Arlene's POV
"Mom, I have a proper sit-on," Rockford announces, sliding a wrinkled notebook across the dining table toward me.
"Proposition," I gently correct him, fighting back a smile. The way he mispronounces words still melts my heart, even when he's clearly scheming.
Stay composed, Arlene. Don't let them see you're already charmed.
"That's exactly what I said," he huffs, giving me one of his signature eye rolls.
"Wait for me, I'm coming," Nicholson calls out breathlessly, stumbling into the room with her bright pink toy laptop clutched against her chest and a matching plastic carrier bouncing against her hip. The computer mouse trails behind her on the floor, and I hold my breath waiting for her to trip over the cord.
She deposits her treasures on the table with a dramatic flourish. My little princess is dressed to impress in her favorite sparkly coat and those ridiculous plastic heels from her dress-up collection that click against the hardwood with every step. This coordinated effort between my twins is unprecedented, and I quickly snap a few photos while they're busy organizing their presentation materials.
"I told you to be faster," Rockford scolds, attempting to smooth down Nicholson's messy curls as she struggles with the carrier strap.
"I needed to look beautiful," Nicholson retorts with a dismissive wave.
"Totally impossible," he mutters, earning himself a playful shove from his sister before she returns to her preparations.
The process takes several minutes as they arrange their props with the seriousness of corporate executives. Nicholson opens her educational laptop, the one she convinced me would help with mathematics. It does exactly that, nothing more, nothing less. Simple addition and subtraction problems, though she's discovered the multiplication shortcuts where anything times one equals itself.
The device is loaded with entertaining games that captivated our entire household for weeks after we bought it. Now it chimes to life as Nicholson opens her carrier, revealing her carefully selected negotiation tools. I nod approvingly as she extracts a plastic banana, a rubber tomato, and a fresh pack of crayons. Obviously essential items for any serious business discussion.
"Where did the mouse go?" she asks, scanning the table frantically.
"Got it," Rockford announces, leaping from his chair to retrieve the wayward device.
"Thank you so much," Nicholson accepts it graciously and helps guide him back into his seat. "We're ready now."
"Our proper sit-on," Rockford gestures grandly over their assembled materials, sliding a piece of construction paper toward me. The word PUPPY is scrawled across the top in uneven block letters, with both their names signed at the bottom in their distinctive kindergarten handwriting.
"Do you get it, Mommy?" Nicholson asks, folding her small arms across the table and fixing me with an intense stare.
Their earnest expressions tell me this is no joke. I decide to match their energy, reaching into my purse for my reading glasses and sliding them on with exaggerated precision. Nicholson nudges Rockford excitedly, but his attention remains locked on my face as I pretend to study their document thoroughly before setting it aside.
"A puppy, I see."
"Yes, please," they chorus in perfect unison.
"May I have time to consider this request?" I ask carefully. "So I can prepare my own proper sit-on in response?"
"Hold on," Nicholson whispers, leaning toward Rockford to cup her hands around his ear for a private consultation. He listens intently, then they switch positions for his input. I catch sight of Hannah hovering near the hallway entrance, trying desperately not to interrupt our negotiations. "How much time do you need?"
"Typically, I require until the end of the week," I explain with a casual shrug. "You want Mommy to make a thoughtful decision, don't you?"
"Ugh, that's forever, Mom," Rockford groans dramatically.
"I understand your frustration. However, a puppy represents an enormous commitment. You would need to provide food and fresh water daily. House training requires patience and consistency, which means cleaning up accidents regularly. I refuse to handle that responsibility, and Hannah feels the same way. It's genuinely disgusting," I state matter-of-factly.
"We promise we can handle everything," Nicholson declares solemnly.
"Fine. Until the end of the week then," Rockford concedes with obvious reluctance.
"What have I repeatedly told you about that eye rolling?" I give him my sternest maternal glare.
"Sorry, Mom," he grins sheepishly.
"Quite the little charmer. Very well then. I shall deliberate until the end of the week. However, I expect both of you to seriously consider my concerns. You cannot assume Hannah and I will manage your puppy's care. That responsibility belongs entirely to you. We'll visit the store after my work today to purchase a calendar for creating a comprehensive chore chart. Perhaps we'll include hypothetical puppy duties so you can understand the true scope of pet ownership."
"Absolutely," they agree immediately, clearly confident in their abilities.
"Excellent. Now clear this table. Breakfast time approaches," I announce, carefully placing their proposition into my work bag. My assistant will frame this masterpiece for my office wall, complete with photos of today's presentation. I adore puppies, but our constant traveling has made pet ownership impossible until now.
"Help me," Nicholson pleads, grabbing Rockford's sleeve to prevent his escape.
"Alright, alright," he grumbles, gathering several of her scattered items.
"We actually could manage it, you know," Hannah observes quietly, helping me serve their morning meal. "We're finally settling down now that you've accepted the executive position. Gianna specifically requested you step back from fieldwork. She mentioned Dakota created significant problems here that require your attention. Unfortunately, that means longer days away from the twins."
"True enough," I acknowledge. "But a puppy won't solve that particular problem."
"Perhaps not. But it might provide sufficient distraction while you establish your new routine."
"Have you contacted their school yet?"
"Already arranged. The principal agreed to meet Wednesday morning. Does that work for your schedule?"
"Perfect. The sooner we handle enrollment, the better."
"I'll confirm everything," she says, affectionately ruffling my hair.
"Pancakes!" Nicholson exclaims, bouncing excitedly in her chair.
Hannah keeps the children occupied after I explain my early departure. Typically, I sneak out to avoid Nicholson's tears, though I sometimes bring her along. Today I need to assess the new office environment privately before introducing the twins. I want to evaluate the staff they'll encounter, considering their endless curiosity.
Matthew waits in the lobby when I arrive downstairs. Cameras crowd the sidewalk outside, prompting simultaneous sighs from both of us. This aspect of Paris life I'll genuinely miss. American paparazzi demonstrate far more aggression than their European counterparts, and I represent their newest target.
Questions bombard me immediately upon stepping outside. Matthew brought extra security today. Guards push back the intrusive cameras as I'm escorted to the waiting car, Matthew close behind. Once safely inside, I exhale deeply. At least nobody threw anything today.