Looking to the Future
As he predicted the night before, she woke up before sunrise. She arched against him, stretching, pushing her face into his chest.
Tim had slept fairly well, although he'd woken up a few times, shifting to curl up against her again each time he realized he'd moved away. As she moved against him, he stirred and opened his eyes, looking down at her. "Morning," he whispered.
"Morning." She returned, nuzzling his collarbone, relaxing against him.
He strained to see the clock and realized sunrise wasn't for at least another 20 minutes. He smiled, relaxing again, happy that he would get a chance to just lie with her for a few minutes before they got up.
She held him, cuddling against him, for about half of those 20 minutes, and then she slid out of bed, snuggling up in a warm robe. The morning would be cold already. She turned on her coffee pot as Trouble danced around her ankles.
Tim stretched and got up as well, pulling on a pair of pajama pants, though he didn't bother with a shirt. They had vastly different notions of "cold." He padded into the kitchen and slid an arm around her waist, kissing her cheek before bending down to scoop up Trouble and scratching behind his ears.
It felt normal and perfect and untainted. The past few weeks had been hard, she had felt like she was not right, unclean, messed up. Like Tim was trying to get a response from a doll. But things felt right again. And she felt right. Her heart is swelling as she puts down food for Trouble. Trouble was pushing his face into Tims cheek, purring loud and climbing up so his paws were hooked around the mans shoulder but at the sound and smell of food in his bowl he perked and worked on getting away to get to his food. Arleen laughed a little and handed Tim a cup of coffee before walking outside.
Tim laughed as he suddenly held a squirming cat and he set him down again, tweaking the end of his tail before taking the coffee and following her outside to the bench. He sat down and looked at her, holding his arm out to invite her to lean against his side.
She snuggled tightly against his side, mumbling something about first married sunrise into her cup of coffee.
"First of thousands," he whispered back, smiling and wrapping his arm tightly around her waist. He relaxed against her as the sun turned the sky ridiculously beautiful colors.
Her head on his shoulder, her hand on his arm, pressed as close as possible to his side, she watched the sun come up. This only increased the 'right' feeling that was growing in her chest.
Tim felt a pent-up part of himself starting to relax, after months of tension. This was all right again, he was sure. Something had healed last night, some deep hurt had finally stopped, and he closed his eyes briefly, breathing her in, feeling her pressed against his side, and he wished the time would flow a bit slower.
She didn't move until the sun was obviously risen, and it was just to set her cup down in the sand and bring her feet to the bench, sighing happily.
He shifted a bit, bringing both arms around her and hugging her to his chest, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I don't think I'll ever get tired of this."
"I should hope not. Though have fun trying to drag my ass out here once I'm several months pregnant. Though I'll probably just growl at you when you try to wake me up." She said, her eyes half open.
"Maybe I'll buy a video camera and tape it for you the first few mornings, so you know what you're missing," he answered, his heart jumping at the thought of her pregnant.
"Shut up." She said, sticking her tongue out at him. "But it might be a good thing if I don't poke my head out too early. Coffee is something I need to cut way back on." She mumbled, frowning.
He looked a bit more serious. "You're right," he said. "We should start buying more green and herbal teas to see if we can find you something you like. It might be easier to replace it with something instead of just cutting it out completely."
"I can still drink it" She stuck her tongue out again. "Hell, I could have 3 cups a day with no ill effects, but I think just one cup in the morning should be fine." She mumbled. "And no fun cheeses anymore." She frowned. "What have I gotten myself into? Oh well, payback for you, huh?" She smiled.
"Oh yes," he answered with a melodramatically maniacal laugh. He hugged her a bit. "We'll make sure we know what you can have and what you can't. Don't worry, it won't be all bad. And I'll make any 3 am grocery store runs you want."
"Aw, really?" She asked, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Even for something like ice cream and carrots?" She wrinkled her nose up at him.
"You don't think I'd let you go through pregnancy without ice cream already in the house?" he asked, shocked, but laughed. "Yes, even ice cream and carrots. Or pickled herring."
"Ew." She wrinkled her nose up. She poked his side. "Get up. We didn't walk, so we need to." She stood, straightening out the robe.
He jumped at the poke, but got up obediently, lacing his fingers with hers. "Don't laugh so easily. My mother hated pickled herring, but she couldn't get enough of if when she was pregnant with Mary, so I hear."
"You shouldn't tell me things like that because I'll say something next time I see her or something." She mumbled, gripping his hand.
"I doubt she'd mind much. She hates it again. She thinks it's pretty amusing that the only time in her life she'll like pickled herring was for nine months in 1973." He walked along the beach slowly, thinking about how he'd resigned himself to never having kids.
She is mentally musing over the two of them being doctors, her thumb running over his knuckle. "You think they'll be the type to say stuff like "My parents are both doctors and thus smarter than yours"?" she asked, smirking to him.
"Well, they'll be Irish," he replied, laughing. "You know the sharp tongue my mother has, and Mary has one too, although you haven't gotten to see her in full form yet. Wait until one of the vendors tries to give us problems."
"You weren't out there with us when she turned some orderly into her puppy dog on a very short leash while you were in the hospital." She countered. "I'm pretty sure I've seen her pretty close to full form."
His eyes widened. "Oh, so you have seen that? Yes, that's her specialty. So yes, I think it's quite possible our children," he paused to savor the word, "our children will be just like that."
She couldn't help but laugh a little, squeezing his hand and bringing it up to kiss the back of his hand, her wedding ring catching the new days sun.
He brushed his hand gently over her cheek as she kissed it. "I'm so lucky to have found you," he said quietly.
She smiled to him, blushing a little. She squeezes his hand to return the thought and as they reach the end of the beach she says. "We should go to Kennedy's sometime soon."
"God, neither of us have been in months, they probably think we've died. Well, you just went recently, didn't you? You took Mam," he amended. "How was that? What did she think?"
"She enjoyed herself. She made some comment about being amazed it was here." She said. She looked serious for a moment. "You need to tell her what happened."
"She already knows we've gotten married," he answered, puzzled. Then his eyes widened. "Tell her...tell her about what, exactly?"
She says nothing, just presses her palm into his scar.
He froze. "I don't think she's ready to hear it," he said quietly, meaning that he wasn't sure he was ready for her to hear it.
"Tim she knows something happened and it wasn't a car." She whispered.
He looked a bit panicked. "How does she know? I've never said anything, I've always been..." He looked at her. "Did...you..." he started doubtfully, knowing she would never betray his trust, but unable to think of any way his mother could possibly know.
"She made some comment. I confirmed it wasn't a car accident." She said, stopping and setting her hands on his chest, locking her eyes with his. "It's your place to tell people what happened to you."
"I know you'd never...but, Arleen, she's..." He ran a hand through his hair distractedly. "I can't tell her, she'd just, she couldn't..." It was obvious he didn't consider her able to handle the story.
"She's your mother. I'm sure she can handle a lot more than you think." she reassured him.
He sighed, resting a hand over her right hand on his chest. "I don't want to hurt her," he said softly. "She's gone this long without knowing, this long thinking it was just a car accident." He looked at her. "But...she suspected already?"
"She said that you didn't get all your smarts from your father. But she knew whatever it was it happened in Cambodia." She said.
He looked a bit stricken. "God," he whispered. "How long has she known even that much?"
"Since you got back. She thought you were into drugs for a bit. And you were drinking heavily." She said.
"...She's never said anything," he said in a small voice. "She's wondered for that long..." He nodded a bit. "I tried them, but they didn't help. And I didn't like how they made me feel. The drinking was better, but sometimes it would make me forget everything but, and those nights were horrifying. So I gave that up too."
"You tried drugs?" She whispered, looking a bit stricken.
"Only a few times," he replied quietly, calmly. "I stopped very quickly, before I got into anything over my head. Besides, I needed to focus on my residency and they were hurting that." He rubbed her arm lightly. "It was for less than a month, love, years and years ago."
She nodded, relaxing a little bit but pulling him into a hug.
He put his arms around her and hugged her back, more for support at the idea that he had to tell his mother about what had happened to him. If she'd been guessing for so long while paying lip service to his cover story, she deserved to know the truth. Or at least some of it.
"We're going back to Ireland in October still, right? Talk to her about it then." She said against his neck.
He nodded. "I will," he said quietly, feeling a bit better that he would at least have a month to think about how to tell her.
"Good. Now lets go back and research all the crap you will have to make sure I don't eat." She mumbled, kissing his neck.
He laughed and put an arm around her waist. "I'm sure there is already an extensive list somewhere, and you know I like cooking for you anyway. It won't be a problem."
"I'm so already hating this." She said, but she is smiling. "But I'll be laughing. You'll have to clean the catbox."
He rolled his eyes. "I know. That's fine, I don't mind." He'd probably start minding, but right now he was still picturing her smiling face as she held their child and the image was so vivid he nearly stumbled.
"Do you have any idea for names?" She asked. She had never really thought about it. Though knowing them they'd have Irish names. First, middle and last. She pressed into his side as they walked back.
He was silent a moment. "I haven't thought much about it yet," he answered, putting an arm around her waist.
"Are they going to have names like yours?" She asked, smirking and wrinkling her nose.
"What, saint's names? Traditional names, easy for an Irish mother to call out in exasperation? I don't know, should they, Irish mother?" He bumped her with his hip, grinning.
"Yes. I want to throw open the front door and call "Sean Patrick!! Get in this house right now!" and have 3 boys burst into different directions in pure fear that their mothers are calling for them." She joked.
He laughed loudly at that. "All right. What about Gaelic names?" he suggested. "We'd have to do some research, I don't know that many off the top of my head."
"Like 'Aneirin' or 'Aengus'?" She asked, wrinkling her nose up a little as she made sure she was pronouncing things correctly.
"Or Padraig, or Niamh," he said, shrugging. "I've never liked Padraig too much though. And I don't think I want to use my mother's name. We'll have to go through a list."
"Well, I would prefer to not have to make this face every time I want to call for my children to get into the house." She said, mimicking the face she had made trying to pronounce the names correctly.
"I suppose that is a factor," he admitted. "We could change things up entirely and go for something like Svetlana, or Kurt." He kept an admirably straight face.
She shook her head. "Kurt would just make me think of X-Men."
"But Svetlana is okay?" he inquired.
"No. I couldn't say that with a straight face. Which is why I'm not." She laughed.
He laughed easily with her. "All right, so we have some work to do as far as names are concerned," he admitted.
"I like a lot of more common names.. Paul, Aidan, Gerard, Colin, Leon, Killian, Stephen, Jack, Liam, Luke, Matthew, Nathan.." She tried to think of more. It was obvious she wanted boys.
He raised his eyes. "Anna, Kathleen, Alice, Elizabeth?" he teased her gently. "Any of those strike your fancy?"
"Kathleen, maybe." She said, wrinkling up her nose.
"I'm guessing you're hoping for a son first," he said with a laugh.
"First? I would prefer all boys." She said, folding her arms under her chest.
"Why's that?" he asked, interested. "Were you a troublemaker when you were growing up?"
"I just don't get alone well with little girls. I think it's cause I only had brothers." she shrugged her shoulders. "But I just work better with boys. They're easier."
"I suppose that does make sense." He hadn't really thought about whether he'd prefer boys or girls.
She set her head on his shoulder the rest of the way back. Trouble was waiting for them by the door. She picked up her mug and got her laptop out on the kitchen counter while Tim puttered around in the kitchen, looking up what she had to stop doing and eating. She let out an "Aw!" several times.
Finally, after the fifth exclamation, Tim set down the chef's knife and went over to her. "I hope you've saved all these instances of 'Aw'," he said, leaning over her shoulder.
She pouts at him. "I can't eat sushi or really fish in general like at all! Or most cheeses.." She looks very unhappy.
He put his arms around her and scanned the list. "Sushi's out, of course. And unpasteurized cheeses, yes. But I can still make you Pacific salmon steaks. And I know a few things I can do with a can of tuna. You don't grow up in the Midwest, even in an Irish-Italian Chicago neighborhood, without learning a few of the specialties of neighboring states."
She laughed a little, pressing against him. "I'm so going to hate this, Tim. I'd better get boys for this trouble.." She mumbled.
"Well, if we get a girl, I promise we can enroll her in baseball and all kinds of boy-things," he laughed. "It won't be so bad, you know. You might not even feel like eating any of that."
"I don't care about any of that." She taps her fingers on the counter for a few moments, trying to figure out how to best explain. "I don't know how to prevent her from becoming like me."
He sat down next to her, leaning on the counter. "What do you mean?" he asked quietly.
She frowns a bit at his seriousness. "Like.. with Chris." She tries awkwardly.
He is quiet a moment, resting his hand on the small of her back. "You don't have to try and prevent that," he says at last. "They'll see us together, and take their impressions off that. Chris won't be a factor."
She says nothing, nods once. But then seems to really digest his words and nods firmer.
He rests a hand on hers. "Our children will be spectacular," he whispers with a smile.
"With our intelligence and good looks? They had better be." She mumbled, smiling broadly.
"They'll be just brilliant," he said. "And witty, and gorgeous. Everyone will be jealous at playgroup, or whatever."
She is laughing, relaxing our of the tenseness she had felt creeping up her spine.
"And we'll have to listen to trad Irish music while you're pregnant. None of that Vivaldi nonsense." He made a dismissive gesture.
"Can't be arsed to say 'traditional' any more, Tim?" She asked, smirking at him.
"I haven't time for that sort of nonsense," he said, giving the words an Irish spin and grinning at her, waiting for the blush.
She set her jaw as the blush crept up and she smacked at his arm. "None of that."
"Sorry," he said, not particularly sorry as he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Traditional Irish music, then."
She smiled and rested against him once more, her cheeks still faintly colored. "Think we will be good parents?" She asks, leaning on the counter.
"Yes," he said simply, getting back up and kissing the top of her head. "What future-forbidden foods do you want for dinner? You'll have to take advantage while you can." He grinned.
"Christ, sushi." She says, smiling. She loved sushi and that had been the pull of her loudest and longest 'Aw!'. Though she would also probably run out and stuff herself with cheese. "And why do you think we'll be good parents?"
"Sushi it is. We'll have to go out for that." He leaned against the counter and shrugged slightly. "I just think we will. We're both good people. We're patient, loving, smart."
"You're smart?" She asks, giving him a 'I don't believe you' look. She knows just how trapped she is, but she really can't help herself.
"Oh, I'm not? I feel so loved," he retorted, kissing the side of her neck and tickling her side lightly.
She squirms, trying to get away from his tickles but she is trapped in the barstool. "You are you are!" She caves, her hands on his shoulders to try and push him away.
He laughed and stopped tickling her, resting his hands flat against her sides. "Thank you," he said, nodding.
She stuck her tongue out, but set her hands over his. She sets her face against his shoulder, leaning into him.