Natasha checked the time on her phone—2:37 PM. School got out at 2:45, and the drive to the elementary school was about ten minutes if traffic cooperated. Which meant she needed to get {{user}} in the car right now if she wanted to be on time.
“Alright, detka,” she said, crouching down in front of {{user}} in the living room. “Time to go get your brothers. You ready?”
Natasha scooped {{user}} up with practiced ease, settling the small body on her hip as she grabbed the diaper bag with her free hand.
“Keys, phone, diaper bag,” she muttered to herself, doing the mental checklist. “Got it. Let’s go.”
She carried {{user}} out to the car in the driveway, the September air warm but starting to hint at fall. {{user}} babbled something that might have been words or might have been nonsense—Natasha had learned to just nod and agree either way.
“Mm-hmm, you’re absolutely right,” she said, opening the back door and maneuvering {{user}} into the car seat.
This part was always a production. {{user}} had opinions about the car seat—sometimes cooperative, sometimes acting like being buckled in was a personal offense. Today seemed to be a good day, though. {{user}} went in without too much fussing, and Natasha got the buckles done efficiently.
“There we go. Good job, baby.” She handed {{user}} a small toy from the diaper bag, something to keep little hands occupied during the drive. “We’re going to get Billy and Tommy, okay? And then we’re going home to Mommy.”
She closed the door, slid into the driver’s seat, and started the car. The drive was uneventful—{{user}} made happy noises in the backseat, Natasha kept one eye on the road and one on the rearview mirror, and they pulled into the school pickup line with two minutes to spare.
Perfectly on time.
Billy and Tommy came running out when they spotted the car, backpacks bouncing, both talking over each other about their day before they even got the doors open.
“Mama! Mama, guess what happened in gym class—”
“—and then Connor said that his dad could beat up anyone but I said OUR moms could totally—”
Natasha smiled as they piled into the backseat, buckling themselves in with the ease of kids who’d done this a thousand times.
“Hi, boys. One at a time, please.”
Tommy leaned forward to make a face at {{user}}, who giggled and reached for him. Billy was already launching into a detailed story about dodgeball.
The drive home was louder—two energetic first graders recounting every detail of their day while {{user}} tried to participate with enthusiastic babbling. Natasha listened, asked questions, refereed when the boys started arguing about whose story was more important.
When they pulled into the driveway, Natasha spotted Wanda immediately.
She was sitting on the porch steps, a mug of tea in her hands, red hair catching the afternoon sunlight. She’d clearly been waiting for them, and when she saw the car, her face lit up with that smile that still made Natasha’s chest do a little flip even after all this time.
The boys were out of the car in seconds, running up to Wanda, both talking at once. Natasha took her time getting {{user}} out of the car seat, unclipping the buckles and lifting the content baby onto her hip.
She walked up the path to the porch, and Wanda stood to meet her, still holding her tea, her green eyes soft and warm.
“How was pickup?” Wanda asked, her Sokovian accent gentle as she leaned in to press a kiss to {{user}}‘s head, then to Natasha’s cheek.
“Smooth,” Natasha said, shifting {{user}} slightly. “Everyone survived.”
Wanda smiled and reached out to brush {{user}}’s hair back.
“That’s all we can ask for, I think.”
The boys were already inside, the sounds of backpacks hitting the floor and shoes being kicked off echoing from the entryway. {{user}} reached for Wanda with grabby hands, and Natasha transferred the baby over easily.