Of Ginger & Spice

H2M3V: All The Pretty Horses

51: H2M3V: All The Pretty Horses

"Scars have the strange power to remind us that our past is real."

-All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy

9 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed

Macy finished the second feeding in as many hours, buttoning up her billowy blouse once more; she handed Henry to Harry, who placed the infant alongside Matilda in the dual carrier that Mel had gifted them awhile ago at the baby shower. Her index finger ran across her C-section scar, a horizontal parenthetical mark running along the margin of her lower ribcage onto the base of her abdominal wall. As soon as the little family had been settled at Vera Manor (and soon after, their Epicenter Pico No. 23 condo), Harry had whisked Macy into a bedroom, (which one, she wasn't quite sure—the entire week had been a haze), offering to remove the several inches-long scarring, should she desire, his hands barely hovering millimeters from her bare skin.

"No, Harry," she recalled herself saying resolutely. "Don't remove a thing."

"Are—are you sure, love?" Harry asked. "I want to be absolutely certain that this scarring isn't injuring you in any way, shape, or form—I want to spare you of any excess bleeding—to keep you safe—"

Macy laughed. "There's no harm in keeping it where it is, and every bit of harm if you do remove it."

"How do you mean?" Harry pursed his kissable lips in a button-like formation.

"To me," responded Macy, "I wear this C-section scar as a badge of honor—that I am capable of birthing your children. It's my mythical Rose Line, my Paris Meridian, the sunlight parameter of the Gnomon of Saint-Sulpice. It represents how I became a mother once more, and the future that is yet to come."

"Very well," said Harry, removing his hands from her lower abdomen. "I was hoping you'd say that," he murmured in her ear.

"What?" Macy exclaimed. "I thought—"

"I wanted to do a thorough job as a Whitelighter, but as your husband, I heartily approve your decision."

9:05 am, Vera Manor Garden, She-Shed

Just then, a thick package landed in the she-shed mail chute with an enormous THUNK. Curious, Macy retrieved the package, using both hands, and Harry helped her move it to the sturdy wooden table facing them both. Zoological Scripta, it read in the sender's address. University of Oslo, Natural History Museum, Department of Zoology, P.O. Box 1172 Blindern, 0318, Oslo, Norway.

Macy drew in a sharp breath and met Harry's eyes. "Well?" Harry attempted to defuse the mounting suspense, as he moved from side to side, methodically burping the infants. "Aren't you going to open that, love?"

"You open it, Harry—I can't take another rejection," Macy said, shoving the enormous package a few inches in Harry's direction, but Harry shook his head.

"That's hardly fair to you, Macy, you've worked so hard—it's time to see the...fruit of your labor," he answered, his eyes twinkling at his attempt at naughty puns. Macy stubbornly shook her head, her curls whirling in every direction as she did so. "I think I know where Maya's three-nager phase came from," he muttered under his breath. "How about this—I open the package, but you retrieve the letter within?"

Macy mulled this over for the next thirty seconds, then agreed, watching as Harry took a letter opener from the table, neatly slitting the sealed bundle open; he pulled out a plain, unmarked envelope which he handed to his wife. "For you, love."