Fic: The Ex-Wife Returneth
Title: The Ex-Wife Returneth
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Pairing/Characters: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan, Brigit
Rating and word count: R, about 5,300 words
Spoilers: A few facts from “Death Trick,” but nothing major.
Summary: Don’s ex-wife has a problem, and naturally, it’s all Don’s fault.
A/N Grateful thanks go to my beta, nyteflyer, who had me rework a lot of the story, thereby making it so much better - and a lot funnier, too. Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "Brigit's back."
A man doesn’t often arrive home to find his ex-wife and his lover having an intimate tete a tete at the kitchen table. But, since my life is nothing if not interesting, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Brigit sitting in my chair, crying into a cup of Timmy’s disgusting Peace Corps tea.
I stood in the kitchen doorway for a minute, observing the two of them. I hadn’t seen Brigit in a couple of years, not since Timmy and I carted twenty-two years’ accumulation of books out of the house Brigit and I once shared. She and I had parted ways more or less amicably, and we’d had no reason to contact each other.
Until now, apparently.
Timmy was patting her arm, making “there, there” noises, but Brigit just went on crying. For once, the smartest half of the household was out of his league. Now, I’ve never been an expert on women, for obvious reasons, but at least I’d managed a crying jag or two. My knowledge and experience were required.
“Isn’t this cozy?” I said as I strolled into the room.
They both jumped in their chairs.
“You’re home.” Timmy got up from the table and took me in his arms, an uncharacteristic gesture that immediately set off warning bells.
“Help me,” he whispered in my ear. “She won’t stop crying.”
I patted Timmy on the back, making “there, there” noises, and turned my attention to Brigit. She glared at me, her reddened eyes boring holes into mine.
“This is all your fucking fault.” She pushed her teacup away and braced her palms on the table. With some effort, she got to her feet, revealing a stomach as wide as two axe handles and a carton of Luckies.
I stared at her stomach. Timmy left the room.
“If we’d stayed together I wouldn’t be in this mess.” Brigit pushed her hair behind her ears, a familiar battle gesture. “I wouldn’t be knocked up. I wouldn’t have to give up my job.” Her voice rose. “I can’t be a mother to five kids. I just fucking can’t! Now, just … just …do something!”
She fumbled her way around the table, pushed me aside and stormed into the living room. I heard the door of the guest bedroom slam shut. Timmy materialized from nowhere.
“She’s been here since noon, and she’s been crying the whole time.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “How does anybody cry for three solid hours?”
“Hormones. You should have seen her when she got her period. One time, she made me stay at a motel.”
“I should make you stay at a motel - and take her with you.” Timmy sat back down and contemplated his smelly cup of tea. “She showed up here, suitcase in hand, and said she needed someplace to stay.” He gave me a pleading look. “It was snowing. I couldn’t just leave here standing on the front steps.”
“So, you put her in the guest room?” I sat down in my own chair. “Why didn’t you just send her home?”
Timmy rolled his eyes. “You try sending her home. Home is the last place she wants to be.”
“Her husband and kids are at home.”
“Precisely.”
So, that was it. Motherhood and wifehood were proving too much for Brigit, and I couldn’t blame her. She was working, taking care of four kids and a husband, and now she was pregnant. The day I collected my books she’d said she was ready for the challenge. I believed her. After all, she’d managed me for seven years.
“Call Hugh,” I said. “He can bring her flowers, buy her dinner and take her home.”
Timmy leaned back in his chair. “You really think a little wining and dining will solve this problem? Is it possible that I know more about women than you do?”
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“She can stay with us for a few days, providing she lets Hugh know where she is. I’m sure he’s worried.”
“She hasn’t called him?”
“She refuses.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you call him? The number’s still in my address book.”
Timmy’s face turned pink. “She threatened to filet me like a trout if I did any such thing.”
“Ah.”
Timmy tipped his head in the direction of the guest bedroom. “Go tell her to call Hugh. I’ll start dinner.”
I grinned at him. “Are you afraid of her, Timothy?”
“Yes.”
****
After a heated argument carried on through the bedroom door, Brigit agreed to call Hugh. She was on the phone for about thirty seconds.
I chanced opening the door. Nothing came sailing at my head, which I took to be a promising sign. I sidled all the way into the room, but stood next to the open door in case I had to beat a hasty retreat.
“What did he say?”
“He wants me to come home.” Brigit opened one of the dresser drawers and stuffed some clothes into it. “But that’s not happening.”
I watched as she hung her bathrobe on the closet door. “You have to go home sometime.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Fair enough. But you do realize this is Hugh’s kid, too.”
She snapped her suitcase shut. “I know that. Unlike you, I didn’t fool around with other men.”
She had me there.
“I’m staying here for a few days, at least. Then I’ll decide what I’m going to do.” She gestured toward the door. “I need a nap.”
I wandered back into the kitchen. Timmy had already put a roast in the oven and was once again seated at the table, the day’s crossword in front of him.
“How’d it go?” He penciled in a couple of answers. “When is Hugh coming to get her?”
“He isn’t.”
Timmy looked up at me. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?”
I stood behind Timmy’s chair and started rubbing his shoulders. His muscles felt locked into place. “She said she’s staying with us until she figures out what she’s going to do.”
Timmy stretched his neck from side to side, relaxing in spite of himself. “I hope she likes roast beef.”
I kissed his tiny bald spot. “I like roast beef.”
“You like anything I make.” He sounded smug.
“True.” I pulled his collar aside and kissed his neck. “I especially like the noises you make -”
Timmy turned his head so I could kiss him properly. Sadly, that’s about all we could do while Brigit was staying with us. It would have been like having sex in my parents’ house. My parents didn’t even have sex in their house, as far as I knew.
****
The snow didn’t quit falling. The weatherman on NBC gleefully predicted it would last for a couple of days, closing schools and making travel around Albany a chancy prospect, at best. I’d had a stakeout planned that night, but Timmy said even the horniest cheating husband wouldn’t step out during a blizzard.
I stayed home.
Brigit was ensconced in my recliner, her swollen ankles elevated as high as she could get them. Her stomach looked huge from my perspective, and it occurred to me that she’d never said when she was due.
“When are you due?” I asked.
She turned a page in Timmy’s alumni magazine before replying. “In a week or so.”
That was cutting it fine. “No chance of it coming early, I suppose?”
“It’s my first baby, and first babies are always late.” She turned another page. “There’s plenty of time.”
I didn’t dare look at Timmy for fear of jinxing everything.
We had an hour of awkward conversation - which Brigit seemed to enjoy - before we settled in to watch “Magnum, P.I.”
Tom Selleck had just removed his shirt for the second time when Brigit declared herself ready for bed. She put her chair back into a sitting position and tried to stand up, but gravity and the weight of her stomach were against her. Timmy elbowed me in the ribs, so I got up and gave her a hand.
Once she was on her feet, I let go of her. She straightened her voluminous shirt, thanked Timmy for an excellent dinner and ignored me. I watched her waddle out of room, waiting until I heard the door shut before I addressed Timmy.
“She looks like a tick about to pop.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t pop until this blizzard is over.”
I sat down beside him and propped my feet on the coffee table. “We’ll just call an ambulance if that happens.”
Timmy propped his feet next to mine. “You weren’t paying attention to the weather report. We’re going to get at least eight inches of snow before midnight, and it’s not stopping there. We’d be lucky to get a St. Bernard and a whisky barrel.”
“Let’s not think about it.” I rubbed his stockinged toes with my own. “Let’s pretend your parents are out and won’t be home for hours.”
He rubbed back but quit right before he got to my ticklish arches. “I’m not fooling around while your ex-wife is here. It’s too weird.”
It was weird. While I was pretty sure I’d run into Brigit at some point in my life, I never expected her to be camped out in my spare bedroom. The situation was a novel one, I had to admit.
We stayed up until ten, barely able to keep our eyes open. Timmy got off the couch and peered out the window.
“Look at it. This is bad, even for Albany.”
He was right. The cars in the parking lot looked like sheet-covered bumps. Snow lay in deep drifts against the buildings across the street, and thick, swirling flakes almost obscured the streetlights.
Timmy shivered. “Let’s go to bed. If we dream about Florida, maybe all this snow will melt by the time we get up.”
Once we were wrapped up in our blankets, Timmy forgot his squeamishness about making love with Brigit right next door. We pulled the covers over our heads and indulged in a mutual jack-off session, kissing each other senseless in an effort to keep our voices down.
When Timmy got his breath back, he reached under his pillow for the hand towel he always kept there.
“Do you think she heard us?” he whispered as he wiped us clean.
A resounding snore filtered through the wall.
“No.”
****
Brigit didn’t pop.
She snapped and crackled, but she did not pop. She spent the morning finding fault with everyone and everything, Timmy excluded. Hugh didn’t understand her, I was a jerk, the apartment was way too hot, and why was I still pretending to read Faust? She only called a halt when Timmy was in the same room with us, which was almost never because he couldn’t stand to listen to her.
“Where’d you meet him?” She swallowed the last of her coffee and told me to make another pot. “He’s certainly not your type.”
No way was I telling her about Washington Park.
“What’s my type?” I got up from the kitchen table and busied myself at the counter, cursing Hugh for knocking her up.
“I’d have pictured you with a fly-by-night kind of guy. Someone who wasn’t serious about you.”
“Is Timmy serious about me?”
“As serious as I was. Once.”
I turned around to look at her. She stared back at me. I shrugged and went back to making coffee.
“Do you cheat on him?”
The metal coffee scoop clattered in the sink.
“I thought so.”
I filled the coffee basket with grounds, counting to ten as I did so. “We are not talking about Timothy. We can talk about anything else - how much your parents still hate me, how much you hate me, or when all this fucking snow is going to melt - but we are not going to discuss Timothy.”
It was as if I hadn’t spoken. “I imagine he deserves better than you.”
I counted to ten again. “I imagine he does.”
“So, why’s he with you?”
I sat down at the table. “I’m not sure. Why aren’t you with Hugh?”
Her eyes welled up and spilled over. “Because I can’t do what the world expects me to do. What he expects me to do.”
I handed her a paper napkin and watched as she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.
“So, what’s he want you to do? Be the mother of his kids? Keep house? Slop the hogs? Give birth and get right back in the fields?” She opened her mouth to answer, but I held up a silencing hand. “Two years ago, you said you were up for all this. You went from me and no kids to Hugh and four kids. Now, you’re adding a fifth. You had some say in all this, Brigit. Why you didn’t think this was going to be hard is beyond me.”
“I knew it would be hard.” She examined her bitten fingernails. I remembered that she always carefully polished her fingernails and toenails and went in once a month for something she called a mani-pedi. “I love the girls, and I love Hugh.” She looked up at me, her eyes red and filled with tears. “I don’t love this baby, Don. I don’t want it.”
I touched her hand. To my surprise, she clutched at my fingers. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? It’s going to be here any minute.”
She pressed the palm of her free hand to her stomach and grimaced. Maybe the baby was listening to us and objected to the conversation.
“Like it or not, you’re that baby’s mother.” She sniffed, but snot still dripped from her nose. I handed her another napkin. “You can’t give him up, even if Hugh would let you do it. You’d regret it for the rest of your life.”
“How do you know? You’ve never had kids. At least, none that I ever knew about.” She dabbed at her leaking nose. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No, I don’t. Not counting the danger the my job sometimes entails, I’ve got a pretty easy life. I don’t cook, I don’t clean, and I don’t do laundry. Timothy does all that.”
“Must be nice.”
“It is.” I tried and failed to ignore the guilt bells going off in my head, the ones that told me that Timmy could end my cushy lifestyle any time he wanted. I didn’t give him much in return for all that cooking, cleaning and loyalty. “I have no idea why he puts up with me, but he does.”
“You must be blind.”
I let the remark pass. “We were talking about you, not me and Timothy.”
“I know.”
After a few minutes of silent contemplation, I spoke. “What are you going to do, Brigit? You can’t stay here indefinitely. You’ve got a family, and they deserve an explanation.”
“What about me? What do I deserve?”
“What do any of us deserve? We only deserve what we earn.”
She let go of my fingers. “That means I deserve to keep my job. But everyone’s telling me I should stay home with the baby.”
“Since when did you listen to anyone else?”
“When I’ve got everyone from Hugh’s parents right down to my best friend telling me I should stay home, then I have to consider whether going to work is the right thing to do. Everyone’s telling me I should stay home while I have the chance, that other mothers aren’t so lucky to have a husband who earns a good living.”
“What does Hugh say?”
She shrugged. “He said he doesn’t care one way or another. But I know that’s not true.”
I didn’t ask how she could know that without asking him. Hugh was her husband, after all. “You’re not the Brigit I once knew. The one who, when she made up her mind, did what she thought had to be done. She didn’t wait around for anyone to make up her mind for her.”
“Things aren’t that simple anymore. When I was with you, I only had us to consider. Now I’m going to have five kids. They have to fit into the equation somehow. I have to think about what they need from me.”
“Then try staying home for a while. You could always work when the baby is a year or two older.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know how hard it is for a woman to get her career back once she’s given it up. I’m a tenured teacher, president of our union. I earn a good salary, and people respect what I do. I get maternity leave, sure, but the school doesn’t have to hold my job for a couple of years.
“I like to be out and about, Don; you know that. I like adult conversation, discussing politics, going to movies, out to dinner. This baby will end all of that.”
The conversation was getting us nowhere. “Look. Worry about yourself and the baby right now. The rest of it will fall into place. Life generally works out that way.”
She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “That’s a nice thought, Don, but you and I know that most of the time it doesn’t.”
She pressed both hands to the small of her back, closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m going to take a nap. Call me when lunch is ready.”
****
Snow fell all morning and into the afternoon. Albany had mostly come to a standstill, as did life in our apartment. Timmy had borrowed a TV from a neighbor and installed it in the spare bedroom, allowing Brigit to indulge in the soap operas for the first time in her life.
“Even if she wanted to go home today, she couldn’t,” Timmy said as we relaxed on the sofa. “But, every day she’s here, she’s one day closer to having that baby.”
I squeezed his knee. “Don’t worry. She said first babies are always late. I remember my mother saying something like that, too.”
Timmy made a snorting noise and said something I didn’t catch. I was too tired to ask him to repeat himself, so I leaned my head against his shoulder and went to sleep.
A pained cry jerked us awake. I stared around the living room for a second before staggering to my feet. Timmy was already on his way to the spare bedroom.
He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”
“No, goddamn it, I’m not!”
Timmy stared at me. “it’s here. Oh, my god, it’s here.”
“Maybe not. Maybe she’s just hungry.”
“You promised this baby wouldn’t come while she was here. You said it would be late. You said-”
Another shriek. “Help me!”
I opened the door and stuck my head inside. Brigit was writhing on the bed, gripping the slats in the headboard for dear life. “What’s up?”
“I think …” Brigit’s face twisted in pain. “I think the baby’s here.”
“But you’re not sure. Maybe you’ve got indigestion. I’ll get the Tums.”
“Get in here and help me. Right now.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Timmy tried to leave, but I grabbed his arm.
“You can use the extension. It’s right in here, and you know it.”
Ignoring the look of panic on his face, I pulled him into the room. No way was I facing this on my own. I handed Timmy the receiver, but he just stood there staring at it. I took it back and dialed for an ambulance. The dispatcher told me everything I didn’t want to hear.
“Sir, we’re terribly backed up. I can’t get one there for at least an hour.”
“You don’t understand. My ex-wife just went into labor, and my boyfriend and I have no idea what to do.”
“Is this her first?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll probably be in labor for a while yet. I think there’s time. Just remain-”
Brigit screamed.
“You hear that? That baby’s not waiting for anything, let alone Albany’s finest.”
“Then the two of you will have to deliver the baby yourself. I’ll get someone there as fast as I can.” She took my address and phone number. “Now, one of you will have to listen to my instructions while the other delivers the baby.”
“I’ll play relay.”
“All right. Help her get undressed.”
“All the way?”
The dispatcher sighed. “Not unless she’ll be more comfortable that way. Just get her underclothes off.”
I gave Timmy a push. “Get her underwear off.”
Timmy stared at me, shaking his head. “No.”
Brigit screamed again. “Don, you sonofabitch, help me!”
Timmy yanked the phone out of my hand. “You take her underwear off. I’ll talk to the dispatcher.”
“Why me?”
“You’re more familiar with the terrain.”
“Shit.”
While Timmy conferred with the dispatcher, I helped Brigit remove her underclothes. As soon as they were tossed out of the way, her water broke. Brigit moaned and clutched at her stomach.
“The bedspread!” Timmy almost dropped the phone.
“Fuck the bedspread.” I helped Brigit sit up so I could prop pillows behind her back. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Timmy, still staring at his ruined bedspread, put the phone back to his ear.
“Her water just broke.” He nodded a couple of times, then put his hand over the mouthpiece. “She said the baby’s on the way.”
“You’re kidding. I had no idea.”
“I’m just telling you what the dispatcher said.”
“Well, thanks for stating the obvious.”
“Don’t jump all over me. I’m simply trying to help.”
“Will you two shut up?” Brigit yelled. She grabbed my hand. “Do something.”
I crawled up on the bed and positioned myself between Brigit’s spread knees. It had been a long time since we were in bed like that, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate my mentioning it.
Between Timmy’s breathless directions and Brigit’s screams and curses, I figured out what to do. I could see the baby’s head pushing its way out. Timmy said I was to let the baby do the work and not try to help unless it looked like the baby was in trouble. That was fine with me - a child of Brigit’s wouldn’t require any help, anyway.
“Push,” I told Brigit. “I know it hurts, but you have to push.”
“Breathe,” Timmy told her. “Pant when it really hurts, and breathe deeply when the pain subsides.”
Brigit told him to get fucked, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry about the bedspread,” she cried. “I’ll get you a new one. I promise.”
Timmy held out his free hand. Brigit took it and squeezed so hard he yelped in pain. “Don’t worry about it,” he said through gritted teeth.
As Brigit pushed, more and more of the baby’s head became visible. “It’s coming,” I told Timmy. “What am I supposed to do?”
He muttered something into the phone. “Keep your hands under the baby’s head so you can support it on its way out. Clear any mucous away from its nose and mouth.”
“I can’t stand it,” Brigit cried. Tears rolled down her face. “It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.”
I squeezed her knee. “You can do it. I know you can. Now, push.”
“I can’t.”
I leaned forward to touch her cheek. “You can do anything.”
Something passed between us. I couldn’t really say what it was, but I knew she wasn’t angry with me anymore. I had not played fair with her or myself, but in that moment she forgave me. That meant I could forgive myself.
“Hugh’s mother said …” She closed her eyes and pushed. “Hugh’s mother said it would be a girl.”
The baby’s head looked bigger now. “We’ll know in a couple of minutes. Push.”
She pushed again. “I won’t name her Donna, even if you are delivering her.”
“Please don’t.” I said, permitting myself a grin. I could see the baby’s forehead.
Timmy yelled excitedly into the phone. “It’s coming.”
I glanced at him. “Want to take a look?”
“No, thank you.” He listened for a minute. “When the shoulders emerge, you might have to help. Just hang onto the baby and gently pull.”
“Will do.”
The three of us became a well-mucoused team. Brigit pushed, I got ready to catch, and Timmy provided the play-by-play. The baby’s head emerged, and I saw its red, pissed-off face. I wiped a corner of the bedspread across its mouth and nose, and as soon as I did that, it started to cry.
“Keep pushing,” I told Brigit. “You’re almost there.”
“Is she OK?” Brigit started sobbing. “Please tell me she’s OK.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said, sure now that everything was. “Come on; push.”
Brigit let go of Timmy’s bruised hand, gripped the headboard and dug in her heels. Sweat poured down her face as she pushed hard. The baby’s shoulders popped free, and with a little help from me, the baby came all the way out in a red, squalling, sticky mess.
“It’s a baby!” Timmy shouted into the phone.
“Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.” Brigit reached out a hand to me. “Tell me nothing’s wrong with her.”
Timmy put his hand on her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, except that she’s got a huge set of testicles.”
Brigit stared at me. “Testicles? Girls don’t have testicles.”
“That’s because it’s a boy, Momma. A big, healthy boy.” I took the pillowcase Timmy handed me and wrapped the baby in it just as someone pounded on the apartment door.
“That’ll be the EMTs,” I said.
Timmy put down the phone and ran out of the room, returning with Mrs. McGowan from next door and two burly paramedics.
“I let them in,” she said. “I thought someone was dying in here.”
“Just a routine baby-birthing,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Let me know how it turns out,” she said as she left the room. At her age, birthing apparently held no allure.
As the experts took over, saying something about afterbirth, I picked up the phone. “Thanks for your help,” I told the dispatcher. “The paramedics are here now.”
“Good job,” she said, laughing. “From all that yelling, I gather it’s a boy.”
“It is.”
“Well, tell Mom we all wish her the best.”
I said I would and hung up the phone. One guy was examining the baby while the other talked to Brigit. She was to be transported to Albany General where she and Hugh Junior were to spend a couple of days.
Brigit was holding the baby now, touching his cheek and placing gentle kisses on his forehead. Timmy was staring at both of them, his expression a bit wistful. I wrapped my arm around his waist and asked him if he wanted to go shopping for a new bedspread.
“Tomorrow,” he said in a dreamy voice. “I have to check the sales first.”
Timmy and I sat down on either side of Brigit and examined the baby. He was kind of ugly, the way all newborns are, but I told Brigit he was beautiful.
“Hugh’s going to be ecstatic,” I said. “A boy after all those girls.”
“He didn’t care what the baby was as long as I came through it all right,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears. “Will you call him for me? Tell him to come to the hospital if he can. I miss him.”
“Will do.” I touched the baby’s curled fist. “When the kid asks about the day he was born, what are you going to say?”
Her smile was radiant. “That he was born in the spare bedroom belonging to my ex-husband and his boyfriend.”
One of the paramedics left the room and returned minutes later with a wheelchair. He and his partner got Brigit into it, wrapped her and the baby against the weather and prepared to take them both downstairs.
We followed them into the hall. Just as they were about to board the elevator, Brigit held out her hand to me. I took it.
“Thank you.” She looked up at Timmy. “Thank you both.”
Timmy leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Anytime.”
When the door closed on the elevator, I went back inside the apartment to call Hugh. I told him what had happened and assured him Brigit and the baby were fine.
His tried to thank me but his voice broke in the middle of it. “I love her so much. I want her to come home, Don, her and the baby. I’ll do anything.”
“All you have to do is go down to Albany General and tell her that she can keep teaching if she wants to, and all will be well. She wants to see you. And you have to see your new son.”
“I will. And thank you. I never expected-”
“Can’t say I did, either.”
****
We spent an hour cleaning the spare bedroom, including bagging the sheets and bedspread for the garbage. Timmy wanted to haul out the mattress, too, but I told him it could wait. After all, we didn’t sleep on it.
Brigit called that evening.
“I wanted to thank you for everything.” She paused. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”
“No problem,” I told her. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”
She knew what I meant. “This doesn’t make us even, you know.”
I could hear the laughter in her voice. “I know.”
Timmy stuck his head in the room. “What did she name the baby?”
“What’s the kid’s name?”
“James Edward. For Hugh’s father. And, Don?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t screw up with Timmy. He’s a wonderful man.”
Something caught in my throat. “I know.”
“If you couldn’t be with me, then I’m glad you’re with him.”
We talked a little more, and then Brigit said she had to go. We agreed to keep in touch, both of us knowing we probably wouldn’t. There was no need - not unless she needed me to deliver another kid.
“All’s well that ends well,” Timmy said, handing me a bowl of popcorn that evening.
“I guess so.”
Now that the excitement was over, my earlier conversation with Brigit came back to haunt me. What had I done to deserve a man like Timmy? Nothing, it seemed. Yet, here he was, settling down with me in a state approximating matrimonial bliss. He must have seen in me something worth waiting for, something worth the hurt feelings I knew he suffered. I wished I knew what it was.
I wanted to make him a promise, right then and there, that I wouldn’t see anyone else. But knowing me and my imperfections, I would backslide the first chance I got. Better to wait until I could actually keep the promise. I hoped that would be soon.
He sat down, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Do you think you’d ever want to be a father?”
I caught his chin in my hand and pulled him in for a slow, sweet kiss. “I’ve got all I can handle right here.”
*Crossposted from Dreamwidth*
Fandom: Donald Strachey Mysteries (bookverse)
Pairing/Characters: Donald Strachey/Timothy Callahan, Brigit
Rating and word count: R, about 5,300 words
Spoilers: A few facts from “Death Trick,” but nothing major.
Summary: Don’s ex-wife has a problem, and naturally, it’s all Don’s fault.
A/N Grateful thanks go to my beta, nyteflyer, who had me rework a lot of the story, thereby making it so much better - and a lot funnier, too. Written for smallfandomfest for the prompt "Brigit's back."
A man doesn’t often arrive home to find his ex-wife and his lover having an intimate tete a tete at the kitchen table. But, since my life is nothing if not interesting, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Brigit sitting in my chair, crying into a cup of Timmy’s disgusting Peace Corps tea.
I stood in the kitchen doorway for a minute, observing the two of them. I hadn’t seen Brigit in a couple of years, not since Timmy and I carted twenty-two years’ accumulation of books out of the house Brigit and I once shared. She and I had parted ways more or less amicably, and we’d had no reason to contact each other.
Until now, apparently.
Timmy was patting her arm, making “there, there” noises, but Brigit just went on crying. For once, the smartest half of the household was out of his league. Now, I’ve never been an expert on women, for obvious reasons, but at least I’d managed a crying jag or two. My knowledge and experience were required.
“Isn’t this cozy?” I said as I strolled into the room.
They both jumped in their chairs.
“You’re home.” Timmy got up from the table and took me in his arms, an uncharacteristic gesture that immediately set off warning bells.
“Help me,” he whispered in my ear. “She won’t stop crying.”
I patted Timmy on the back, making “there, there” noises, and turned my attention to Brigit. She glared at me, her reddened eyes boring holes into mine.
“This is all your fucking fault.” She pushed her teacup away and braced her palms on the table. With some effort, she got to her feet, revealing a stomach as wide as two axe handles and a carton of Luckies.
I stared at her stomach. Timmy left the room.
“If we’d stayed together I wouldn’t be in this mess.” Brigit pushed her hair behind her ears, a familiar battle gesture. “I wouldn’t be knocked up. I wouldn’t have to give up my job.” Her voice rose. “I can’t be a mother to five kids. I just fucking can’t! Now, just … just …do something!”
She fumbled her way around the table, pushed me aside and stormed into the living room. I heard the door of the guest bedroom slam shut. Timmy materialized from nowhere.
“She’s been here since noon, and she’s been crying the whole time.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “How does anybody cry for three solid hours?”
“Hormones. You should have seen her when she got her period. One time, she made me stay at a motel.”
“I should make you stay at a motel - and take her with you.” Timmy sat back down and contemplated his smelly cup of tea. “She showed up here, suitcase in hand, and said she needed someplace to stay.” He gave me a pleading look. “It was snowing. I couldn’t just leave here standing on the front steps.”
“So, you put her in the guest room?” I sat down in my own chair. “Why didn’t you just send her home?”
Timmy rolled his eyes. “You try sending her home. Home is the last place she wants to be.”
“Her husband and kids are at home.”
“Precisely.”
So, that was it. Motherhood and wifehood were proving too much for Brigit, and I couldn’t blame her. She was working, taking care of four kids and a husband, and now she was pregnant. The day I collected my books she’d said she was ready for the challenge. I believed her. After all, she’d managed me for seven years.
“Call Hugh,” I said. “He can bring her flowers, buy her dinner and take her home.”
Timmy leaned back in his chair. “You really think a little wining and dining will solve this problem? Is it possible that I know more about women than you do?”
“You’ve got a better idea?”
“She can stay with us for a few days, providing she lets Hugh know where she is. I’m sure he’s worried.”
“She hasn’t called him?”
“She refuses.”
It was my turn to roll my eyes. “Why didn’t you call him? The number’s still in my address book.”
Timmy’s face turned pink. “She threatened to filet me like a trout if I did any such thing.”
“Ah.”
Timmy tipped his head in the direction of the guest bedroom. “Go tell her to call Hugh. I’ll start dinner.”
I grinned at him. “Are you afraid of her, Timothy?”
“Yes.”
****
After a heated argument carried on through the bedroom door, Brigit agreed to call Hugh. She was on the phone for about thirty seconds.
I chanced opening the door. Nothing came sailing at my head, which I took to be a promising sign. I sidled all the way into the room, but stood next to the open door in case I had to beat a hasty retreat.
“What did he say?”
“He wants me to come home.” Brigit opened one of the dresser drawers and stuffed some clothes into it. “But that’s not happening.”
I watched as she hung her bathrobe on the closet door. “You have to go home sometime.”
“No, I don’t. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to do.”
“Fair enough. But you do realize this is Hugh’s kid, too.”
She snapped her suitcase shut. “I know that. Unlike you, I didn’t fool around with other men.”
She had me there.
“I’m staying here for a few days, at least. Then I’ll decide what I’m going to do.” She gestured toward the door. “I need a nap.”
I wandered back into the kitchen. Timmy had already put a roast in the oven and was once again seated at the table, the day’s crossword in front of him.
“How’d it go?” He penciled in a couple of answers. “When is Hugh coming to get her?”
“He isn’t.”
Timmy looked up at me. “What do you mean, he’s not coming?”
I stood behind Timmy’s chair and started rubbing his shoulders. His muscles felt locked into place. “She said she’s staying with us until she figures out what she’s going to do.”
Timmy stretched his neck from side to side, relaxing in spite of himself. “I hope she likes roast beef.”
I kissed his tiny bald spot. “I like roast beef.”
“You like anything I make.” He sounded smug.
“True.” I pulled his collar aside and kissed his neck. “I especially like the noises you make -”
Timmy turned his head so I could kiss him properly. Sadly, that’s about all we could do while Brigit was staying with us. It would have been like having sex in my parents’ house. My parents didn’t even have sex in their house, as far as I knew.
****
The snow didn’t quit falling. The weatherman on NBC gleefully predicted it would last for a couple of days, closing schools and making travel around Albany a chancy prospect, at best. I’d had a stakeout planned that night, but Timmy said even the horniest cheating husband wouldn’t step out during a blizzard.
I stayed home.
Brigit was ensconced in my recliner, her swollen ankles elevated as high as she could get them. Her stomach looked huge from my perspective, and it occurred to me that she’d never said when she was due.
“When are you due?” I asked.
She turned a page in Timmy’s alumni magazine before replying. “In a week or so.”
That was cutting it fine. “No chance of it coming early, I suppose?”
“It’s my first baby, and first babies are always late.” She turned another page. “There’s plenty of time.”
I didn’t dare look at Timmy for fear of jinxing everything.
We had an hour of awkward conversation - which Brigit seemed to enjoy - before we settled in to watch “Magnum, P.I.”
Tom Selleck had just removed his shirt for the second time when Brigit declared herself ready for bed. She put her chair back into a sitting position and tried to stand up, but gravity and the weight of her stomach were against her. Timmy elbowed me in the ribs, so I got up and gave her a hand.
Once she was on her feet, I let go of her. She straightened her voluminous shirt, thanked Timmy for an excellent dinner and ignored me. I watched her waddle out of room, waiting until I heard the door shut before I addressed Timmy.
“She looks like a tick about to pop.”
“Let’s hope she doesn’t pop until this blizzard is over.”
I sat down beside him and propped my feet on the coffee table. “We’ll just call an ambulance if that happens.”
Timmy propped his feet next to mine. “You weren’t paying attention to the weather report. We’re going to get at least eight inches of snow before midnight, and it’s not stopping there. We’d be lucky to get a St. Bernard and a whisky barrel.”
“Let’s not think about it.” I rubbed his stockinged toes with my own. “Let’s pretend your parents are out and won’t be home for hours.”
He rubbed back but quit right before he got to my ticklish arches. “I’m not fooling around while your ex-wife is here. It’s too weird.”
It was weird. While I was pretty sure I’d run into Brigit at some point in my life, I never expected her to be camped out in my spare bedroom. The situation was a novel one, I had to admit.
We stayed up until ten, barely able to keep our eyes open. Timmy got off the couch and peered out the window.
“Look at it. This is bad, even for Albany.”
He was right. The cars in the parking lot looked like sheet-covered bumps. Snow lay in deep drifts against the buildings across the street, and thick, swirling flakes almost obscured the streetlights.
Timmy shivered. “Let’s go to bed. If we dream about Florida, maybe all this snow will melt by the time we get up.”
Once we were wrapped up in our blankets, Timmy forgot his squeamishness about making love with Brigit right next door. We pulled the covers over our heads and indulged in a mutual jack-off session, kissing each other senseless in an effort to keep our voices down.
When Timmy got his breath back, he reached under his pillow for the hand towel he always kept there.
“Do you think she heard us?” he whispered as he wiped us clean.
A resounding snore filtered through the wall.
“No.”
****
Brigit didn’t pop.
She snapped and crackled, but she did not pop. She spent the morning finding fault with everyone and everything, Timmy excluded. Hugh didn’t understand her, I was a jerk, the apartment was way too hot, and why was I still pretending to read Faust? She only called a halt when Timmy was in the same room with us, which was almost never because he couldn’t stand to listen to her.
“Where’d you meet him?” She swallowed the last of her coffee and told me to make another pot. “He’s certainly not your type.”
No way was I telling her about Washington Park.
“What’s my type?” I got up from the kitchen table and busied myself at the counter, cursing Hugh for knocking her up.
“I’d have pictured you with a fly-by-night kind of guy. Someone who wasn’t serious about you.”
“Is Timmy serious about me?”
“As serious as I was. Once.”
I turned around to look at her. She stared back at me. I shrugged and went back to making coffee.
“Do you cheat on him?”
The metal coffee scoop clattered in the sink.
“I thought so.”
I filled the coffee basket with grounds, counting to ten as I did so. “We are not talking about Timothy. We can talk about anything else - how much your parents still hate me, how much you hate me, or when all this fucking snow is going to melt - but we are not going to discuss Timothy.”
It was as if I hadn’t spoken. “I imagine he deserves better than you.”
I counted to ten again. “I imagine he does.”
“So, why’s he with you?”
I sat down at the table. “I’m not sure. Why aren’t you with Hugh?”
Her eyes welled up and spilled over. “Because I can’t do what the world expects me to do. What he expects me to do.”
I handed her a paper napkin and watched as she dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.
“So, what’s he want you to do? Be the mother of his kids? Keep house? Slop the hogs? Give birth and get right back in the fields?” She opened her mouth to answer, but I held up a silencing hand. “Two years ago, you said you were up for all this. You went from me and no kids to Hugh and four kids. Now, you’re adding a fifth. You had some say in all this, Brigit. Why you didn’t think this was going to be hard is beyond me.”
“I knew it would be hard.” She examined her bitten fingernails. I remembered that she always carefully polished her fingernails and toenails and went in once a month for something she called a mani-pedi. “I love the girls, and I love Hugh.” She looked up at me, her eyes red and filled with tears. “I don’t love this baby, Don. I don’t want it.”
I touched her hand. To my surprise, she clutched at my fingers. “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it? It’s going to be here any minute.”
She pressed the palm of her free hand to her stomach and grimaced. Maybe the baby was listening to us and objected to the conversation.
“Like it or not, you’re that baby’s mother.” She sniffed, but snot still dripped from her nose. I handed her another napkin. “You can’t give him up, even if Hugh would let you do it. You’d regret it for the rest of your life.”
“How do you know? You’ve never had kids. At least, none that I ever knew about.” She dabbed at her leaking nose. “You don’t know what it’s like.”
“No, I don’t. Not counting the danger the my job sometimes entails, I’ve got a pretty easy life. I don’t cook, I don’t clean, and I don’t do laundry. Timothy does all that.”
“Must be nice.”
“It is.” I tried and failed to ignore the guilt bells going off in my head, the ones that told me that Timmy could end my cushy lifestyle any time he wanted. I didn’t give him much in return for all that cooking, cleaning and loyalty. “I have no idea why he puts up with me, but he does.”
“You must be blind.”
I let the remark pass. “We were talking about you, not me and Timothy.”
“I know.”
After a few minutes of silent contemplation, I spoke. “What are you going to do, Brigit? You can’t stay here indefinitely. You’ve got a family, and they deserve an explanation.”
“What about me? What do I deserve?”
“What do any of us deserve? We only deserve what we earn.”
She let go of my fingers. “That means I deserve to keep my job. But everyone’s telling me I should stay home with the baby.”
“Since when did you listen to anyone else?”
“When I’ve got everyone from Hugh’s parents right down to my best friend telling me I should stay home, then I have to consider whether going to work is the right thing to do. Everyone’s telling me I should stay home while I have the chance, that other mothers aren’t so lucky to have a husband who earns a good living.”
“What does Hugh say?”
She shrugged. “He said he doesn’t care one way or another. But I know that’s not true.”
I didn’t ask how she could know that without asking him. Hugh was her husband, after all. “You’re not the Brigit I once knew. The one who, when she made up her mind, did what she thought had to be done. She didn’t wait around for anyone to make up her mind for her.”
“Things aren’t that simple anymore. When I was with you, I only had us to consider. Now I’m going to have five kids. They have to fit into the equation somehow. I have to think about what they need from me.”
“Then try staying home for a while. You could always work when the baby is a year or two older.”
She shook her head. “You don’t know how hard it is for a woman to get her career back once she’s given it up. I’m a tenured teacher, president of our union. I earn a good salary, and people respect what I do. I get maternity leave, sure, but the school doesn’t have to hold my job for a couple of years.
“I like to be out and about, Don; you know that. I like adult conversation, discussing politics, going to movies, out to dinner. This baby will end all of that.”
The conversation was getting us nowhere. “Look. Worry about yourself and the baby right now. The rest of it will fall into place. Life generally works out that way.”
She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “That’s a nice thought, Don, but you and I know that most of the time it doesn’t.”
She pressed both hands to the small of her back, closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m going to take a nap. Call me when lunch is ready.”
****
Snow fell all morning and into the afternoon. Albany had mostly come to a standstill, as did life in our apartment. Timmy had borrowed a TV from a neighbor and installed it in the spare bedroom, allowing Brigit to indulge in the soap operas for the first time in her life.
“Even if she wanted to go home today, she couldn’t,” Timmy said as we relaxed on the sofa. “But, every day she’s here, she’s one day closer to having that baby.”
I squeezed his knee. “Don’t worry. She said first babies are always late. I remember my mother saying something like that, too.”
Timmy made a snorting noise and said something I didn’t catch. I was too tired to ask him to repeat himself, so I leaned my head against his shoulder and went to sleep.
A pained cry jerked us awake. I stared around the living room for a second before staggering to my feet. Timmy was already on his way to the spare bedroom.
He knocked on the door. “Are you all right?”
“No, goddamn it, I’m not!”
Timmy stared at me. “it’s here. Oh, my god, it’s here.”
“Maybe not. Maybe she’s just hungry.”
“You promised this baby wouldn’t come while she was here. You said it would be late. You said-”
Another shriek. “Help me!”
I opened the door and stuck my head inside. Brigit was writhing on the bed, gripping the slats in the headboard for dear life. “What’s up?”
“I think …” Brigit’s face twisted in pain. “I think the baby’s here.”
“But you’re not sure. Maybe you’ve got indigestion. I’ll get the Tums.”
“Get in here and help me. Right now.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Timmy tried to leave, but I grabbed his arm.
“You can use the extension. It’s right in here, and you know it.”
Ignoring the look of panic on his face, I pulled him into the room. No way was I facing this on my own. I handed Timmy the receiver, but he just stood there staring at it. I took it back and dialed for an ambulance. The dispatcher told me everything I didn’t want to hear.
“Sir, we’re terribly backed up. I can’t get one there for at least an hour.”
“You don’t understand. My ex-wife just went into labor, and my boyfriend and I have no idea what to do.”
“Is this her first?”
“Yes.”
“She’ll probably be in labor for a while yet. I think there’s time. Just remain-”
Brigit screamed.
“You hear that? That baby’s not waiting for anything, let alone Albany’s finest.”
“Then the two of you will have to deliver the baby yourself. I’ll get someone there as fast as I can.” She took my address and phone number. “Now, one of you will have to listen to my instructions while the other delivers the baby.”
“I’ll play relay.”
“All right. Help her get undressed.”
“All the way?”
The dispatcher sighed. “Not unless she’ll be more comfortable that way. Just get her underclothes off.”
I gave Timmy a push. “Get her underwear off.”
Timmy stared at me, shaking his head. “No.”
Brigit screamed again. “Don, you sonofabitch, help me!”
Timmy yanked the phone out of my hand. “You take her underwear off. I’ll talk to the dispatcher.”
“Why me?”
“You’re more familiar with the terrain.”
“Shit.”
While Timmy conferred with the dispatcher, I helped Brigit remove her underclothes. As soon as they were tossed out of the way, her water broke. Brigit moaned and clutched at her stomach.
“The bedspread!” Timmy almost dropped the phone.
“Fuck the bedspread.” I helped Brigit sit up so I could prop pillows behind her back. “What am I supposed to do now?”
Timmy, still staring at his ruined bedspread, put the phone back to his ear.
“Her water just broke.” He nodded a couple of times, then put his hand over the mouthpiece. “She said the baby’s on the way.”
“You’re kidding. I had no idea.”
“I’m just telling you what the dispatcher said.”
“Well, thanks for stating the obvious.”
“Don’t jump all over me. I’m simply trying to help.”
“Will you two shut up?” Brigit yelled. She grabbed my hand. “Do something.”
I crawled up on the bed and positioned myself between Brigit’s spread knees. It had been a long time since we were in bed like that, but I didn’t think she’d appreciate my mentioning it.
Between Timmy’s breathless directions and Brigit’s screams and curses, I figured out what to do. I could see the baby’s head pushing its way out. Timmy said I was to let the baby do the work and not try to help unless it looked like the baby was in trouble. That was fine with me - a child of Brigit’s wouldn’t require any help, anyway.
“Push,” I told Brigit. “I know it hurts, but you have to push.”
“Breathe,” Timmy told her. “Pant when it really hurts, and breathe deeply when the pain subsides.”
Brigit told him to get fucked, then immediately apologized. “I’m sorry about the bedspread,” she cried. “I’ll get you a new one. I promise.”
Timmy held out his free hand. Brigit took it and squeezed so hard he yelped in pain. “Don’t worry about it,” he said through gritted teeth.
As Brigit pushed, more and more of the baby’s head became visible. “It’s coming,” I told Timmy. “What am I supposed to do?”
He muttered something into the phone. “Keep your hands under the baby’s head so you can support it on its way out. Clear any mucous away from its nose and mouth.”
“I can’t stand it,” Brigit cried. Tears rolled down her face. “It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.”
I squeezed her knee. “You can do it. I know you can. Now, push.”
“I can’t.”
I leaned forward to touch her cheek. “You can do anything.”
Something passed between us. I couldn’t really say what it was, but I knew she wasn’t angry with me anymore. I had not played fair with her or myself, but in that moment she forgave me. That meant I could forgive myself.
“Hugh’s mother said …” She closed her eyes and pushed. “Hugh’s mother said it would be a girl.”
The baby’s head looked bigger now. “We’ll know in a couple of minutes. Push.”
She pushed again. “I won’t name her Donna, even if you are delivering her.”
“Please don’t.” I said, permitting myself a grin. I could see the baby’s forehead.
Timmy yelled excitedly into the phone. “It’s coming.”
I glanced at him. “Want to take a look?”
“No, thank you.” He listened for a minute. “When the shoulders emerge, you might have to help. Just hang onto the baby and gently pull.”
“Will do.”
The three of us became a well-mucoused team. Brigit pushed, I got ready to catch, and Timmy provided the play-by-play. The baby’s head emerged, and I saw its red, pissed-off face. I wiped a corner of the bedspread across its mouth and nose, and as soon as I did that, it started to cry.
“Keep pushing,” I told Brigit. “You’re almost there.”
“Is she OK?” Brigit started sobbing. “Please tell me she’s OK.”
“Everything’s fine,” I said, sure now that everything was. “Come on; push.”
Brigit let go of Timmy’s bruised hand, gripped the headboard and dug in her heels. Sweat poured down her face as she pushed hard. The baby’s shoulders popped free, and with a little help from me, the baby came all the way out in a red, squalling, sticky mess.
“It’s a baby!” Timmy shouted into the phone.
“Is she okay? Please tell me she’s okay.” Brigit reached out a hand to me. “Tell me nothing’s wrong with her.”
Timmy put his hand on her hair. “Nothing’s wrong, except that she’s got a huge set of testicles.”
Brigit stared at me. “Testicles? Girls don’t have testicles.”
“That’s because it’s a boy, Momma. A big, healthy boy.” I took the pillowcase Timmy handed me and wrapped the baby in it just as someone pounded on the apartment door.
“That’ll be the EMTs,” I said.
Timmy put down the phone and ran out of the room, returning with Mrs. McGowan from next door and two burly paramedics.
“I let them in,” she said. “I thought someone was dying in here.”
“Just a routine baby-birthing,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Let me know how it turns out,” she said as she left the room. At her age, birthing apparently held no allure.
As the experts took over, saying something about afterbirth, I picked up the phone. “Thanks for your help,” I told the dispatcher. “The paramedics are here now.”
“Good job,” she said, laughing. “From all that yelling, I gather it’s a boy.”
“It is.”
“Well, tell Mom we all wish her the best.”
I said I would and hung up the phone. One guy was examining the baby while the other talked to Brigit. She was to be transported to Albany General where she and Hugh Junior were to spend a couple of days.
Brigit was holding the baby now, touching his cheek and placing gentle kisses on his forehead. Timmy was staring at both of them, his expression a bit wistful. I wrapped my arm around his waist and asked him if he wanted to go shopping for a new bedspread.
“Tomorrow,” he said in a dreamy voice. “I have to check the sales first.”
Timmy and I sat down on either side of Brigit and examined the baby. He was kind of ugly, the way all newborns are, but I told Brigit he was beautiful.
“Hugh’s going to be ecstatic,” I said. “A boy after all those girls.”
“He didn’t care what the baby was as long as I came through it all right,” she said. Her eyes filled with tears. “Will you call him for me? Tell him to come to the hospital if he can. I miss him.”
“Will do.” I touched the baby’s curled fist. “When the kid asks about the day he was born, what are you going to say?”
Her smile was radiant. “That he was born in the spare bedroom belonging to my ex-husband and his boyfriend.”
One of the paramedics left the room and returned minutes later with a wheelchair. He and his partner got Brigit into it, wrapped her and the baby against the weather and prepared to take them both downstairs.
We followed them into the hall. Just as they were about to board the elevator, Brigit held out her hand to me. I took it.
“Thank you.” She looked up at Timmy. “Thank you both.”
Timmy leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Anytime.”
When the door closed on the elevator, I went back inside the apartment to call Hugh. I told him what had happened and assured him Brigit and the baby were fine.
His tried to thank me but his voice broke in the middle of it. “I love her so much. I want her to come home, Don, her and the baby. I’ll do anything.”
“All you have to do is go down to Albany General and tell her that she can keep teaching if she wants to, and all will be well. She wants to see you. And you have to see your new son.”
“I will. And thank you. I never expected-”
“Can’t say I did, either.”
****
We spent an hour cleaning the spare bedroom, including bagging the sheets and bedspread for the garbage. Timmy wanted to haul out the mattress, too, but I told him it could wait. After all, we didn’t sleep on it.
Brigit called that evening.
“I wanted to thank you for everything.” She paused. “I’m sorry I was such a bitch.”
“No problem,” I told her. “I’m sorry I was such an asshole.”
She knew what I meant. “This doesn’t make us even, you know.”
I could hear the laughter in her voice. “I know.”
Timmy stuck his head in the room. “What did she name the baby?”
“What’s the kid’s name?”
“James Edward. For Hugh’s father. And, Don?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t screw up with Timmy. He’s a wonderful man.”
Something caught in my throat. “I know.”
“If you couldn’t be with me, then I’m glad you’re with him.”
We talked a little more, and then Brigit said she had to go. We agreed to keep in touch, both of us knowing we probably wouldn’t. There was no need - not unless she needed me to deliver another kid.
“All’s well that ends well,” Timmy said, handing me a bowl of popcorn that evening.
“I guess so.”
Now that the excitement was over, my earlier conversation with Brigit came back to haunt me. What had I done to deserve a man like Timmy? Nothing, it seemed. Yet, here he was, settling down with me in a state approximating matrimonial bliss. He must have seen in me something worth waiting for, something worth the hurt feelings I knew he suffered. I wished I knew what it was.
I wanted to make him a promise, right then and there, that I wouldn’t see anyone else. But knowing me and my imperfections, I would backslide the first chance I got. Better to wait until I could actually keep the promise. I hoped that would be soon.
He sat down, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Do you think you’d ever want to be a father?”
I caught his chin in my hand and pulled him in for a slow, sweet kiss. “I’ve got all I can handle right here.”
*Crossposted from Dreamwidth*