FIC: People Do It All the Time (4a/4)

[fourteencandles]

The next morning, Eric is gone when Vince wakes up. Vince vaguely remembers him saying something about a haircut. He takes a shower and calls Turtle to see what he’s up to, and so they get lunch and then go back to Vince’s place with some of Turtle’s new weed, because Turtle points out days like this are probably numbered. “No midday hits once junior’s around,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs but agrees. He has his head over the bong when the door opens. He takes a long hit and then puts the bong on the floor, behind the coffee table, out of view.

“You ready?” Eric calls from the entryway.

Vince can’t answer, not yet. When Eric steps in, Turtle waves. “Hey,” Eric says. He’s wearing a pale green button-down that is one of Vince’s favorites, the top button undone, his hair sharp under his sunglasses. “Vince, you ready? We’ve got Ari and Shauna in an hour.”

A mouthful of smoke escapes, and then Vince coughs. “What?” he says. “I thought that was Friday.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Eric says. “How high are you?”

Vince shrugs. He doesn’t feel that high. It’s only a few hits, so far. “It’s pretty strong stuff,” Turtle says from the couch, and Vince turns to look at him.

“I’m fine,” he says.

“Uh-huh,” Eric says. He has his hands on his hips, and Jesus but that’s hot. Eric is always hot when he’s pissed off.

Vince licks his lips. “Really,” he says. “Seriously, man, it’s fine.” He concentrates on sitting up very straight, on making sure his eyes are just wide enough, and that when he speaks he’s not talking directly to Eric’s cock. “I can do this.”

Eric’s eyes narrow. “We’ll get you an espresso on the way.”

“OK,” Vince says. Eric walks to the kitchen, and Vince sags back into his chair. “Fuck, my boy is hot,” he says, and Turtle snorts.

“You’re fucked up,” Turtle says, nodding slowly.

“Totally,” Vince agrees.

Eric brings a bottle of water and says, “Come on, stoner,” and Vince follows him to the car. Eric is tousled and anxious and ridiculously sexy. Vince keeps his hands on his own thighs only because Eric is snappish, and he knows if he pisses him off then there won’t be sex later. He does, however, stand close to him in the elevator, his elbow brushing Eric’s back, every breath a little hit of Eric’s cologne and aftershave, and Eric doesn’t even notice, he’s so worked up about the meeting.

Ari, however, never misses a beat.

“What, E, you wearing your special panties today?” he asks as they walk into his office. “Jesus, call him off.”

Eric looks over, startled, and Vince shrugs from two inches away. “Hi,” he says, and Eric rolls his eyes.

“You can’t make anything easy, huh?” He pats Vince’s chest, a clear dismissal, and starts for the couch.

“Huh-uh,” Ari says, and points to the armchair. “If I’m getting news sprung on me, then you don’t get to be in each other’s back pockets. Fair fight, fellas.”

So Eric takes the chair and Vince sits across from him, separated by the long glass coffee table. Shauna arrives, looking harried, and trades fuck yous with Ari in greeting. She kisses Vince’s cheek, gives Eric a little glare, and takes a seat on the couch. Eric’s sitting with his legs casually spread and Vince wants them all to just fucking leave them alone. Five minutes, he thinks, I don’t need any more than that.

“Stop,” Eric says, catching his eye.

Shauna glances over. “Hungry, are we?” she asks, and Vince shrugs.

“He looks good today, doesn’t he?”

“He looks like a goddamned nightmare,” Ari says. “So what now, boys? E, let me guess, you want him to convert to Scientology.”

Eric clears his throat and blushes, just a little. So fucking hot. “We wanted to talk to you about something. Uh, it’s important, like, don’t freak out on us, OK? But, uh, Vince is -”

“We’re having a baby,” Vince says.

There’s silence for a second, then Ari turns. “E, you had a fucking pussy hidden in there all the time, huh? Jesus, I knew it.”

“You wanna explain a little more?” Shauna says.

“What, no congratulations?” Vince says, leaning back.

“It depends,” Shauna says. “Are we talking African orphan here or did you knock up one of the Spears girls?”

Eric leans forward, his hands steepled. “Vince is the father. Sloan is the mother.”

“Holy fucking shit,” Ari says. “Sloan, like Terrence’s motherfucking daughter Sloan? Like your ex-girlfriend Sloan?”

“No, Sloan like Amy Sloan. Jesus Christ, am I not speaking English?” Eric asks.

“It sounds like you’re speaking crazy,” Ari says.

“Who all knows?” Shauna asks.

Vince explains about the people at her office, and Eric neatly glosses over the part where they didn’t know about anything for the first four months. “So we’re gonna talk about this,” Ari says, looking at Shauna, and she nods.

“Kelly at People,” she agrees, and then looks at Vince. “This is clear with Sloan, right? And you’re very sure, she’s not going to change her mind later and say it’s someone else’s.”

“She’s had a test,” Eric says. “I saw the results, I can e-mail it to you.”

“I trust you,” she says, and Ari says, “Send them to me, then. Jesus fucking Christ.” He looks angry, drops his head into his hands. Vince looks over at Eric, who shrugs, a neat fuck-him shrug, and then Ari looks up again. “Congratulations, man,” he says, and lunges over for a hug. “Kids are the fucking dream.”

“Thanks, Ari,” Vince says, and he really does feel grateful. Shauna hugs him, too, while Ari embraces Eric.

“Thank god the kid’s getting the good genes, huh?” he says.

“Fuck you, too, Ari,” Eric says, but he’s smiling. “In fact, that might be the first thing we teach him to say.”

They talk a little more, and Shauna agrees to put out some feelers, see if anyone knows anything yet, and then to put out an announcement at exactly the right minute. Vince can’t tell if she thinks that minute will be soon or not, but Eric seems pleased with the whole idea. That’s enough for him.

On the way out, Vince puts his arm around Eric’s shoulders just because he can, now, the meeting’s over and so Eric’s got to be a little relaxed. Eric looks up at him and narrows his eyes. “I have work to do this afternoon,” he says.

“I am your work,” Vince says.

“Seriously,” E says, stepping out from under his arm as they get off the elevator. “I’ll drop you at home.”

“Then you’d better make a stop on the way,” Vince says, “because I’m going to need to blow you.”

He watches Eric blush, again. The valet keeps a straight face, though, so Vince isn’t sure what the big deal is. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know.

But Eric’s actually pissed off, Vince realizes when they get in; he guns the car pulling away, and Vince turns in his seat. “You know I hate it when you pull that shit,” he says.

“What are you, a fucking girl? I’m offering you sex,” Vince says. “Sex, E, with me. Come on. Lots of guys would kill for that.”

“You’re just digging yourself a hole, here,” Eric mutters.

“I meant - “ Vince sighs. “I meant most guys would jump at the chance for sex. Good sex,” Vince says, and risks putting his hand on Eric’s thigh. “And it is good, you know it. You and me, man.”

Eric shakes his head. “Tell me how a meeting about having a baby got you in the mood.”

“It’s more the pot, probably,” Vince says.

“Very flattering.” Eric takes a turn a bit sharply, and Vince falls back against the door. “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t look it.

“You know what,” Vince says, staying across the car, “fuck you. I can take care of myself.”

“Not in my car, you can’t. I just had it detailed.”

Vince rolls his eyes. “I am capable of self-control,” he says, and Eric snorts. “I just don’t usually have to exercise it, because usually my boyfriend isn’t being a fucking pussy about getting laid.”

“There’s so much wrong with that sentence,” Eric says.

“You’re correcting my grammar, now?” Vince crosses his arms. “What is your deal?”

“My deal is you’re about to be a father and you’re acting like a fucking seventeen year old. This isn’t a game, Vince. You wanna spend your afternoons getting wasted with Turtle and making eyes at me in front of people we have to work with, you should have maybe made some different choices.” He pulls the car into the drive and unlocks the doors. “I need to go back to the office.”

Vince gets out without a word, slams the door, and walks into the house. He’s angry, he’s still a little turned on, and there’s something else sinking through the buzz that he doesn’t like, a feeling that Eric’s making a good point. Bastard, he thinks, and decides to go for a swim.

After he swims, he changes into clean shorts and stretches out on the couch. He can see he missed a call from Eric, but he decides not to call him back, not yet. Vince is cooled down, but Eric probably isn’t. They can talk this out when he gets home. He opts for a nap, and when he wakes to the ringing of the phone, he briefly considers not answering it. But he does, and he’s glad, because it’s Sloan.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I thought E was going to call you,” Vince says, sitting up on the couch and rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“He left a message, I think, but I was busy. Is he around?”

“No, I’m not sure where he is,” Vince says, and realizes Eric should have been home a while ago. Maybe he’s more pissed than Vince thought. “Maybe at the office.”

“All work, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Just wondering how it went with Ari.”

“Oh, fine,” he says. “Ari’s Ari, you know. Gave E a hard time, of course.”

“Of course.”

He tells her the rest, and when he says that Shauna’s going to talk to someone at People, Sloan hums her assent. “So I’ll probably get a call?” she says.

“Probably soon,” Vince says. “You’re still OK with this, right?”

She laughs. “It’s too late to turn back now,” she says. “I’ve already bought a car seat.”

“Car seat,” Vince echoes. He looks around the living room - not a stuffed animal or baby-proofed outlet in sight. Eric might have a point about their readiness for this all, but Vince can prove him wrong. “Hey, do you have any free time this weekend? I’ve been thinking, we maybe need to get some stuff for the house, but I don’t know where to start.”

“Sure,” Sloan says. “Sounds fun. I probably have some time Saturday, will that work for you guys?”

“Works for me,” Vince says. “E might be working or something, but I’ll find out. You want to meet somewhere?”

“Or I’ll come pick you up.”

“Even better,” he says. “Just give me a call Saturday when you’re headed this way.”

“All right, I will. Bye, Vince.”

He hangs up the phone and rolls over on the couch, already feeling better about things.

Eric comes home around eight. He goes straight to the kitchen, though Vince is in the living room, and when he walks out he’s drinking a beer. His eyes are squinty and his mouth is tight, and Vince wonders if he’s really still mad.

“Where’ve you been?” Vince asks.

Eric walks to the armchair and sits down, even though there’s an ocean of space next to Vince on the couch. “I had to meet with Victor Ballantine.”

“Is he gonna give us the money?” Eric shrugs. “When do we find out?”

“He’ll probably call tomorrow. He wanted to check with his finance guy, he said.”

Vince can tell from here that’s a blow off line, and he’s surprised that Eric hasn’t caught on. “He doesn’t like the script?”

“I said he’s checking with his guy,” Eric says. “You want me to give you a transcript?”

“I just want to know what happened.”

“You want to know so bad, maybe you should show up for the fucking meetings,” Eric says.

Vince opens his mouth, then takes a deep breath. He’s not going to fight with Eric, not over this, not right now. Margot, his therapist, has shown him that he often puts a lot of decision-making pressure on Eric instead of working to share the burdens with him. So tonight, he can offer to share, if it will make this fight go away. “I could,” he says. “I’ve been kind of tuned-out on this deal. What can I do to help now?”

Eric’s shoulders slump. “I dunno,” he says, rubbing his head.

Vince sits forward, and when it’s clear Eric’s not going to move, he gets up from the couch and walks to the armchair, sits on the arm and puts his hand on Eric’s back. “I can call him, tomorrow,” Vince says, starting to rub Eric’s neck. “Would that help?”

“Mm,” Eric says. “Maybe. Or - would you mind talking to Andrea?”

“Sure,” Vince says. “When are you meeting with her?”

“Probably Saturday.”

“Afternoon?”

“Not sure. Why, you have plans?”

“I was going to go shopping with Sloan.”

“Yeah?” Eric looks up, and he’s clearly surprised and pleased. “You can probably just call Andrea.”

“Or you can move the meeting to Friday, and we can all shop together.”

“Nah,” he says, “she’s busy. But maybe I’ll catch up with you guys afterwards.”

“OK,” Vince says. He lifts his hands from Eric’s shoulders. “Come on, there’s leftovers,” he says.

Eric follows him to the kitchen, shaking his head, still holding the beer. “Is this, like, you feeling bad about today?”

Vince shrugs. “If I’d known the meeting was today, I wouldn’t have gotten together with Turtle. You know me, I don’t usually go high to stuff.”

Eric keeps staring at him for a minute, then just nods. Vince can tell that’s not what he wants to talk about, not what he wants an apology for, but maybe Eric can let things rest for once, too. And when Eric sets his plate down, after dinner, and then backs Vince up against the kitchen counter and kisses him, Vince gets a part of his apology, too.

Saturday, Eric takes the morning off and they go to breakfast, out. Vince eats eggs and steals potatoes off of Eric’s plate, and Eric laughs when Vince tells him the joke Turtle told him the day before. There are cameras outside and they get snapped waiting for the car, and Vince turns his back to them and Eric smiles up at him. They meet the guys mid-morning to shop for a new couch for Turtle’s place, which Vince charges. When he sits in an armchair to watch Turtle debating which coffee table to buy, Eric sits on the arm and rests his hand on Vince’s shoulder.

“We need to buy some stuff, huh?” he says.

“That’s what I’m shopping for today,” Vince says. “Seriously, you want me to wait? We can go later.”

“Just nothing with leopard print,” Eric says, “and nothing over 10 K, all right? He’s just going to throw up on anything you buy.”

“All right,” Vince agrees, and leans against Eric’s side to watch Turtle and Drama arguing over the masculinity of a certain lamp. “You think our other kids will be jealous?”

Eric snorts, then kisses the side of his head. “You already gave them pretty nice playpens,” he says, and then pulls away. “I gotta go meet Andrea. You OK to get a ride?”

“I’m all grown up,” Vince says. “I can probably take care of myself.”

“Never doubt it,” Eric says. He says good-bye to the guys and walks out, and a minute later Vince’s cell phone rings. “Watch out when you leave,” he says. “Blood-thirsty crowd out there.”

“We’ll go out back,” Vince says.

They make arrangements to get the couch and coffee table delivered, and Vince calls Sloan before they leave. “We’re already downtown,” he says. “You want me to meet you somewhere?”

“Sure,” she says, and names an address for a store called Babystyle. Vince laughs, a little, just hearing the name. He wishes Eric was around, because the guys won’t get it.

Turtle brings the car around back, and Vince dodges in. He doesn’t hear any camera snaps, but that doesn’t mean anything anymore, with everyone going digital. “Babystyle,” he says, and when Turtle snickers it’s a different kind of laugh.

“Fuck,” he says, “is this the future?”

“Yeah, and watch your language,” Vince says.

They drop him off in front of the boutique, and Vince walks in. The store is cool and sleekly decorated, with lots of natural-wood furniture and neutral colors. There are two women, one of them visibly pregnant, browsing through cribs and clothing near the back of the store, but no sign of Sloan yet. Vince glances to the side, where there’s a sturdy wooden table that looks kind of like an entertainment center, with drawers and an open space at the bottom. He tries to look interested in it, and hopes Sloan hurries.

“That’s one of our most popular changing tables,” a saleswoman says. She’s wearing all white, and moves very quietly, so Vince startles just a little.

“Really?” he says.

She nods. “Are you looking for a registry gift?”

“Ah, no,” he says, and puts both hands on the table. “It’s, I’m actually here, uh, I’m waiting for someone.”

She nods. Her face is perfectly uncurious, but Vince suddenly wants to explain. He wants to tell everyone in the store, let them all know that he’s in exactly the same boat they are. “It’s - my partner and I, we’re setting up a nursery,” he says. “We don’t have anything yet.”

“Well,” she says, and she suddenly has a nice, warm smile, “you’ve come to the right place.”

Before she can start in on the hard sell, the door opens and Sloan breezes in. She’s wearing a short maternity dress today, sleeveless and fitted, and as she walks forward she has one hand resting on her belly. Vince grins, embraces her, and kisses her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he says, and she smiles.

“Traffic.”

The saleswoman has the same implacable smile as before, and Vince is comforted.

They pick out a crib and a changing table and get a catalog of other decorating options, and Sloan suggests another store for the stroller they should have. “You can custom-order them,” she says as they walk out the front doors. Vince has his hand on her back. “So you can get colors and fabrics that you like, and adjust everything else, the sun shade, the wheels, if you want music -”

She stops, suddenly, startled, and Vince looks up and sees why. There’s a phalanx of paparazzi across the street, all of them aimed squarely at the two of them. Vince can guess these headlines. “It’s fine,” he says, hurrying Sloan toward the curb. She walks around and climbs into the driver’s side, and Vince ducks in on the other side. As Sloan pulls away, he picks up his phone to call Shauna and puts her on speakerphone.

“I know,” she says. “I talked to Kelly this morning, so the story’s already made it to their Web site. You’re big news. There’s some stories already.”

“Great,” he says.

“Just lay low for a bit, all right? You too, honey,” she says, and Sloan agrees.

She glances at Vince after he shuts his phone. “Are you all right?”

He shrugs. “I should be asking you, right?”

“I’m fine,” she says. “I work in PR, remember?”

He nods. “Say, you, uh, you wanna come over? I mean, look through the catalogs with me, maybe help us figure out the space? And - well. It’s not a bad place to lay low.”

“All right,” she says. She glances up in the rear view mirror. “You might want to let E know, though. I think we’re being followed.”

“Awesome.”

He calls Eric, who agrees to meet them at the house, and who hangs up fast. Vince suspects he’s calling Shauna back, and he’s both reassured and a little annoyed by it. It’s not like he can’t handle this stuff on his own.

There’s a black Mercedes parked in front of the house, the same car (or its twin) from the first couple of weeks after the Golden Globes, when everyone was scrambling for pictures of Vince and Eric together. Fresh photos of the two of them doing anything friendly are still hot properties, and Vince wonders if Sloan’s going to get added to the mix. He wonders if there will be some kind of bidding war for the baby’s photos, and hopes he can remember to ask Eric about that later.

Vince leads Sloan inside and offers her a drink in the kitchen - she takes water - and he lays the catalogs out on the island. “Which room is the nursery?” she asks, and Vince is embarrassed to admit they haven’t picked a space yet.

“I guess, I don’t know. Maybe Eric’s old room?”

“Upstairs?”

He nods, and Sloan cocks her head to one side. “I don’t want to tell you how to do things,” she says, “but you might think about, I guess for me, I want him close by. I mean, I know at first, he’ll probably sleep in the room, with me, but even after that - I just want him close enough so that I can hear him cry.”

Vince sits down. “That makes sense,” he says. Of course it does. He glances toward the hallway. The master bedroom is the only bedroom on the first floor. It occupies the western third of the ground floor, with the kitchen in the center and the living room and deck at the eastern end, where the laundry is. Eric’s old room and the three other bedrooms are all upstairs. They could just move upstairs, to one of the other rooms, Vince reasons, but he’s gotten pretty used to their big shared room. It’s the only room in the house with two separate closets, which has proved a godsend with the amount of clothing he has. Plus Eric has the room next to his old one set up as an at-home office. Vince groans at the very idea of having to move everything around, and Sloan says, “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s, uh, let’s look at room designs.”

All of the catalog furniture and design suggestions are beautiful. Vince is particularly fond of one called the Seascape Fantasy room, where the baby’s room would be painted in blues and greens, with silk curtains and thick, soft carpeting, everything designed to make the room seem like it could be underwater. He pictures that as being potentially comforting for the baby - leaving one watery world to enter another. Plus, it’s just really cool, and he could fit a few Aquaman toys in without any trouble.

Eric shows up after an hour or so, and they all look at the catalogs together. He likes the Seascape, too, but says, “I don’t know that we could fit all that stuff in the upstairs rooms.” They have a quick, light dinner together - leftover pasta from Drama’s last cooking binge - and then Vince offers to call a car to take Sloan home.

“I’m really fine,” she says, but she doesn’t look it. She looks very tired, almost asleep on her feet.

“You could stay over, if you want,” he says. Sloan looks at him, clearly confused, and he says, “We really do have a lot of guest rooms. Plus this way, we can all go out together in the morning and really mess with the paparazzi.”

“I didn’t bring anything,” she says, but it doesn’t take much to get her to agree. They find an old T-shirt and sweatpants of Turtle’s that are stretchy enough to fit, and by 11 she’s tucked into the guest room at the end of the hall upstairs. Vince listens for the closing of the door, then turns to Eric.

“I think we need to move,” he says, and Eric sighs.

“What now?”

“We need a house where the nursery can be next to our bedroom,” he says. “And, you know, I was thinking, maybe we could find two houses somewhere. Somewhere gated.”

“Two? Jesus,” Eric says, rubbing his forehead. “Nightfeeders did pretty well, man, but -”

“We get a house and we get one next door for Sloan. That way - that way we get to see him whenever.” Vince sits next to Eric at the table. “I want to make sure we do this right.”

Eric just looks at him, then says, “Let’s talk to Sloan in the morning.”

“Thank you,” Vince says. He bends down, kisses one of Eric’s hands. “You’re gonna be such a good dad,” he murmurs, and Eric tousles his hair.

“What, because I give in so easily?” Vince looks up, and Eric cups his chin. “You’re gonna be the best at this,” he says. “You know that.”

Vince kisses Eric’s palm. “Let’s go to bed.”

At breakfast the next morning, Vince brings up the idea of moving. It starts to sound kind of silly as he says it: “And then we thought, maybe you could just, uh, live next door?” but to his surprise, Sloan just says, “Oh, thank God,” and grins.

“I was wondering how we’d ever be able to do this if you’re halfway across town,” she says. “And I didn’t want - I mean, it’d be pretty weird if we all moved in together.”

“That’s why this seemed like a good compromise,” Vince says, and she nods.

“I have a broker that I’ve used some through work who might be helpful. I can call her tomorrow and see what there is out there.”

And so the next few months pass in a blur. They find two houses not next door to each other, but within the same gated community, so that it takes no longer than six minutes to walk from one door to the other (Vince times it; Johnny can do it in four minutes, he claims, but there’s never any real proof). Sloan has family money on top of her own income and turns down Vince’s offer to help with the purchase, though she does let him pay for a spa day while the movers unpack her house. That was Eric’s idea, meant to keep Sloan from overdoing it.

They both spend a lot of time trying to make sure Sloan’s not overdoing. She’s still going to work in month eight, and though the doctor says that’s fine - and that everything is fine, from the tips of the baby’s toes to his now-forming eyelashes - both guys worry pretty much constantly. Eric deals with his anxiety by reading parenting books; Vince deals with it through extra sessions at the gym, including daily yoga. He figures he’ll be so flexible by the time the kid is born, he’ll be able to juggle bottles no problem.

Sloan finally allows them to hire her a driver (and makes them promise it won’t be Turtle), and they get into an every-other-night routine of dinners together. In between, Vince and Eric spend a lot of time in the nursery, which, at the last minute, they decide to put together themselves - well, Eric decided they should do it, because he didn’t trust anyone else to pick out the stuff the baby would be around. They decorate with picture posters of New York, pretty, brightly colored things, like the Manhattan skyline at night, Central Park in fall, the Bronx Zoo, a Yankees game, and then create a mini petting zoo of over-stuffed animals to surround their state-of-the-art crib. Turtle and Johnny each buy the baby a tiny hat, one Yanks, one Mets, and matching jerseys, and they even kick in for mobile with little baseballs dangling that plays “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”

“The kid’ll love that, guys, thanks,” Vince says, and even Eric hugs them both.

They are still, with a month to go, calling him just “the baby” or “the kid.” Coming up with a name has been a grueling process - none of the suggestions has been something any of them love. The closest they’ve come to agreement is on a middle name, tentatively; Sloan asked if it could be her grandfather Oliver’s name, and both Eric and Vince are OK with it, pending a first name that doesn’t sound ridiculous. Eric likes a lot of old-fashioned, solid Irish names - James is at the top of his list - while Sloan leans toward the contemporary, first names that sound like last names: Marshall, Parker, Anderson. Vince doesn’t have a specific idea of what he wants, except he’s confident he’ll know it when he hears it. He spends a lot of time watching movie credits and then running the names through his head: Robert Oliver? No. Marlon Oliver? No. They haven’t taken on the delicate topic of a last name yet, in part because Vince isn’t sure what Eric’s thinking about it or even where Sloan stands, and he doesn’t want to start any fights.

Sloan drops in one afternoon while Eric’s running errands, and Vince leads her back to the nursery to show off the latest addition. “Oh, wow,” she says, taking a seat, gingerly, in the new rocking chair.

“It’s an antique,” Vince says, “but Eric had it tested, there’s no lead or anything. It’s the one his mother used to have, and she got that from her mom. I just got his aunt to ship it out last week finally.”

Sloan looks up, her hands resting gently on the arm rests. “God, poor Eric,” she says. “I forget sometimes about his mom.”

Vince hasn’t forgotten. He knows it’s been hard for Eric. Even in high school, she’d talked about wanting grandkids; she had virtually adopted Eric’s cousins kids as her own, to the point that Eric called them his nieces and nephews.

“She was such a nice lady,” Sloan says, and Vince nods. He’d almost forgotten that Sloan ever met Eric’s mom. “So, actually, this is as good a segue as any. I figured out a name.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I think you’re gonna have to talk E into it.”

Vince leans back against the closet door. “What’s the name?”

“Eric.”

Vince waits for a second, expecting more, and then he gets it. “Eric.” She nods. “Eric Oliver.” It clicks. That’s the name he’s been waiting for. “I like it.”

“You do?”

“I do,” he says. “Actually - I kind of love it. Eric Oliver.”

“Good,” she says. “Then there’s just one more choice. Chase?”

He swallows. There’s a little shiver in his chest, and he looks at Sloan’s belly. “Really?”

“It can be, if you want,” she says. “I’m not attached to McQuewick - a nightmare to spell, anyway, and I’m carrying on all the family name I want with Oliver. My brother already has two kids.”

Vince nods. Eric Oliver Chase. He likes it, he can’t deny that. Carrying on the family name was never really his ambition - there are thousands of Chases out there, anyway - but he does feel an instant glint of pride at the idea of it. But - something feels off. He thinks about writing the name, thinks about calling it out, thinks about his son standing next to him at some future party or school function, and he hears Eric introducing the two of them as “the Chase men.” “What about Murphy?” he asks, surprising himself as he says it.

Sloan looks just as surprised. “Did you guys talk about that?”

He shrugs. “No, but - it just sounds right. You know?”

She nods. “Are you - are you sure, Vince?”

He shrugs again, then nods. “My brothers have our family name handled. E - this is all the family he’s got, you know?” He’s starting to warm to the whole concept, the grand gesture of it. More than anything, he wants Eric to know that this baby is their baby, not just Vince’s, not just Sloan’s.

“I think it’s a wonderful idea,” Sloan says. “But do you think he’ll agree?”

“He’ll be - you’re right, actually, he’ll probably argue.”

“So convince him,” Sloan says, and she raises an eyebrow. “I’ve seen some of your methods of persuasion, remember? I know you can do it.”

He helps her out of the chair and kisses her cheek. “Thank you,” he says, one hand in the small of her back.

She nods, but he keeps her in his arms, his mouth against the top of her head. “No, really, Sloan. Thank you, for everything. You don’t know what it means to us - to me -”

“Hey hey, knock it off, you have witnesses.”

Vince feels Sloan laugh, and he turns and grins at Eric. “You totally caught me,” he says, one hand still on Sloan’s back. “I was just about to propose.”

“The sin of it all finally too much for you? How are you, Sloan?” Vince watches Eric look right at her belly, and Sloan laughs.

“Go ahead, I know you’re dying to,” she says, and guides his hand to her stomach. “He’s been pretty active since lunch.”

“Spicy food?” Eric asks.

“Not too bad, doctor,” she says, rolling her eyes, and Vince grins. He puts his hand just next to Eric’s, and sure enough, after a few seconds, he feels the sharp bump of his son - his fucking son - kicking or elbowing or just, who knows, shifting around. Vince actually tries not to visualize him too much yet, because he has a great imagination and does not, at all, want a realistic image of a fetus floating around in his head for the next few weeks. “But speaking of food, I should get going. I’m meeting some of the girls for a good-bye dinner.”

“Good-bye?”

She smiles. “Not for me, guys. My leave party is scheduled in two weeks, not a moment sooner.” She looks down at her stomach. “Which you’re going to cooperate with, right? Good boy.”

“We gotta get this kid a name,” Eric says as they follow her into the hallway. “Hey, dinner tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” Sloan says. She kisses Eric’s cheek, then Vince’s, and he gets from her look that he’s supposed to talk to Eric before then about the name. “Please no eggplant, though.”

“Uh, no problem,” Eric says. “I was thinking pizza.”

“Excellent. OK. See you both tomorrow.”

They watch her walk - it’s a labored walk, but she’s still very steady and surprisingly swift - to the car and get in the back, and the driver pulls away a moment later. Vince turns to Eric, not sure exactly how to bring up the name thing, trying to think of some nice segue from their earlier conversation.

“I was really hoping she was going to take her leave early,” Eric says.

“Yeah, when she mentioned that party, I was hoping, too.” They walk back inside and to the kitchen, where there’s a bag of food waiting on the counter, the familiar salty smell of their favorite Chinese place wafting up. It’s Eric’s turn to cook. “Hey, should we throw her a party?” Vince asks.

Eric pauses, a cardboard container in one hand. “A party? Like a shower?” Vince nods. “I, uh, isn’t it kind of late for that?”

“Yeah,” Vince admits, “we probably should have done it a long time ago, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it now.”

Eric shrugs, then turns to get plates. “I dunno. I mean, she’s already got most of the stuff she needs.”

“It’s not about the presents. It’s more about the gesture.” He really just brought this up as a way to keep talking about the baby, but now that he thinks about it, it’s a great idea. They should throw Sloan a shower. Hell, they should’ve thrown themselves a shower, but it probably is too late for that. “I can’t believe we didn’t think of this sooner. I can’t believe you didn’t think of it, with all your reading.”

“The books are about the important stuff, Vin, like how to know if the kid has an allergy, not so much how to plan a baby shower.” Eric shakes his head and hands over the cashew chicken. “Do you even think she’d want a shower?”

“Why not?” Eric gives him a look, but Vince can’t guess what he’s thinking. “Why? Because the baby has two daddies instead of one? Come on, she made it through People Magazine, I doubt a shower could be more awkward.”

Eric shrugs. “OK, fair point,” he says. “So - you wanna plan it, or should I get somebody to -”

“No, I got it,” Vince says. “I’ll get Turtle to help.” Eric raises an eyebrow. “I won’t put him in charge or anything, I promise.”

“All right. I’ll help, too,” he says. “When do you want to do it?”

“Soon, I guess, but it might take a month or so to get everything together. She really deserves something nice.”

“We could do it right after,” Eric suggests.

“Isn’t that weird?”

He shrugs. “Not even in the top ten of weird things about this,” he says.

Vince thinks it over. “It might be nice to have people come see the baby.”

“Yeah,” Eric agrees. “And I’ve read a lot of new moms feel really isolated, so it could be a good deal for Sloan, too.”

“Good point. OK. Post-baby shower. I’ll work on it.”

“Plus, then we’ll know the name and everything. We can send invites with the birth announcements.”

And there’s his opening. “Hey, speaking of the name,” he says, and Eric raises an eyebrow. “Sloan and I decided.”

“Yeah? I still get veto, though, right? No way is my kid gonna be named Forrest or Stone or something. I mean, why not just beat him up now?”

“No, I think you’ll like this, too,” Vince says. “Strong Irish name.”

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Eric.” Eric keeps looking at him, and Vince almost laughs at himself. “Eric, as in, Eric Oliver.”

Eric’s eyes get a little wide. “Wait - my name? Seriously?”

“Both of your names, actually,” Vince says. “Eric Oliver Murphy. Nice ring to it, right?”

Now Eric sets his fork down. “What? Are you - you’re kidding me. No, seriously, that’s a nice gesture, but you don’t have to -”

“We want to,” Vince says. “We both want to. It’s a good name, E. And it won’t really get confusing, because you barely go by Eric anyway.”

“But he’s - I mean, Vince, he’s gonna be your son,” Eric says, and Vince sighs.

“He’s our son,” Vince says. “Ours, yours and mine and Sloan’s, E. The three of us. He’s gonna grow up calling you dad, too.”

Eric opens his mouth, then closes it sharply and looks away. Vince grins and reaches over, pulls Eric’s hand into his. “Say yes,” he murmurs against Eric’s palm.

“Yes,” Eric says, and then laughs. “Holy fuck, yes, I can’t - I - you don’t know -”

“I think I do,” Vince says, kissing his hand. “I love you, OK? Enough to let you father my child.”

Eric groans. “Promise me you’ll never make that joke in public.”

“No way, that’s one of the best that I’ve got.”

“I hope he gets Sloan’s sense of humor,” Eric says.

“Your name, my looks, her brains - that’s one hell of a kid,” Vince says. “We should’ve started this a long time ago, we could’ve populated all of Hollywood by now.”

“Your looks but not your ego, let’s hope,” Eric says, but he’s smiling, too.

Vince gets to work planning the shower the next day. Turtle is nearly useless. When Vince tries to recruit him, he says, “Jesus, what are you asking me for? Have I ever knocked somebody up?” and Vince starts to think through the pregnant women he’s known in his life. Then the answer’s easy: Shauna. She sets him up with the caterer and the party planner she used for her own shower, Bryce, a guy so gay he makes Vince feel like a Republican. They spend a day touring possible sites for the shower before Vince finally settles on a ballroom at a boutique hotel where they can have lunch served poolside.

“Tomorrow we’re going to pick the place-settings and the cutlery,” Vince tells Eric, stretched out in their bed while he gets into shorts for sleep. “I’m leaning toward the sterling silver set, but Bryce says the silver with gold inlaid is really popular right now.”

Eric shakes his head. “You spend much more time with that guy, I really am gonna worry about you turning into a girl.”

“I just want things to be perfect,” Vince says.

“You? A perfectionist? Am I rubbing off on you?”

Vince skips the joke that comes to mind about how welcome Eric rubbing off on him literally would be right then. “We owe her a lot,” Vince says. “Most guys like us don’t get to have kids.”

Eric slips into bed. “Most guys like us don’t get to do a lot of the stuff we do,” he says.

“Did you ever think we’d be here?”

“No,” Eric says, looking over at him. “I guess - if you’d asked me a couple of years ago, I guess I thought we’d probably both get married, have some kids, live in the same town, all of that.”

“And not be together.”

Eric shrugs. “I guess I tried not to think about that. It - this never seemed possible,” he says. “I mean, sometimes, even now, does it always seem real to you?”

Vince smiles and lowers his head, kisses Eric’s temple gently. “No,” he admits. “Sometimes I think I might wake up.”

It’s true. Vince was maybe just using a line when he told Eric they were living the dream, but now, he really feels it. They’re in love, they’re happy, they’re about to have a baby, their friends are fantastic, and his career is going better than he ever dreamed. It’s an amazing amount of good stuff, and sometimes, Vince wonders if it’s too much. But really, looking back, he feels like they’ve earned everything they have with hard times, and that where they are is pretty much at the best, balanced place. Maybe the yoga is going to his head, but he feels pretty much at peace with things.

His peacefulness is tested by the baby. Or, rather, the lack of baby. Sloan, following advice from her doctor, decides to keep working right through month nine. All of her signs or symptoms or whatever they check are good, but the due date comes and goes and there’s no baby. She’s physically miserable, Vince can see when they pick her up for dinner, but other than keeping her comfortable - dinner is served on the couch, with a dessert of backrub - there’s not much they can do to help.

Which doesn’t stop Eric from trying. He somehow tracks down every old wives’ tale about hurrying labor and decides to try them all. So they take Sloan eggplant sandwiches for lunch and order in very spicy dinners; they go for long walks in the neighborhood and tell her to sleep on her left side. Vince barely talks Eric down from getting some porn from Turtle, because he’s read that getting turned on can speed labor. “Seriously, think about it, is that the story you want to tell Little E when he asks about the night he was born?” Vince asks, and Eric relents.

They both check their phones whenever they’re out, in case of missed calls or low signal strength. Eric waits in the car while Vince and Turtle go to Barney’s one afternoon, because he’s worried there won’t be good reception inside.

It’s not like there’s a lot they can do, even if she’s in labor. Her best friend and business partner, Cathi, is going to be in the delivery room with her; Cathi’s gone to all of the birthing classes with Sloan, too. Their role on D-Day is just to sit in the waiting room until they’re summoned, which Vince is more than happy to do.

Ten days past her due date, Sloan calls mid-afternoon to say she went to see the doctor again. “She’s decided to induce on Thursday if there’s no change before then,” Sloan says over the speakerphone. “And there has been no change.”

Thursday is three days away. “How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Sloan says. “Tired. Hot. My mom’s here.”

“That’s good,” Vince says. “You need anything? You want us to bring lunch tomorrow?”

“Maybe dinner,” she says. “Thanks, guys.”

They hang up and Vince looks over at Eric. “What are you thinking?”

Eric shrugs. “I think I’m relieved,” he says. “I thought maybe this was gonna drag out until next year at this point.”

Vince smiles. “It’s kind of nice to have it set,” he agrees. “Wow. Think of it. Thursday night, we’ll be dads.”

Eric laughs. “So what do you want to do until then?”

They haven’t had anything much to drink in the last two weeks, just in case. “Let’s drink the champagne,” Vince says.

“Good idea.”

They finish the bottle and then go to bed. They haven’t had sex in a week, either, because they’ve been up waiting for the phone to ring most nights until they’re too tired to do anything but sleep, so tonight, they make the time. Vince falls asleep with one arm and one leg thrown over Eric, and he wakes up with Eric reaching over him to answer the phone the next morning.

“Uh-huh. What?” he says, and Vince knows before he even says it. It doesn’t surprise him much when Eric hangs up and says, “She’s on her way to the hospital. She’s been having contractions all night.”

“Fuck,” Vince whispers, and sits up slowly. Champagne hangovers are the worst.

It’s pure comedy, getting out of the house. They both stagger around like zombies, trying to move fast but really going slowly, both of them messing up their routines - Eric forgets to wash the shampoo out of his hair, Vince forgets to shave - and both of them red-eyed from the drinking and the late night. “This is not how I wanted to meet my kid,” Vince says, dry swallowing a couple of Tylenol.

“It could be hours, still,” Eric says. He’s taken some Tylenol, too. “First babies take a long time.”

But by the time they get to the hospital, Sloan’s parents are there, and they say she’s been taken back to her room. Eric looks crestfallen. “I thought we’d at least get to see her, wish her, you know, luck,” he says.

“Eric, I’m sure she’d be happy to see you, if you’d like to go in,” his mother says. It’s the look on her face - part resignation, part hope, that gets Vince, that makes him understand for maybe the first time that this arrangement may be a little crowded for Sloan’s family. They always liked Eric.

“Yeah, come on,” Vince says, even though he wants nothing to do with being in a delivery room, or with seeing labor or any of that. “I bet they’ve gotta let us in. We’re the fathers.”

So ten minutes later they’re they’re led into a hospital room, not even a big medical delivery room like they usually showed on TV, but more like a suite, with a bathtub at one end and a big bed in the center with a bunch of electronic equipment pushed to the back. Sloan’s in the bed, belly protruding under her gown and blanket, as always too big to even seem real. She has her hands resting on her stomach, and her face is a little pale but she looks, otherwise, OK, not screaming or clutching anything. Cathi’s sitting in the chair at her bedside, and when they walk in she says, “Uh, good, OK, I’m just gonna get some ice,” and then leaves.

“Oh, I’m a mess,” Sloan says, brushing back her hair, and Eric laughs.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and walks over and kisses her forehead. “I’m sorry we weren’t here sooner.”

“I should’ve called last night,” she says. “I just thought they were more fake contractions, or food, or just a back ache. And then everything happened so fast -”

“No, don’t worry,” Eric says. He has his hand on her shoulder. Vince has barely moved past the door yet. Something about this room is really freaking him out. “You had stuff on your mind, clearly.”

“Clearly,” she says. Her smile is a little tight.

“How are things, so far?”

“They gave me an epidural not too long ago,” she says. “Much better since then. Much better.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Now it’s more like - like pressure, than pain. I mean. Still not the best way to spend the day,” she says, and now her smile twists.

“Are you starting one right now?” Eric asks. There’s a strange excitement in his voice that adds to Vince’s nerves.

Sloan nods and grabs Eric’s hand. A machine to the side of the bed starts beeping, not an urgent beep but enough that Vince wonders if someone should be coming in, and it’s spitting out a thin strip of paper with a little graph on it. Sloan breathes fast, panting, and Eric says soothing things in that same half-excited voice. Finally, just as Vince is getting ready to go into the hall and grab someone, the machine stops beeping and Sloan closes her eyes and nods when Eric says, “OK? Are you OK?”

“They’re coming a lot faster now,” she says. “The doctor said maybe in the next hour. She’ll be in soon. Do you want to wait?”

No, Vince thinks, and he nearly says it out loud. He finally gets it; he doesn’t want to be here because in here, it feels very much like something could go wrong. All of these machines are built for emergencies. They are built to solve problems he doesn’t want to think about. He just wants to walk out of this room, get a soda, watch some bad cable, and in an hour he’ll be ready to hear that everything is fine. Sloan will be fine, their baby will be fine.

“I don’t know,” Eric says, and Vince knows he’s looking to him. And as much as he wants Eric to be with him right now, their baby - their baby’s mother - needs him more.

“Stay,” Vince says. “I might get something to drink, though, go hang out with the parents for a while. Uh. So it doesn’t get too crowded.” He smiles and makes himself walk to the bed, rests his hand lightly on the blanket over Sloan’s feet. “I’ll see you soon, though. You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, Vince,” she says, and he realizes she’s still holding Eric’s hand.

He doesn’t go far. He’s famous, so they don’t seem to be worried that he’s going to steal someone’s baby. They let him take a seat by the nurses’ station, within view of Sloan’s door, where Cathi has returned and a doctor soon follows. Not long after that, the door opens and they’re pushing Sloan out, Eric at one side, Cathi on the other. As they pass by, Eric bends and kisses Sloan’s cheek, then stops a few feet from Vince.

“Aren’t you going in?” Vince asks.

Eric looks back at him and smiles. “My place here is with you,” he says. “Besides, I don’t want this kid getting the wrong idea, if he meets me first. I mean, come on, how’re you ever gonna live up to that?”

Vince puts his arm around Eric’s shoulders. “He’s gonna love us,” he says.

“Because we’re gonna love him.”

After that, it’s very much like on TV. Cathi comes to the waiting room about forty-five minutes later and says they have a healthy baby boy, 6 pounds, 6 ounces, and that he and his mother are doing fine and can take a visitor or two. Though Sloan’s mother is immediately on her feet, it’s Eric and Vince who get the nod from Cathi, and though his stomach is in knots, Vince follows Eric through a few sets of double doors to a room just down the hall from where they were before. Cathi knocks lightly, then, when there’s a soft answer, she tells them to go on in.

“OK,” Vince says, psyching himself up. He’s heard new babies are ugly, wrinkly, hard to look at, not even responsive. He’s actually prepared to fake it. But he doesn’t have to, because inside Sloan is sitting up, holding a swaddled little lump, and when Vince sees his dark eyes and his damp mop of dark hair, he has to grab Eric’s shoulder. “Oh, Jesus,” he says, and something hard squeezes his chest as they walk to the bed. He reaches out tentatively, and when Sloan nods he touches the baby’s blanket, feels his infant warmth through the soft flannel, then traces one tentative finger across his little red face. “He’s so beautiful,” Vince says. “He’s so - small, Sloan.”

“Don’t talk to me about small yet,” she says, and Vince laughs. “You want to hold him, Dad?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Vince admits. “And E’s Dad. E should go first.”

Next to him, Eric looks as stunned and frightened as Vince does, but when Sloan offers him the baby he takes him, carefully, one hand always on his head, a low hum starting the moment he’s in his arms. Little E looks up at Eric, or in his direction, at least, and Eric says, “Hey. Hey, guy. I’m your dad,” and his voice breaks a little.

“Holy shit,” Vince says, and Sloan smiles and takes his hand.

Eric turns just a little, so now Little E is looking up at Vince. “The one that’s cursing, that’s your pop,” he says.

The baby’s eyes are wide but not really focused. “Can he see me?” Vince asks.

“I don’t know,” Sloan says.

He bends closer, so his face is maybe an inch from the baby’s face. He smells tart, sort of like carrots, but his eyelashes are perfect and that’s all Vince can stare at for a moment. Perfect tiny eyelashes, and a tiny puckered mouth. “I’m your pop,” he says, tracing his finger across his son’s tiny, perfect forehead. “It’s nice to meet you.”