Home for the New Year

Chapter 2
Epilogue

Chapter Description: When the fireworks fade

Matthew wakes to motion before he wakes to thought.

The car hums beneath him, the steady glide of tires over winter asphalt. Sunlight flickers through bare branches, strobing softly against the inside of the vehicle. He blinks, lashes heavy, head tipped slightly to one side.

Something presses gently at his lips.

He sucks reflexively—and only then becomes aware of the pacifier, warm and familiar, the deep pink shield resting against his mouth like it belongs there. The ribbon tugs faintly at his chest when the car turns.

Beside him, Jacob is already awake.

Jacob’s head is tilted toward the window, his hooded suit puffed up around his cheeks, white and fuzzy and impossibly soft. One mittened hand is tucked close to his chest; the other has been carefully rolled back, fabric bunched at the wrist so his thumb can sit comfortably in his mouth. He sucks it with slow, absent-minded contentment, eyes unfocused, breath fogging the glass.

They’re strapped in.

Not seatbelts—something more encompassing. Supportive. Car seats, sized generously but unmistakably shaped to hold them just so. Matthew shifts experimentally and finds himself snug, cradled, unable to slump too far in any direction.

The driver’s seat comes into view when the car stops at a light.

Their younger sister glances back at them, smiling.

“Morning,” she says brightly. “Sleep okay?”

Matthew tries to answer. The pacifier prevents it. He makes a small, uncertain sound instead.

She laughs. “Still getting used to it, huh?” Her eyes flick down to his outfit in the rearview mirror. “Oh, Maddie, you look fantastic.”

He follows her gaze downward.

The dress is… vivid. Hot pink layered with deep purples, the fabric smooth and straight through the torso, falling simply despite the obvious volume beneath it. A large sequined bow sits proudly at the center of his chest, catching the sunlight with every movement. The skirt tents outward over the unmistakable bulk of his pull-ups, no attempt made to disguise it.

“I brought it from your closet at Mom and Dad’s,” she continues cheerfully. “I thought it would be perfect for today.”

Jacob makes a small, pleased noise around his thumb when she glances at him.

“And look at you, Jakey,” she coos. “My little bear.”

Its the same bear suit from last night, but now in the daylight it seems ridiculous and undeniable—white fleece, footed and mittened, the hood pulled up with round ears sewn neatly on top. The mittens are shaped like paws, complete with stitched pads on the palms. One paw-foot rests against the edge of the seat, toes rounded and soft.

She checks the road, then adds casually, “I’m honestly impressed with that curse. I was a little worried buying it off Etsy, but wow—worked perfectly.”

Matthew’s brow furrows. Jacob’s thumb pauses in his mouth for half a second.

“Don’t look so lost,” she laughs, delighted. “It’s normal if you don’t remember much from before. Or maybe you do, but it’s… fuzzy?” She wiggles her fingers in the air. “Hard to say. Could be you just needed a change.”

She leans back and playfully pats his puffy crotch. 

She shrugs lightly. “Either way—too bad. I’ll let Mom sort it out when we get home.”

The light turns green. The car moves again.

“Oh!” she adds, glancing back with sudden excitement. “I can’t wait for you to see it. Your new college kindergarten is adorable. And your rooms at Mom and Dad’s? Completely transformed. So cozy. So appropriate.”

Neither of them responds.

Their gazes drift, vacant and uncomprehending, sliding off her words without catching. The car seat holds Matthew steady as his head lolls slightly to the side. Jacob’s thumb resumes its slow rhythm, the mitten falling back into place around his wrist like it was designed that way.

She studies them in the mirror for a moment, lips pursed thoughtfully.

“Hm,” she says. “You know what? I might spring for the extra awareness package after all. There should be a January sale starting soon.”

Her smile widens.

“Feels like you’d really appreciate the prank more if you could understand it.”

The car keeps moving.

Winter light slides across the dashboard and over their faces, pale and clean, like a morning that expects nothing from them. Matthew’s head tips forward slightly as the road curves, the pacifier bobbing with each shallow breath. His thoughts arrive slowly now, like they’re wading through something thick.

His sister keeps talking.

“I’ve already sorted the schedule,” she says, tapping her turn signal. “Mommy and daddy dearest will have you on weekdays, and Grandma and Grandpa will have you most weekends, obviously—they’re retired, they love routine and don’t mind ruining their weekends with dirty diapers and what not—but when they’re busy or just want a break, I thought it’d be nice to keep things familiar.”

She smiles to herself.

“So your ex—well, Maddie, your former girlfriend—she’ll be babysitting. Isn’t that perfect? She already knows you. She was so sweet about it, too. Said she always thought you needed more structure.”

Matthew blinks.

The word girlfriend doesn’t land. It skids, catches briefly, then dissolves before it can connect to anything real. There’s a distant sense that it should matter, that something has been misplaced—but the effort required to follow the thread is too great.

Warmth pools quietly beneath him.

Not suddenly. Not dramatically. Just a gentle, spreading heaviness, the kind that would have startled him once. Now it registers as a vague shift—pressure easing, muscles letting go of something they no longer need to hold. The magic responds instantly, containing, accommodating, making room.

Matthew exhales, a soft sound lost around the pacifier.

His sister continues, unfazed.

“Oh, and don’t worry—your special college kindergartens are very clear about expectations. No pressure, no deadlines. Just learning at your own pace. Colors, shapes, social play.” She laughs. 

“Honestly, it’s a relief. You were both so stressed before.”

Jacob slumps deeper into his seat.

His bear suit creaks faintly as his body relaxes further, thumb slipping from his mouth for a moment before he finds it again. His eyes flutter half-closed. A similar, quiet release follows for him—so small it barely registers as an event at all. The car seat absorbs it without comment, without consequence.

That, too, is expected.

“Your rooms are ready,” she says brightly. “The magic really went all out. Low beds. Soft corners. Nightlights that turn on automatically if you move too much.” She glances back. “Oh! And monitors, obviously—but don’t worry, they’re the discreet kind.”

She reaches over to adjust the radio, then thinks better of it and leaves the silence intact.

“I’m still deciding whether to spring for the upgraded memory tier,” she muses. “The basic package usually fades things out naturally, but sometimes it’s nicer if you can understand what you’ve lost. Makes the gratitude deeper.”

Matthew’s eyes track the movement of trees outside the window.

He understands none of it—and yet, his body feels calm. Safe. Held in exactly the right shape. The warmth beneath him lingers, contained and unobtrusive, like it’s always been part of the design. Any flicker of discomfort is smoothed away before it can rise.

Jacob makes a small, pleased sound.

“There it is,” she says fondly. “See? You’re already settling in.”

The car turns onto a familiar road—though neither of them recognizes it.

“Mom’s going to cry when she sees you,” their sister adds. “She’s been leaking since last night, basically had to pump all night.” She grins at her reflection in the mirror. 

She looks back at them one more time.

Matthew’s gaze is vacant but peaceful. Jacob’s thumb is secure, his bear hood slightly askew. Both of them sit quietly in their seats, bodies compliant, needs handled before they even have to be felt.

“Yeah,” she says softly. “This was a really good idea.”

The car drives on, carrying them toward a life already prepared for them—one they no longer need to understand to live in.