrong.” I laugh. “Believe it or not, sometimes I actually forget that I’m pregnant.”

I go to hand him the right brush, and another sensation washes over me. This time, it’s a tightening one, happening at the bottom of my belly. I stop moving and wait for it to happen again.

“Lauren,” Jay says, more sternly this time. “Tell me what’s going on.”

I lick my lips, joy and fear rocketing through me at the same time as the pain.

“I think…I think I just went into labor.”

Jay goes white. “Are you sure?”

I laugh. “I don’t know. I mean, the contractions are supposed to be pretty light at first. Like, you hardly feel them.”

Just as I’m finishing talking, what’s undeniably a contraction washes over me. It’s twice as strong as the last.

“Whoa.” I clutch my belly.

Jay gets off the step stool and walks to me. “Okay. This is happening. Let’s get your bag and get to the hospital.”

I wave him off. “No. It’s too early. Remember? First labors can take twelve hours or more. There’s no point in going to the hospital until I’m halfway along.”

“I just really think we should—”

I interrupt him with a yelp. It’s yet another contraction, this one even stronger.

My heart rate speeds up. “How long was that between those two?” I demand.

Jay goes wide-eyed. “I don’t know. Uh, a minute? Maybe less.”

Less than a minute. No way.

Contractions are supposed to start at fifteen to twenty minutes apart. It’s not until they’re five minutes apart that you’re supposed to head to the hospital. That’s what all of the pregnancy books say. One minute apart? That doesn’t make sense.

Yet another contraction blasts through me. This time, it’s a long one.

“Okay,” I harshly exhale. “We have to go to the hospital. Now.”

I’ve never seen a person move so fast in my life. Jay has me and my bag down to the curb before the next contraction comes.

The next two hours are a blur, full of a terrified cab driver, scurrying nurses, and a baby that’s coming way, way too fast. Through it all, Jay is calm, always by my side. He holds my hand and soothes me, never straying more than a few inches away.

And then, suddenly, there’s a baby in the room.

“It’s a girl!” the doctor announces, holding a tiny little red-faced person in the air.

A girl! Willow is never going to let me forget she was right about this.

The baby squeals and I look at Jay. His eyes are full of tears.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispers.

“Just a little over two hours,” the doctor adds with a smile. “That’s really rare. You better spend your last month sleeping at the hospital for your second baby.”

We stare in amazement as they clean her up, measure her, and take her weight. Finally, she’s in my arms. Her blue eyes are open and looking up at me.

“Hi, little one” I angle her up so she can get a look at Jay. “That’s your daddy.”

Jay puts a finger against her palm and she makes a little fist around it.

“Do you have a name for her?” one of the nurses asks.

Jay and I look at each other.

“Rose,” we whisper at the same time.

Just murmuring the word makes me remember all the best roses I’ve encountered in my life: the roses in Macau on the night Jay and I first met, the roses filling the hotel room the day Jay told me he loved me, and, now, the sweetest and best Rose in the world—the one in my arms.

Looking down at our newborn daughter, I can see how everything that’s happened in the last year has brought us to this perfect place. Jay and I were once adrift, floating through the world as two separate beings.

Now, we’re together. Now, we’re whole. Now, we’re home.