30. Tess
Tess
T he steam rises from my mug of herbal tea, swirling in the golden light that filters through my kitchen curtains.
I thumb through a parenting magazine, reveling in the Sunday morning quiet broken only by Art's occasional purring as he sits on the table next to my tea. Such a naughty boy, but I’ve given up trying to keep him off things he shouldn’t be on.
My mind drifts to all the real estate listings Charlie and I have been sifting through over the past couple of months—so many possibilities, none of them exactly what we’re looking for.
Art stretches, his black and white fur rippling, before leaping down to wind between my legs. He meows insistently, reminding me he needs breakfast. I've already fed him once, but he's convinced that Sunday means multiple servings.
"Nice try," I tell him, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. "The doctor said I'm the one eating for three, not you."
My hand moves to my growing belly. At twenty-three weeks, there's no hiding the twins now. I'm firmly in maternity clothes territory.
Art gives up on second breakfast and jumps onto my lap instead, careful to avoid my bump. He's been extra gentle with me lately, as if he senses the changes. I sip my tea and look through some more real estate listings.
For months now, Charlie and I have been trying to figure out where we'll live once the babies arrive.
It's become a weekend ritual: open houses, private showings, debating neighborhoods and school districts over dinner.
Sometimes I catch myself wondering how we got here so quickly—from fake dating to planning our future together in the span of months.
My phone pings with a text from Charlie: Morning, beautiful. How are you feeling?
Good. Just having tea with Art. How are you?
Hans is trying to eat my slipper. Typical Sunday.
I smile, imagining them in Charlie's penthouse. I've spent more nights there lately than at my own place and I love it, but we both know his place isn't a good long term option.
"It's a glass box in the sky," Charlie said last weekend as we lay in his enormous bed, his hand resting on my stomach. "It’s been an amazing home for the last few years but it’s not a great option for raising kids."
My little house isn't much better. I glance around at my cozy kitchen, with its original wood trim and built-in china cabinet. I love this house but it’s size would leave us cramped from day one.
The tiny yard might work for Art's bird-watching expeditions, but two energetic children and a dachshund would quickly outgrow it.
Our real estate agent, a no-nonsense woman with immaculately manicured nails is visibly losing patience with us. Last weekend, after showing us a perfectly nice Tudor in Queen Anne that neither of us liked, she'd closed her portfolio with a snap.
"You two are looking for a unicorn," she said, her smile tight. "Four bedrooms, yard, good schools, character, modern updates, close to both your workplaces, and under five million dollars. It’s definitely a tall order."
She's shown us at least ten houses so far. There was the gorgeous Craftsman with a stunning kitchen but situated on a busy street that made Charlie frown and mutter about toddlers running into traffic. The sleek modern home in Madison Park with a beautiful yard that had strange acoustics throughout the house, making me worry I wouldn’t be able to practice properly.
The charming Victorian with gorgeous details but a seriously creepy basement, was featured in a bad dream I had that night.
"We'll find it," Charlie keeps insisting, refusing to settle. "The perfect home is out there."
I wish I shared his optimism. My practical side is starting to think we should just renovate my place and squeeze in—at least for the first year or two. But as I look around at my tiny dining area, I can't imagine fitting two high chairs, let alone the mountain of equipment twins require.
For Charlie, it’s more about a certain feel. "I want our kids to have a real home," he told me last week. "A place that feels warm and safe, but gives them plenty of room to run."
Art headbutts my hand, demanding attention.
I stroke his soft fur and wonder how he'll adapt to a new home with two babies and an enthusiastic dachshund. He and Hans have spent a few nights together at this point, and though it wasn’t horrible, Art definitely seems to be put out when Hans is here. I hope that changes.
I should practice—the Mozart we're performing next week still needs work. But instead, I linger over my cooling tea for a few more precious minutes.
Art jumps down from my lap as if he can read my thoughts, stretching once more before padding toward the living room where my cello waits.
I head to the bathroom first though for the tenth time just this morning. Pregnancy bladder is a real thing…
The following afternoon, my bow stills on the cello strings as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Maestro Cortez is working with the violins on a tricky passage, which gives me a moment to sneak a peek.
Charlie's text lights up my screen: Made a last minute appointment for a house showing. Any chance you can meet me there at 4?"
My heart sinks a little. Another house, another disappointment. I’m tired but I type back a quick "Sure" before asking for the address.
Cortez taps his baton on the stand. "Cellos, measure ninety-six. I need more weight in those quarter notes."
I slip my phone away and focus on the music, trying to push thoughts of real estate out of my mind. We play through the passage twice more before Cortez finally seems satisfied. When he moves on to work with the woodwinds, Rebecca, the second cellist, leans toward me.
"Everything okay?" she whispers.
"House hunting," I explain, adjusting my endpin slightly. "Charlie's found another one for us to look at this afternoon."
"No luck yet, huh?"
I shake my head. "The way things are going, the twins will be in college before we find a house we both love."
Rebecca smiles sympathetically. "My cousin went through fifteen houses before finding theirs. Now they couldn't imagine living anywhere else."
Everyone, including Cortez, has been wonderful about my pregnancy. All that worry over nothing. I’m so grateful every day that I got this job, even if it is still temporary. I have a good feeling that they’ll have an open spot for me when I get back from maternity leave.
Cortez clears his throat loudly, and we all straighten up, returning our attention to the score. By the time rehearsal ends at 3:30, my phone shows another text from Charlie with the address and a cryptic text. I think you’re really going to like this one.
I pack up my cello, my mind churning with curiosity. Charlie isn't usually the mysterious type—he's direct, practical, a problem-solver. I wish I had time to look up the property details but there’s no time.
The address takes me north of the city, away from the usual neighborhoods we’ve been looking in. I pull out of the symphony parking garage and plug it into my GPS, frowning at the unfamiliar street name. Twenty-five minutes, the screen tells me. I check the time—3:35. I'll be cutting it close.
As I drive, Seattle's dense urban landscape gradually gives way to more spacious properties.
The GPS directs me to turn onto a narrower two-lane road, then another.
Houses become more spaced apart, with lots of land between them.
This doesn't make sense. We've been looking in neighborhoods with good schools and reasonable commutes to both our workplaces. Where is Charlie taking me?
"In 500 feet, your destination is on the right," my GPS announces.
I slow down, peering through my windshield for house numbers.
Then I see it—a break in the trees, a white wooden fence stretching along the roadside, and an elegant wooden sign with tasteful gold lettering that I can't quite make out.
I turn into a long gravel driveway that curves through immaculately maintained grounds.
As the driveway straightens, a sprawling farmhouse-style home comes into view.
My mouth goes dry. The house is stunning—two stories of white clapboard with black shutters and a wide, wraparound porch.
Mature trees dot the expansive front lawn, and I can see what looks like an apple orchard to one side.
But what stops my heart is what lies beyond the house—a large paddock with white fencing, and inside it, three horses grazing peacefully in the afternoon sun.
I park beside Charlie's car, my hands trembling slightly as I turn off the truck’s engine. What is this place? Why has he brought me here?
I step out of my truck just as Charlie emerges from the front door, a huge smile on his face. He's wearing dress slacks and a blue button-down shirt that matches his eyes.
"You found it," he calls, jogging down the porch steps toward me.
"Charlie, what are we doing here?" I ask, unable to take my eyes off the horses in the distance. "This place is..." I trail off, not even knowing how to finish the sentence.
He reaches me and takes me in his arms. "I wanted to surprise you. Let's look inside first, then we can talk."
He leads me up the porch steps and through the front door into a spacious entryway with gleaming hardwood floors. Light pours in from windows on all sides, and I can see straight through to a back deck overlooking more of the property.
"The main floor has two bedrooms," Charlie explains, guiding me from room to room. "Owner’s suite here, with a view of the pastures. The nursery could be here, adjacent to our room. Home office for when you need to practice or when I need to work from home."
Each room is more perfect than the last—high ceilings, beautiful craftsmanship, windows that catch what’s left of the afternoon light.
The kitchen takes my breath away: a huge island, top-of-the-line appliances, gorgeous granite and a breakfast nook surrounded by windows that overlook a lush rose garden.
"There's more upstairs—guest rooms, a bonus space that would make a great playroom," Charlie continues. "And the basement is finished—media room, wine cellar, storage."
I follow him in silent amazement, trying to process what I'm seeing. This isn't just another showing—this house is perfect. It's everything we've discussed wanting, and a lot more.
"Charlie," I finally manage when we step onto the back deck. "This place is incredible, and...is that...?" I point to a red barn visible about a hundred yards from the house.
His smile widens. "Four stalls, tack room, wash stall, hay storage. And those five acres beyond the paddock? All part of the property."
"But I don't understand. We've been looking at houses in neighborhoods close to the city. This is..." I gesture helplessly at the expansive property stretching before us.
Charlie takes my hands again, his eyes serious now.
"The commute is actually not bad—twenty-five minutes to your symphony hall, thirty to my office.
There's a great preschool just ten minutes away.
But most importantly," he pauses, squeezing my hands, "this place has everything we need for our whole family. Including Oliver."
The implication hits me all at once. "You mean?—"
"He could live here. With us. When you’re ready to bring him back from Madison Hayes’s place, of course. There's enough space for him and maybe a couple of ponies for the kids eventually if you want. You could ride whenever you're able to, right on your own property."
I stare at him, speechless. Oliver has been going so well for Madison—I’ve been out once a week or so to watch her ride him. Having him here when I’m ready is a dream come true. I really can’t believe how perfect it all sounds.
Tears spring to my eyes before I can stop them. Charlie wraps his big arms around me and leans down to kiss me. One of the twins kicks right at that moment and we both start laughing.
"The current owners are moving to Florida next month," Charlie continues excitedly. "They've taken amazing care of the place. The barn is practically new. There's even a bunch of jumps in one of the extra stalls."
"Charlie," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I can't believe this place."
He pulls me close, his arms encircling me and my growing baby bump. "Do you like it? I know it's further out than we planned, but?—"
"It's perfect," I interrupt, tears flowing freely now. "It's absolutely perfect."
His eyes search mine, hopeful yet uncertain. "Really? Because we can keep looking if?—"
I silence him with another kiss, pouring all my emotions into it. When we finally break apart, both breathless, I rest my forehead against his.
"I love you," he says softly. "So much. I want to give you—give us—a home where everyone belongs. Where we can build a life together."
"I love you too," I whisper back, my hand moving to my stomach where another kick just landed. "I can't wait to raise our children here, to watch them grow up in this beautiful place." I glance toward the paddock where one of the horses has lifted his head, watching us. "All of us together."
Charlie's hand covers mine on my belly. "So that's a yes? This is the one?"
I nod, too overcome with emotion to speak for a moment. Then I manage to find my voice again. "This is definitely the one."