"Oh, come on Heath. I think it sounds like a great way to say 'thank you' to our fans, you know? And so long for now?" MJ was jumping up and down in her excitement, which made their puppy, Wook, and their kitten, Hedwig, who were watching her, look like they were nodding vigorously. Heath took a moment out of arguing with MJ to smile at them.

Wook was brown and scruffy, while Hedwig was a calico. The woman at the shelter had sworn up, down, and all around that Wook was a "small-breed mix," and, even though they'd kind of doubted the volunteer's words, they already loved the pup, so they'd brought her home. That had been back in January, right after their return from England (they knew that January was the worst month for shelters, as many Christmas gift pets were relinquished or unceremoniously dumped when new owners realized how much care they required), and in the month that they'd had the two animals, Wook had approximately doubled in size, proving that the shelter volunteer was a well-intentioned liar. Or simply ignorant. Not that it mattered. Wook was a dear, darling, dog, and they wouldn't trade her for all the "small-breed mix" dogs in the world.

"I think it sounds like a great way for you to go into early labor from doing too much and being under stress," Heath retorted, turning his attention from their funny, cute pets to his funny cute girlfriend once more. "Like all that leaping about you're doing, would you please stop? The babies are going to fall out onto this very hard travertine floor and hit their heads, and they won't be able to go to Cambridge or UCLA and carry on the family tradition of attending the finest universities in the world."

"First of all, you didn't even go to Cambridge," MJ pointed out, lifting an eyebrow. "You didn't even get in."

"Yeah, well, if I'd applied, I would've," he retorted. "Probably," he added, not sounding very confident.

"But you're missing the point," he continued, his voice growing strong again. "You're thirty-one weeks pregnant. With twins. My twins. I don't think going on tour at this juncture would be very prudent.

"MJ, and please remember I mean this in the most loving way, and I think you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen and all that, but Jesus, you're as big as a fucking house right now, it's not easy for you to get around, you know?"

MJ merely nodded and rolled her hand in a gesture that meant for Heath to keep talking.

"And I bet Dr. Gettleman would agree with me. Have you even asked her? Or your dad?" He stared at her. "You haven't, I can tell!"

"It wouldn't be a tour, Heath, god, how you exaggerate sometimes," MJ said as she shook her head. "It would be a short, a very short, series of gigs, all in the LA area, all within the next three weeks or so. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal is that it's more than sitting around the house with your feet up, which is what you should be doing," Heath answered, at his wits' end. "It's what you should be doing right now, too, you know?" He took her by the hand and led her to a large squashy chair and pushed her gently into it. He moved the matching ottoman over and lifted her feet onto it.

"Okay, we can continue arguing if you want," he said, his tone magnanimous.

MJ took a deep breath, then paused as Hedwig and Wook came and swarmed onto her decidedly tiny lap and made themselves comfortable, right on the edge, around the edges of her enormous belly. They were fast asleep in an aimiable pile in under a minute.

The rest of the argument took place in a weird kind of half-whisper, because neither of them wanted to disturb the sleeping baby animals.

"We have the album coming out, of all the cute songs we wrote together, it's all acoustic, so it doesn't require a lot of set up, just us and our guitars. We could play really small venues, little clubs, you know, really iconic places, like The Troubadour. Can you imagine, Heath? You, me, our guitars, under a couple of follow spots, at The fucking Troubadour?" MJ's face was shining, and Heath smiled in spite of himself.

"I promise we'll only go places we can get back to here from every night, how's that?" MJ asked. "I promise I'll sleep in my own bed, every night."

"And we'll make sure you have the right kind of chair? With proper back support? And a place to rest your feet?" Heath asked with a sigh.

MJ knew she'd won.

"Yes!" she nearly shouted. She remembered Wook and Hedwig just in time and lowered her voice.

"And short? Short sets? Like an hour?" Heath begged, leaning in to kiss her.

"Okay, fine," MJ promised, smiling.

☀️🌴☀️🌴☀️🌴☀️🌴☀️

Dr. Gettleman wasn't quite as thrilled.

"Your blood pressure is a little higher than I'd like," she told MJ at her appointment.

"Like pre-eclampsia high?" MJ asked, reaching for Heath's hand.

"No no, there's no edema, no proteins in the urine, nothing like that," The doctor assured them. "It's not even uncommon to see hypertension in a mother carrying twins. Your placenta looks normal, too, so I don't think there's anything to worry about." She gave MJ a look, which she swung over to Heath as she began speaking.

"I'm just saying that now is the time to take extra care, not to be going out and doing extra things, you understand?"

"So you think we should cancel our shows?" Heath asked.

Their management would be very sad, not to mention the promoters and the owners of the nine venues. The tickets for the shows had gone up for sale on their websites with no announcement, and had sold out in under five minutes.

Dr. Gettleman sighed.

"No, I suppose not. I mean, she'll be sitting on her way to these places. The farthest away you'll be driving is what, San Diego?"

MJ nodded. "And I'll be sitting in the back, I can even put my feet up."

"And these shows, you'll be sitting for those as well?"

"Yes. And I won't be lifting anything heavier than my guitar," MJ promised.

"I guess the only question I have left is where on earth are you going to put it to play it, then?" Dr. Gettleman asked with a smile.

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"Good evening, Santa Monica!" MJ called, waving to the crowd as she and Heath walked out and took their seats. They had matching chairs that looked very comfortable, and MJ had a little footstool where she could rest her feet.

"I know most of you came just to see if I could physically maneuver the guitar into position and actually produce something that sounds like music, right?" she quipped into the mic.

Heath looked over at her and smiled. Sometimes he couldn't believe that this was the same girl who almost made herself cry over the fact that she drooled on his sweatshirt while they were sleeping.

And somehow, being pregnant, with twins, no less, which made her huge, had made her confident in her physicality in a way she never had been before. Heath didn't even know if she was aware of it, but before, all of her clothes were baggy, loose, and tended to hide her shape. Now, though, as her pregnancy had progressed, her maternity wear had become tighter as she'd grown, and she would casually pull on a maternity top intended for a six-month singleton, when she was a seven month carrying twins, and go out shopping, thinking nothing of it.

Heath loved that she no longer fretted about how large her breasts were, or how much cleavage showed above a blouse, or if something made her thighs look big.

She finally seemed to have internalized that she looked just fine, to him, anyway, always.

And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to look just fine to herself.

He might ask her one of these days.

Or he might not bother.

He tuned back in when she asked, "Heath? Dude? Come back down to earth, please? We have a show to put on before I pop, okay?"

More laughter.

"Sorry, darling, just drinking it in, you know?" he replied, giving a nod to how beautiful she looked in her M-pants and pretty yellow top with the lace edging. Her curly hair was held back with a yellow band, and her brown eyes shone under the spotlight.

His remark was met with spontaneous applause from the approximately four hundred lucky souls who'd gotten tickets to tonight's show.

"Thank you," Heath said to the crowd. "She tends not to believe me when we're alone, but when an audience who's paid money to be here claps, I think she has to admit it's true, right? She's just stunning." And he leaned over and kissed MJ on the cheek.

"And please don't pop, we've still got four weeks to go yet," he concluded.

So they launched into their set, the first of their new acoustic songs, written while they were touring with Meredith. Their harmonies were perfect by now, their guitars sang together.

And in between songs MJ took drinks from her water bottle, and made sure to keep her feet on her little stool.

The reviews on this new acoustic album had been almost unilaterally good, with only a few people saying it was a bit derivative in this day and age, and almost predictable to go acoustic, and that as a "change of pace" it really wasn't much of a change.

MJ and Heath didn't care. They loved the songs, they'd loved writing them together, and they loved performing them together.

Near the end of the show, Heath and MJ liked to do a couple Q & As with the audience, and it was usually a fun and funny break for everyone.

Tonight, the first question wasn't a question, however, but a comment.

"Yeah, hi," the young man said, smiling and waving. "I'm Les, from West Covina, and I don't have a question, but I wanted to say I love your stuff, especially this new stuff, and that I think MJ spilled her water."

MJ looked around, but her water was still on the table next to her.

Heath saw the trickle that was coming from under the chair, however, and had her stand.

The smile faded from his face as he leaned away from the mic and spoke to MJ. He quickly waved to someone off stage.

MJ had looked at the chair, and under it, an expression of almost comical surprise on her face.

Heath finally leaned in and spoke into the microphone.

"I'm so sorry, guys, but we're not going to get to our last three songs tonight. It looks like MJ's membranes have ruptured--is that how you say it in the states?--" He looked at MJ, who said something. "Her water broke? Is that what you say? Oh, either one? Okay, so you all know what I'm talking about, yeah?" He smiled. "So yeah, we're going to head off to hospital, please excuse us, okay?"

MJ leaned in to her mic as well.

"Sorry, everyone. I mean, we probably could get through the last songs, but we're way too distracted." She waved to everyone, who started clapping madly and shouting things about good luck as they started to file out.

"God, Heath, tell the manager I'm sorry about his chair, okay?" MJ's voice could clearly be heard on the mic, which made the audience members laugh.

"Darling, I don't give a fuck about the chair, can we please go?" Heath responded, just as clearly.

Two minutes later they were in the car and headed for the hospital.