The sea makes an onomatopoeia that cannot be spelled

Gasoline is about to pass US$4 in Alabama, so they decide to go to the beach one last time as a couple, U in tow.

They are soon to be a real family. Soon they will be a real family.

They will be a real family soon.

[Bearshirt] can't believe it. He has always--he can't even say it without shrieking or giggling or something equally foolish and wonderful. He has been told it was impossible, which makes it even more incredible, literally and figuratively. While Lah walks about the snug little house confused and distracted, he fairly runs from room to room.

But what would he tell his family? Lah provides no guidance to the etiquette of annoucing their situation. It even says, "This isn't exactly supposed to be."

But who cares? It's a baby.

Babies. As [Bearshirt] obviously isn't Serene, he cannot carry one fetus while Lah carries the other, as is the biological rule.  "Is it dangerous?"

"I think it will be, but I don't know what time will be the worst."

"You should ask the relay."

"It's been bounced up/down/around the Hive for the past week--this has never happened before.  In fact, you should open the door now."

"Wha'who?"

"What your species would call a midwife is about to come in, so you don't want to be un-Southern and shoo it away: what would your mother think?"

!

Leth, the Serene prenatalist, drives [Bearshirt]'s car.  The Strawberry Boys wave like ma-a-ad as the Getalong Gang pass the house on the way out of the subdivision, and [Bearshirt] waves back.  Lah and U are busily looking for a bead on the floorboard, Leth is turned to avoid the on-coming SUV, and the boys' attention-spans blink off, so the twins have no reason to notice that [Bearshirt]'s friends are from France.

!

Leth and Lah haven't seen the Earther ocean in real-time before, but U has, when it was small.  [Bearshirt] doesn't ask how old U is, how long the Serene have been here, how many Serene there are--who is this Leth person really anyway--and none of the answers are volunteered.  It is mentioned that the house where they will spend the week--not on the coast itself but forty-five minutes inland due to construction on the beach and other more-obvious reasons--was Serenaded briefly and is a "good" area for their party to recreate in.  "When's the neighborhood cookout?"

That question, as it was entirely rhetorical, isn't answered either.  The sea, a gigantor swatch of crumpled dark velvet with lacy edgings of white, makes an onomatopoeia that cannot be spelled.  It is a private beach that they have no legal access to, but the three Serene form a crude Hive-let, so there is no danger of discovery.  Silence, save the sea, and [Bearshirt] is satisfied with the silence.  It is enough.

!

The next morning, he wakes from a dream of when all of his teeth have fallen out, but he has magnificent hair.  Real-good hair like when he was a teenager and finally let it do what it wanted to.  He runs his hand over his buzz-cut.  Remembering.  Lah is not beside him.  >Here<  He pads to the bathroom, where all three Serene stand naked near the mirror.

They've all shaved their jaws.

"What have you done, you sillies?" he barks at them aloud.  He has never seen a Serene without a beard, and had assumed it was a cultural given.  "...Oh, it is..."  They have managed to make the trip coïncide with the date when the species commemorates the anniversary of the Landing.  That and another holiday they make glancing reference to, but do not expound upon.  [Bearshirt] caresses his little friend's face, pinches U's chin roughly.  They look so terribly ordinary.  "You."

He moves to get the broom, but Leth stops him, saying out loud that it'll take care of the large pile of hair, already gathered, on the floor.  >Breakfast or lunch or brunch or whatever would be a good idea<

They have cooked prunes, peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches, leftover birthday rice pudding, carrot-and-raisin salad, ivy, blackberry tea, and many other good things.  [Bearshirt] has never liked do-nothing vacations, and they plan on doing something, they're just not quite sure what they can get away with yet.  They can't go shopping, and they can't play in the water in broad daylight...well, they could, but they're not.  >What is that noise<

The Fall of the House of Usher has apparently summoned several examples of wildlife out of the forest behind the house.  They are fed nuts and grass by hand, the Earther and Serene not needing to be careful around the beasts for fear of driving them off.  A storm of butterflies collects, and [Bearshirt] really needs a camera.  But when one is Serenaded, one isn't allowed to own a camera, is he?  Lah nuzzles his shoulder, and they share two half-smiles to make a whole one.

!

Night.  The Serene tear off their clothes and run into the water, as if on fire.  It's rather funny.  Everything has been rather funny.  Life has been rather funny.  [Bearshirt] wonders if being a father will be funny, at least sometimes, and he hopes it will be so.  He sees that there is an empty plastic butter bowl from [Bearshirt]'s childhood in the pile of cast-off clothes, and he is told to see what is in it.  It is the clump of Serene facial hair.  >Be careful don't drop it<  Lah strides out of the ocean, pushing water off of its face and back from its forehead.  It brushes water off of its chest, then takes the hem of [Bearshirt]'s shirt and dries off its hands and blots its eyelids.

>I love you you have made me happy I wish that this time would never end<

"Thank you," it says, kissing him on the nose and taking the bowl.  By now, the other two have decided to come out of the water, and all three touch the bowl at the same time, singing in their soprano voices.  He has heard Lah sing before in the alto range, many times, and didn't know it could be so high.  So very high.  He weeps at the sound, and is so full of love and is so happy and so wishes this time would never end.  It does, but not before the four of them go to the shoreline, where the Serene then solemnly take the bowl out to waist-deep in the water, lower it, and allow the contents to come out and drift.  It may be that the bowl was one that he had played with as an infant--his mother never seemed to throw away plastic food containers and the collection was slowly taking over the entire state of Alabama; it may be that they are observing an obscure holiday he will never understand the relevance of; it may be that he lives with one, two, or now-three Serene clergy; it may be a warmer night than usual; it may be that seven frequently comes before thirty when counting.

It may be that the Serene are very old, and he and his kind are startlingly-young.  But they let him be young tonight, slapping at the lacy water, throwing seaweed, and generally acting Earther.  Why not?  Everything is as it should be.