What's one more?

"Why not? We have room. It'll be cramped in the car though," you say, standing gesturing to the door.

Both girls huddle together in passenger seat for the drive to your place. Meghan is wearing some plaid cotton pajamas with a hooded sweatshirt thrown over them, flip flops on her feet. None of you make much conversation on the drive. You park at your townhouse and help the girls out of your car. Meghan suddenly stops, her face stricken.

"I forgot. Your wife. She doesn't like me. She thinks I'm a stupid little girl," tears trickle down her cheeks in her sudden distress. You pick her up, cradling her against you.

"It will be fine, Meghan," you tell her, carrying her up the steps and opening the door, Elena carrying the bags and Meghan's stuffed rabbit.

"There you are!" Laurel exclaims, coming down the hallway. "Oh look at you, you poor little muffin," she says to Meghan as you put her down, getting on one knee to hug the smaller woman to her, holding her tight. "You're safe here. I've poured you a lovely bath upstairs. Let's get you in it and pamper you. You poor dear," she says, breaking the hug and kissing Meghan. "Everything will be alright, you'll see. Come with me." She takes the petite redhead's hand and stands up, seeming to notice Elena for the first time.

"Where are my manners? You must be Elena. John didn't tell me you were coming, but we have lots of room, come here and let me hug you," she says, embracing the mumbling and surprised Latina. "Oh my dear, you must want to take a shower. You smell like an over-fucked cunt. Don't be offended, I smell like that myself sometimes. This past weekend in fact. Nothing to be ashamed of. You could use a wash too, John. Both of you smell like each other. Go get in the shower while I help Meghan with the bath."