Author's Note: I blame Jay-Ell-Gee ENTIRELY for this germ of a fic idea that would not go away. All her speculation of a possible Drianca Vegas wedding and all her cutesy adorable talk about making up stories of little Torres children and their little Torres lives…well, damn it, she just got me brainstorming! So if you hate it, you know who to blame ;)
This will be a two-shot, with the slight possibility of a three-shot.
I am on Twitter: AlbatrossTam14 (protected tweets)
And Tumblr: welldeservedobscurity
I don't own Degrassi.
I.
"Give me another one," Drew says.
In the passenger seat, Adam drums his fingers on the leg of his jeans. Outside, the world is grey. The cityscape looks like a smear on the foggy horizon. The bare trees dotting the highway look like skeletal arms reaching out of the dry, dead earth, like they're scrabbling to pick apart the clouds in the sky.
"Roses are red," he says. "Violets are red. I'm a dog."
Drew rolls his eyes. "Weaksauce, man."
"Why did the girl fall off the swing?" his brother counters. "Because someone threw a refrigerator at her."
Drew snorts at that one. "Sounds like an episode of Family Guy."
"Stephen Hawking walks into a bar."
"Who's he?"
"Never mind." Adam stretches a little in his seat. "Where is this place, anyway? We've passed like every exit that's anywhere remotely near the city."
"It's farther out, I told you that."
"Yeah, but when you said farther out, I thought you meant, like, ten minutes. This is the boonies, dude."
"It's not the boonies. It's cheaper to live out here, anyway."
"Yeah, because it's the boonies."
"You haven't even seen the place," Drew argues. "Besides, neither of us works in the city. We don't need to make a huge commute every day to get where we need to go."
"Yeah, well, any town named Red Ridge still sounds like the sticks, man."
Adam's pocket lights up. When he grabs his phone, he frowns. Drew watches him shoot off a quick text message before sliding it back in his pocket.
"Jessica?" Drew guesses.
Adam nods. "Just wanted to check in." He rubs his hands over his eyes. "I think she's still mad at me."
"If she called, she's probably not still mad."
He sighs. "No, I'll just hear about it when I get home."
"Or maybe a weekend apart will help smooth things over."
"Avoiding things never actually fixes them," Adam says.
"But it'll keep you guys from trying to kill each other." When he sees Adam checking his email again, Drew swats him. "Come on, dude. You guys aren't going to solve all your problems like right now, in this car. So just put the phone down and you'll deal with it when you're not both still mad."
"I'm not mad!" Adam says. "I just don't get how, after dating me for this long, she can think I'd be like that."
"I don't think she does. Maybe she was just really mad."
Adam shakes his head. "I just don't get where she thinks this is coming from. Okay, so she doesn't want to quit her job if we have a kid. I get that. But thinking that I'll get sick of being a parent? The whole reason we decided to go through with this whole thing was because we BOTH decided this is what we want. Like, she told me when we started getting serious that she wanted kids. She wanted a family. She wanted to get married, do the whole thing. And I was okay with that. I'm still okay with that. I don't get why she suddenly thinks one day I'll flip a switch and decide I don't like the idea of having a kid."
"Look," Drew says. "I think Jess just has serious baby fever right now, and you two are just making each other nuts. So a breather is what you need."
"I guess," Adam says. "She's hanging out with her sisters this weekend, so maybe she'll tell them all what a shithead I am and they'll hate me just in time for Christmas."
"Then stay with us instead."
"Nah, pretty sure Jess would dump me if I skipped Christmas with her family. You know how they're, like, the freaking Griswalds when it comes to the holidays." Adam glances out the window as Drew pulls into the parking lot. "This is it?"
Drew nods.
"You guys didn't tell me you were in the woods."
"We're not in the woods. The highway's right there."
"Whatever, hope you know how to hunt squirrel for the winter."
Drew lifts the hood of the trunk and pulls out the edge of one of the boxes. "Help me with the rest of this shit."
Adam comes around and pushes the rest of the box out, then shifts around until he grabs the other end.
"The woods," he repeats, shaking his head.
The two of them walk towards the staircase, Drew walking backwards and trying to watch the stairs out of the corners of his eyes so he doesn't make the most dramatic wipeout ever.
"Fuck these stairs," Adam huffs.
Drew presses himself against the railing to avoid stumbling over his feet. "I'd kind of forgotten about them," he says.
"How could you forget about these?"
"I don't know. I guess I'm just not used to them yet."
"Well, you'll get used to them pretty fast," Adam says.
"We'll get in great shape," Drew says with a grin.
After a few moments of struggling in silence, Adam picks up as if they never left off.
"She started on me yesterday about putting those childproof caps over all the plugs in the house. We haven't even gone in for our first round yet, and already she wants to kidify the place."
"Bianca did the same thing," Drew says. He holds his breath as he goes up the steps backwards, trying to lean against the wall for balance. "Soon as we found out we were pregnant, she was already getting those kid locks on the drawers. Took me fifteen minutes to get a fork."
"At least you guys were pregnant when she did that," Adam huffs. He takes a moment to lean against the railing, taking a couple of quick breaths. "It's like this whole thing's out of control right now. I know Jess wants to get the ball rolling, but it's like she's jinxing us. Basically guarantees that we won't get pregnant."
"I think it's a little more science-y than that, man. You guys will be fine."
Adam rolls his eyes. "Easy for you to say. You can get kids the old-fashioned way, not with shots and chemicals and all the other stuff that says you don't have the right equipment."
"Yeah, well…" Drew takes the last step, breathing a sigh of relief when he reaches level ground. "So will you and Jess. Have kids, I mean. Just…I don't know. Try not to think about it too much."
Adam rolls his eyes. "That sounds totally doable."
"I mean it. Instead of thinking about trying to have a kid, just try to stop trying. Just let it happen, and it will."
"Yeah, I'll let Jess know that as soon as she stops reading Mommy blogs."
"Mommy blogs?"
"No offense, Bro," Adam replies, "but I think I'll take your advice for the half of grain of salt it's worth. I seem to remember an incident with a cucumber that's been burned in the back of my memory ever since."
Drew groans. "Hey, forget I ever tried to help you out."
"No problem."
Drew leans against the door, digging through his pocket with his free hand for the house key. He hasn't put it on his car lanyard yet, so it just dangles from a simple buckle. It chimes when he sticks it in the lock, like a quarter in a slot in a game of chance; the sound of a gamble.
It always surprises Drew, whenever he steps into the new place, how small it actually looks. When he steps into what will soon be his new home, he wonders how the couch, coffee table, lamps, TV, and kitchen table will be able to fit into the small, boxy space. Maybe it's the lack of pictures and things on the bare white walls, but it seems as if they're all too close together, like the room gets smaller each time he looks at it.
The new place is much cheaper than where they're currently living, though. So despite the size (or rather, lack thereof) Drew's trying to look at it in a good light – a lot less to clean, after all. Plus, now that they live on the fourth floor, they get a balcony, which they've never had before, since they've always been on the first floor of whatever apartment place they lived in since leaving Fiona's condo. And, Drew reasons, less space means they'll have a lot less stuff, and a lot less stuff means that moving next time won't be nearly as painful as it is now.
There isn't much moved over yet, though it feels to him as if they've been doing nothing for months but move shit – boxes and bins and later, when they got sick of packing everything and ran out of boxes, 13-gallon garbage bags staked like Legos in the corners. Drew can track the timeline of the move in the way that the boxes are labeled: early on, they had gotten creative with the boxes, scribbling "Bianca's old textbooks – why the hell does she even keep these?" and "Lola's old baby clothes that she outgrew before we even got a chance for her to wear them" and "couch covers that the cat peed on", but as time had gone on and they'd gotten sick of packing, they'd labeled them "random shit", "random shit the sequel", "random shit III: it doesn't end here", and "you guessed it: even more random shit".
But, he's noticed, despite the fact that their new home may be smaller by more than half, there's more light here than where they're living now. Standing in the mostly-empty living room, he watches the lazy beams of light slant in through the blinds onto the carpet and line the walls, dancing and darting across the emptiness.
Adam staggers in behind him. "Where to?" he grunts as he nudges Drew out of the doorway.
Drew points towards the back hallway. "Last room on the right. I think."
"You think?"
"Wait, let me see what's in them."
"Dude, this thing weighs a ton. If we put it down, we're getting a crane to move them."
"Then just leave it here."
"What if Bianca needs to move it later on?"
"Then we'll unpack it later on. Just put it down and let me see what's in it."
Adam bends down and lets out a low groan as he set the box down on the carpet. "What did you guys pack here? Your personal weight collection?"
Drew pops the lid off. "No. Looks like – hey, this goes in the living room. Sweet! Looks like we don't have to move it again."
"What do you mean we?" Adam mumbles, stretching out his arms. "From now on, you guys can carry this shit up four stories of stairs by yourselves. Or hire some sherpas."
"I thought the whole point you guys came here this weekend was to help us move," Drew says as he pulls out a Little Tykes plastic step stool that he and Bianca kept in the bathroom so Lola could reach the sink.
"That's what you think. What I really came here to do was get Mom and Dad to pay for a free dinner." Adam cracks his back with an audible crunch that makes Drew wince.
Drew digs towards the bottom of the container and finds it filled with Lola's winter clothes. He's not sure how they ended up in a box that's also filled with picture frames and a small table lamp, but he's sort of forgotten where and why they packed everything in the endless line of boxes he and Bianca have been throwing together, trying to move out as quickly as possible. The clothes smell musty from being kept in the back of the closet for the past year. "I'm gonna put these away."
"You do that," Adam says. He sits down on the bare carpet. "I'll be exercising my right to not do anything useful."
Drew flips on the light in the hallway, forgetting that the electricity hasn't been turned on yet. It's strange to look at the walls unlined with pictures, the doors flung open to reveal empty tan rooms lined with dust and sunlight. He pokes his head into the master bedroom, and sees that Bianca has already started putting things away. Her full-length mirror is set against the wall, and there are some of her books already lined up on the shelf. They moved over Drew's nightstand a few weeks ago, and his lamp. Some of their clothes are already hanging up in the closet. It's mostly Bianca's stuff, things she can't fit into anymore: her tank tops and tight-fitted shirts, skinny jeans stacked in a shoe rack hanging from the closet pole. He sees one of his winter coats hanging in the back, next to a tan leather jacket he bought her for her birthday one year. He reaches out and runs a finger down one of the sleeves; it's still smooth and almost soft, like touching warm skin.
He walks into Lola's room, nearly tripping over a cardboard box filled with stuffed animals. The room is already strewn with his daughter's clothes and toys, already making themselves home on her carpet. He sets the pile of clothes on top of one of the boxes, then follows the conjoining bathroom into the empty room that will be the nursery in a few months.
The one thing that Bianca put her foot down on and refused to compromise about when they were looking for a new place was that the girls each had to have their own bedrooms. She shared with various cousins until she was 16 and moved in with Juliana, she argued, and then only had her own room for two years before she got married. Kids, especially girls, needed their own bedrooms.
Avoid a ton of fights in the future, she'd said.
Drew privately disagreed, but Bianca wouldn't budge on the issue, and he knew better than to argue. He can't see any situation where Lola and her new sister wouldn't get along, wouldn't be close. He keeps trying to tell himself that girls are always going to be different than boys – because girls are just weird like that – and besides, he and Adam had pretty crazy circumstances anyway. But he can't imagine his own kids not being close like he and Adam are, or even he and Gracie used to be.
The only piece of furniture in the room is a rocking chair Grams gave them when Lola was born; she said it had been hers when their mom was little, which really weirded Drew out because he couldn't imagine his mom as a newborn baby, as small and fragile and needing as Lola had been. He gives it a little push, listening to it creak back and forth, back and forth, like there's a phantom mother and child in there being lulled to sleep.
II.
When he pulls the lot in front of the liquor store, he parks under the wings of the dirty angel. That statue always gives him the creeps; it's nearly forty feet high and bulbed with neon lights that burn bright as Vegas when the sun goes down, but during the day just stands there, grey and washed out and slightly dingy, above the grocery store. The thing that really weirds him out, though is that the angel has no face – the frame of the head is outlined in those same neon lights, but there's no eyes, nose, or mouth. Nothing but these two giant wings that, whenever he catches a look at them from the highway at night all lit up, he swears pulse like they might actually be moving.
The whole thing is weird, creepy, and completely random to be just sitting there, a faceless, wooden angel looking over a strip mall parking lot.
Because of the rain, the statue looks even more worn-out than usual, grey and faded, the wings dull as they spread across the empty canvas sky.
"We must look like such alkies," Adam says. This early in the afternoon, there's no other customers in the store, no other cars parked in front.
The bell chimes above their heads. The old guy who works behind the counter is the only employee in the store, and he's got the radio behind him tuned to a channel playing the blues. The fan whirls lazily overhead, cutting drunken shadows across the dusty hardwood of the uneven floor.
The cashier doesn't look up from the small TV he has resting on the countertop. He just grunts at them when they walk in, and points to back behind the countertop, where there are stacks of empty boxes piled by the supply closet.
"How many you think we'll need?" Drew says.
Adam shrugs. "Depends. How much shit do you guys have?"
Drew sighs. "We have to at least move the kitchen stuff. We need plates to eat off of and stuff."
"Pshaw," Adam says. "Who needs plates. Just use paper towels. How manly men eat."
Drew rolls his eyes and punches Adam in the good shoulder. "Whatever. Just pick up enough to pack the kitchen. And she wants to move a bunch of the stuff to the baby's room."
"Thought most of that was already in boxes," Adam says as he grabs a few of the empty cases from the top of the pile.
"The carseat and stuff, but not a lot of the little things. She wants to get the nursery set up pretty quick, before she has to leave work."
Adam jumps out of the way as an empty box nearly falls on top of his head. "The baby's not coming for another two months. I think she's okay for now."
Drew shrugs. "You know Bee. Wants to be prepared for everything."
"Yeah, well," Adam grunts, "when that plan doesn't involve human slavery, feel free to give me a call."
Drew rolls his eyes again and grabs an armload of boxes. Giving a nod of thanks to the old cashier, he follows his brother to the car idling in the parking lot.
When Drew pops the trunk, Adam starts unloading the empty boxes, sliding them sideways to make more room.
"Nice trunk space," he says. "The dead hooker ratio's got to be at least, what, three or five, at most."
Drew grins. "Plus, you can't beat the gas mileage you get on this thing."
Adam laughs. "You sound like such an old, boring Married. Family sedan, pregnant wife, baby seat in the back."
"It's called a booster seat," Drew teases. "Though if you feel like really earning your keep, you can help me set up the car seat in the back before the baby gets here."
Adam wipes some sweat off his brow. "Dude, you must really miss that motorcycle right about now."
He shrugs. "Sometimes."
His pocket buzzes. He reaches into his jeans, pulling out his phone. Bee.
After debating about it for a solid minute, he slides his finger past the screensaver (a picture of Lola playing in the snow last winter).
"Hello?"
"Where are you guys?"
He tries to measure her tone. She doesn't sound too terribly pissed, just tired (which is what she usually is these days) but he can't be entirely sure.
"Getting those boxes from the liquor store."
He hears a rustling in the background, then his mother's voice. Bianca sounds muffled as she responds, like she's holding her hand over the phone.
"What did my mom want?"
"Nothing. Just trying to pack up the rest of the living room."
He was supposed to have done that a week ago.
"How much more do you have to do?" he asks, pushing that thought away. It makes his stomach prickle in a way he doesn't like.
"Just the recliner. We're waiting for you guys to get home to move it."
"Where's my dad?"
"He took Lola to the playground." There's another muffled pause, and more talking he can't make out. "Hold on. I gotta go. We're moving the stuff out to the car."
"Wait, you're moving the stuff? Should you even be doing that?" Drew didn't even let Bianca take out the trash. She'd try to argue – "I'm pregnant, not made of glass" – but he still wouldn't let her. He didn't even like it when she carried the full dirty laundry bin, or when she brought in the groceries. The whole business of her being pregnant worries him to no end. He thought that, after already having gone through this once, he'd take it easier the second time around, but he still worries just as much.
There's a long pause at the other end.
Then Bianca replies, "I gotta go, Drew."
The line goes dead.
Drew stands there for a moment under the dirty angel, holding the phone in his hand, the dial tone ringing in his palm. He knows that if he'd moved the boxes when he said he would, his very pregnant wife wouldn't have to do it, and pushes that thought to the back of his head once again. It makes him feel like kicking some rocks across the lot, or throwing something large and ineffective. Anything but stand there like a doofus with his big awkward arms swinging and his stupid face looking all slack-jawed and guilty.
There is a quicker way to get back home, but Drew ops for the longer route that takes them all the way around the city instead of the shorter commute. Traffic on the other way is always backed up, he reasons. Especially in the afternoon. Even on a Saturday when no one's at work. No sense in getting stuck in a traffic jam, right? Right.
III.
There are footsteps above their heads, the sound of someone running across the floor. The ceiling rattles, and then there's an almighty clang from overhead like God just tripped over Himself.
Audra shoots a look at the ceiling. "Do you guys live below a circus?"
Bianca rolls her eyes. "Close. A family with three little boys."
Audra takes the front page of yesterday's paper and wraps up their clock, a miniature of the MGM Grand underneath a glass dome. Imogen bought it for them in the Vegas airport when they landed, and gave it to the two of them wrapped in leftover fabric from Bianca's wedding dress.
"Do you guys have enough boxes?" she asks Bianca, looking around the room. "You still have the kitchen to pack up."
"Drew's getting more boxes from the liquor store. And the grocery store has produce boxes we can use."
"Still." Audra sets the clock down carefully, nestled in a pile of yesterday's business pages. "A lot of stuff is a lot of stuff." She grins wryly, looking around the room. "Where Drew manages to find some of these things, I'll never figure out."
"Hey," Bianca laughs, "the dog-shaped hot dog slicer is mine."
Audra takes some of the photos lining the shelf on the wall. "Just wondering where all this is going to fit in the new place."
Bianca stares down at her hands, covered with newsprint. It looks like she's been digging her hands in ash.
She bends down, then winces as her back spasms. She presses her hands to her back and tries to breathe through it.
Audra, of course, notices. "You all right?"
Bianca nods, sucking in her breath through her teeth. "Just my back."
Audra doesn't look convinced, but continues packing the piles and piles of stuff thrown on their coffee table into boxes. Audra's right, Bianca thinks – the amount of pure shit she and Drew seem to have accumulated over the years is astonishing. Half of their life in boxes; the other half tossed around the room, spilling out at the seams. She didn't realize how much they had until they tried boxing it up; for always seeming to lack, it's unreal to see all they actually have.
Bianca leans over to grab an empty trash bag for the couch cushions. As she bends down, a bolt of pain lightnings through her spine, and before she can stop herself she winces.
In a flash, Audra's at her side, resting a hand on her back.
"Okay," she says, pressing down on Bianca. "That's it. Sit down, and I'm going to wait for the boys to load the rest of this."
"No," Bianca says, trying not to hiss through her teeth at the pain. "No, it's fine. I got it."
"Bianca," Audra says. "Sit, before you hurt yourself."
"Really, Audra," she insists. "Really. I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just want to finish this."
Audra rolls her eyes. "I can finish it myself. Please, for my sanity. Sit down and take a break. You've been at it all day." She moves two boxes out of the way to clear a small path to the couch, then motions for Bianca to sit. "Sit."
"I really don't need a long break," she says, but Bianca does sit down, and as soon as she does she feels instantly grateful to be off her feet. She leans back and tilts her head up, taking a deep breath.
Audra hands her one of the bottled waters from the kitchen table, and Bianca tosses it back.
"You shouldn't put so much stress on yourself," Audra tells her as she watches Bianca gulp the bottle in nearly one sip. "It's not good for you. Or the baby."
Bianca finishes the rest of the bottle like a shot. She looks over at Audra, wrapping everything in newspaper and laying it neatly into an empty box that once held bottles of merlot. It's a brand Bianca doesn't recognize, but the logo is a crescent moon in the sky, surrounded by falling stars. MAKE A WISH! it says. SHOOTING STARS COLLIDE.
They should have been moved out by now. Bianca knew that if Audra hadn't offered to come down with Adam and Omar this weekend to help them kickstart most of their things over to the new apartment, they'd never make it out before Christmas. As it is, they were supposed to be out two weeks ago, but got their date pushed back – since they were not even remotely packed, they had to just swallow the consequence and pay an extra three hundred dollars to their landlord, money they didn't have. They'd have to spend three hundred a week for each week they stayed here past their planned move-out date. More than $600 in the hole, they'd called in Drew's family to see if they could have them all moved out by the end of the weekend.
She looks again at the liquor box, stacked with their dishes. Mixed and matched patterns –cheap colored plastic, Disney princesses and Nemos, bowls stained with rings of tomato sauce, a few pieces of china printed with blue vines – a belated wedding gift from Fiona and Imogen – that Audra wraps in pillowcases and newsprint to avoid breaking. The logo on the box – MAKE A WISH! SHOOTING STARS COLLIDE. The crescent moon. She feels like she's swallowed a moon herself these days, presses her palm flat against her belly. The baby hasn't been kicking much, but Bianca knows she'll be up all night doing it; she always seems to wait until then to start up.
Bianca sits up, pushes herself to her feet. She doesn't need help with that much, but it aches in her lower back when she arches up. She tries not to wince.
Audra is watching her over her pile of crumpled newsprint and empty merlot boxes. "Feeling all right?"
Bianca nods, holding the edge of the couch.
"Just," she says, then clamps a hand over her mouth. She makes it to the kitchen sink – doesn't even bother racing for the bathroom down the hall.
It's weird. When she was pregnant with Lola, she never really got sick. Felt tired and crappy, napped a lot, but didn't spend every morning, midday, and night with her head in the toilet. Now, it's like this baby is grabbing her insides and scraping her clean, emptying out everything else that isn't her, and leaving Bianca breathless and shaking on the cold tile floor. To add insult to injury, she's gained the weight a lot faster this time around – though she can't imagine how that happened, seeing as how she can barely eat Ritz crackers without them coming back up thirty minutes later.
Audra is behind her when there's nothing left to come up. She puts her hand on Bianca's back, rubbing it gently, as she dry-heaves over the garbage disposer.
"Easy," she murmurs, pushing some sweaty hair out of Bianca's eyes. She takes a cold bottle of water out of the fridge and presses it to Bianca's throbbing forehead. "Just sip this time."
Bianca rinses the taste out of her mouth while Audra runs the disposer.
"All right," she says over the roar. "I'm finishing this up myself. You go lay down."
"I just need a minute," Bianca murmurs, still trying to catch her breath.
"Are you smelling what I'm smelling?" Audra shakes her head. "Go lay down. Rest. You need a break from all this. I can finish the living room. I'll wake you up when it's time to go to dinner. If you're still up for it."
"I'm up for dinner. I'll be fine."
"Once you rest," Audra urges, taking her by the elbow and leading her toward the bedroom.
Bianca lets Audra lead her to the bedroom, silencing her own protests. She really does feel like shit, and her head swims slightly as she lies down on the comforter, head resting on a pillow that smells like Drew's aftershave.
"Try to nap," Audra whispers as she pulls the curtains across their little window, one that doesn't afford them much of a view. There isn't much point, because the sky outside is heavy and grey with rain that hasn't come in days. "I'll let Drew know we're calling it quits for the day. He can just meet us at the restaurant."
"You don't have to do that," Bianca says.
Audra shakes her head. "I think we did enough packing for the day. Don't worry about it. I'll let him know."
A part of Bianca knows she should just get up and keep working. She always hates this – feeling like an invalid, just sitting around while everyone else gets the work done. Especially Audra. She hates knowing that Audra is the one who is taking care of everything, and Bianca can barely lift her own head off the pillow without getting blasted with the urge to barf up Vancouver. She should be up, packing, directing which boxes should be labeled what and where they should go, like her mother-in-law would do without a hitch. Now she's surrendered that task to someone else as she struggles to keep still in bed.
This isn't the first time that Audra has stepped in and saved her and Drew from floundering. She was there when they first got married and couldn't afford to pay rent on Fiona's old condo after she moved back to New York with her family, leaving her and Drew a paycheck away from getting evicted. She was there after they'd had the biggest fight of their marriage, right before they got pregnant with Lola. She'd had Audra there when Lola was born; after Drew, she'd been the first person to hold her. She was there when they first brought Lola home, scared shitless with no idea how to even hold her the right way, never mind be responsible for an entire human life.
Audra was there the whole time, though. Bianca had been scared Drew would put up a fight about it, but as it turned out, he was too worried and scared himself about what to do with a baby that he let his mom stay at their place without argument. Audra showed her how to change a diaper, warm a bottle, and took Lola off her hands when she was too exhausted and overwhelmed to remember how to do either of those things. She'd let Bianca burst into tears and cry in her arms when Lola was six weeks old and was admitted to the ICU for an infection that was shutting down her lungs. She'd be there when this new baby was born, mostly to keep Lola off their hands and distract her while she and Drew fumbled through the motions of taking care of a newborn for the second time.
She and Drew would be nowhere without her jumping in and saving their butts. They couldn't have stayed married, kept a roof over their heads, raised their daughter without her help. Lola is lucky to have always had something in her life that Bianca didn't find until she was sixteen, she thinks. Until after her life went to Hell.
Bianca had taken psyche in university. She'd studied attachment disorders. Knew the consequences of an infant not having a primary bond with an adult, how it fucked them up for life and turned them into psychopaths who lit houses on fire and put kittens in the microwave.
Bianca never did any of those things, so it figures that she had to have somebody who took care of her when she was a baby. Someone had to have fed her, cuddled her, held her and rocked her to sleep. If no one had, she'd have been the Antichrist before she was potty-trained. But she couldn't imagine her mom doing it, never mind her dad – wherever (and whoever) the fuck he was.
Her daughters never have to worry about that, she knows. She turns over on the bed, running off the list in her mind. They have Audra, Adam, Omar, Jessica. They have Fiona, who visits every year and always sends Christmas presents; who planned Bianca's first baby shower; who the two of them named Lola's godmother, and came all the way back to Toronto on a bus just so she could be there for her goddaughter's Christening.
They have Drew, who tucks Lola in at night and kisses her every morning. Wrestles with her on the living room floor, watches Yo Gabba Gabba and Finding Nemo twice a day with her if she asks. She hears him talking her to sleep some nights after a bad dream. He talks to their baby, puts his hand on her stomach, feels her kicking.
She can't imagine who could ever have done that for her, but her daughters never have to worry.
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, sets it on the nightstand. She probably pissed him off by just hanging up, but she's too tired to really give a shit. Still, she slides her finger over the cover, and only slightly expects to see no missed calls.
Bianca pulls the blanket up to her chin and wraps it around her like a shield. The sheets are cleaned – she can smell her lavender fabric softener. Drew must have stripped the bed, washed their sheets. She doesn't know if it was before or after their fight the other day about the boxes. She wonders if the two correlate somehow.
That happens a lot in their house, especially when she's mad at him. There have been plenty of times times when she wanted to strangle him – moments when he walked out on their fights instead of listening, moments when he let his jealousy and paranoia take over. Moments when he shut her out completely and then lashed out when she tried to get through. Moments when he made messes he didn't clean up, broke things he couldn't fix, made her cry and curse and hate him while he just stood there looking stupid and clueless and so idiotic she wanted to slap him across his stupid, clueless, idiotic face.
And then there were the times when she would come home from class and find the laundry done, the counters wiped clean, the dishes put away and the floor swept. There were days when she'd look in the mostly-empty fridge and see her favorite soup from the deli on campus, sitting in a to-go cup on the shelf. Or she'd wake up to Drew vacuuming the family room on a Sunday morning. There would be gas in her car she didn't put there, a soda in her bag she didn't buy, and the bathroom drains unclogged. He'd put his arms around her while she was falling asleep and just let her lie there, and wouldn't move until she'd finally dropped off.
She can hear the dishwasher running from down the hall, and the sound of china clinking against one another. Audra's footsteps on the tile, the sound of cupboards opening and closing. The ping of the coffee maker. Always the picture of efficiency, always with a purpose.
Bianca is glad Audra didn't find out about the times she googled diseases, anomalies, defects – because surely, their kids were ripe for disaster. She always made sure to clear her browser history, in case Drew found it and accused her of being paranoid. It's different for him, though, because he's always been the one who thinks of the impossible. Getting married in Vegas at seventeen. Getting into university with a full-ride. Lying about what really happened on a slushy April night when they were still kids. You didn't survive the things they had without believing that sometimes, impossible can work out for the best.
But it still didn't stop her from the times she double-checks Lola's buckle on her seatbelt, and when she bends closer she wishes she knew the kinds of secrets mothers whisper to their daughters. Doesn't stop her from keeping track of every moment the baby makes when she somersaults inside her, like she's mapping Bianca from the inside out. Doesn't stop her from the gnawing knowledge that Drew is the better parent here – because he can see the wider picture, when all she's ever been able to see are shadows.
IV.
He and Bianca have lived in the same city for three years now, but each year he seems to forget how cold fall can get, and how quickly it comes and goes. For a few weeks it was perfect weather, and the colors on the trees looked like a postcard. But it seems like every year it gets colder earlier, and the grey drizzle of early winter erases every dazzling inch of that little stretch of time.
Still, even the weather can't keep people away. As he drives by the junior high school, there's a giant sign out front that advertises their annual pumpkin patch sale and fundraiser. There are hundreds of bright pumpkins stacked in crooked rows in the schoolyard, and parents and children mill through the track as they try to pick out the perfect pumpkin. Drew wonders why he and Bianca hadn't taken Lola to this before; there were plenty of young families like them, women holding babies and kids riding on their dads' shoulders.
This year, he's pretty excited that Lola's actually interested in Halloween. When she was a year old, he and Bianca had dressed her in a baby tiger costume just for fun, and Bianca had even drawn in whiskers on her face with eyeliner (or at least, tried to, before Lola started crying and throwing a fit). But aside from the pictures that they sent to Grams and his mom and posted on Facerange, they hadn't been able to do anything since she was too young. And the year before, she'd been too afraid of the ghosts and monsters on display in all the store windows and the TV commercials that even the suggestion of trick-or-treating had caused tears, even after Drew tried explaining to her that it was all fake and it meant a ton of free candy at the end of the night. But this year, Lola had talked of nothing else since the stores started putting out their Halloween stuff in September – all of the kids in her preschool class were going trick-or-treating, and Lola had been begging them daily to be a "scary monster".
Of course Lola has to be something scary, he thinks. He's not just a little proud of that. Let the other girls be princesses and Dorothys and ladybugs – his kid's going to give a big "fuck you" to fear and parade around as a scary monster. She'd been practicing her "growl" for days now, following him around the house and making faces, scratching him with her fingers and saying they were "cwaws, Daddy" when he asked her what she was doing.
"When's the exam?"
Drew watches a pair of young boys chase each other down the street in their Incredible Hulk backpacks. "Day after Halloween."
"Do you know what you need to get?"
"Uh, a good mark?"
"No, idiot. I mean, the highest mark you need to pass the class."
Drew stares at him. "I dunno. Whatever a good mark is."
Adam rolls his eyes. "And this professor's had you twice already? I'm surprised she hasn't banned you from the classroom yet. Well, third time's got to be the charm, right? Or fourth? Or twenty-seventh?" he laughs.
"Shut up," Drew says. "I just need enough to get a C+. That's what I need to pass the semester."
It takes a minute for Adam to stop laughing. He looks at Drew, wide-eyed. "Dude, I never – and I mean, NEVER – thought I'd see the day when you cared about school. Did you get another concussion that I didn't hear about? Brain surgery?"
"I never wanted to care about school before," Drew points out. "School was so pointless when I was stuck listening to lectures about stuff I don't care about."
"And you care about accounting?"
"No. But I want to be done with it. I finished all my other business pre-reqs. This is the only thing keeping me from being done."
"I'm serious," Adam tells him. "You dropped out of high school and everything. I never saw you try so much."
"Yeah, well," Drew says, as the light changes and he pulls away from the school, "back when I was in high school, I didn't have a wife and two kids to support."
"More like a wife who's supporting you," Adam grins.
Drew glares at him. "Which is why I need to pass fucking accounting. Getting my AA means getting my degree which means I get a better position at work. Which means…"
"More moolah," Adam finishes.
Drew nods.
Adam smiles. "Aww, look at that," he says. "Drew Torres, all growed up."
Drew shrugs. "Everyone's gotta to do it some time."
His phone buzzes in the cup holder. Adam grabs it and answers, "Drew Torres's phone."
After a moment, he says, "It's still early. Is everything okay?"
Another pause. "Is she okay?"
She. A sweat of panic comes over him for a second. Bianca or Lola? The baby?
"What happened?" Drew asks.
Adam waves a hand in his face. "Yeah, that's fine. No, we're on our way back home. We can just meet you there. Okay. Yeah."
Then he hangs up.
"What happened?" Drew repeats.
"Mom says we're done packing for the day," Adam says. "She said just to meet her at the restaurant."
"Is everything okay?"
Adam shrugs. "She says Bianca's just really tired. And they got a lot of the work done already. Mom said they loaded the car so it's all ready to move when you guys can take it over to the new place."
Drew nods without really hearing what his brother says. Bianca. She's been sick almost nonstop for months now, and the doctors had her on pills that were supposed to stop that but never seemed to work for her. She's always tired, and with school ending and work picking up with the holidays coming, she never sleeps enough, even if he tells her it's not good for her or the baby.
"Is she okay?" he asks.
"Mom didn't say anything. Just that she's really tired." He pauses. "Why? Is something wrong?"
Drew pushes down the idea. "No. Just that she's always feeling like shit."
Adam watches him. "Is everything okay with the baby?"
"Yeah." I hope so. "It's just rough on Bee."
He reaches over to switch on the radio – the oldies station he loves – and turns up Don Henley before Adam can ask any more questions. His brother looks at him for a long moment, but then turns away, and it makes the knot in Drew's stomach loosen a little when he does. As they drive through a world of grey, voices bleed from songs about hitching a ride on a riverboat queen to singing about Allentown, to wondering who to cling to when the rain sets it. Then after the cry to a wayward son, there's James Taylor, hours of time on the telephone line. Lord knows when the cold wind blows it'll turn your head around.
"Hey."
Bianca doesn't turn to look at him, so instead he stands in the bedroom doorway. She's standing with her back to him at the bedside, folding laundry and ignoring him.
Damn it. She's pissed.
About what?
Drew wracks his mind, trying to figure out what he might have done to piss her off. Did she have a doctor's appointment that he missed? No, they went to one just last week. She couldn't have scheduled another one so fast, could she? He doesn't think so. Did he forget to pick her up something that she'd wanted on his way home? Left his dirty clothes on the bathroom floor again?
He can't figure it out, so he decides to play it cool. Arguing with Bianca on the best of days gets him nowhere. Never mind when he's dealing with her and all her weird pregnant craziness. He's spent enough nights in the doghouse because of the weird pregnant craziness.
"Whoa." He tries for that charming smile that got him anywhere he wanted in high school. "Did a tornado go off in here?"
Bianca still ignores him, folding laundry like she doesn't hear a word he says. He takes a step closer to her, about to snake an arm around her round belly, when he sees the boxes in the corner of the bedroom.
The boxes.
Then it dawns on him, what he was supposed to do today.
Fuck.
"Did you take the stuff from the closet over to the new place?" Bianca's back is still turned, and he can tell now by her tense shoulders that yes, she is very mad.
He shrugs, his face heating up.
"Which closet?" His voice sounds too thin for his liking. He clears imaginary gunk out of his throat, and considers the wisdom in just cutting and running before she can attack. Or will he make it to the door before she gets him? She does have a lot of extra weight on him these days; it might slow her down.
Bianca pauses mid-fold. "Guessing that's a no," she says. She tosses the half-folded sweater into the full laundry basket at the corner of the bed, pushing past him roughly as she reaches over to pick it up.
"Hey," he says, and grabs it before she can. She shouldn't be carrying heavy stuff like that. It's not good for pregnant women to be so stressed. He remembers hearing that when she was pregnant with Lola.
Then again, if he had taken the boxes over to the new condo when he said he would, she wouldn't be stressed in the first place.
Drew tries to ignore this, as it makes him feel uneasy and heavy.
Bianca whirls around and corners him. The plastic edge of the laundry basket juts uncomfortably into his chest.
"Just leave it," she snaps.
Drew holds up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay."
She glares at him before heading down the hall towards Lola's bedroom, empty and unmade, her pillows and stuffed animals thrown everywhere like a brightly-colored wave of plush drowned the place.
"Bianca," he calls. When she doesn't answer him, he follows her down the hall. "Bee! Look, I'm sorry, okay? I forgot. I'll take them over first thing tomorrow morning, clear out the closet ones, too.
"You were supposed to do it today!"
"Sorry!" I got sidetracked. Finals are next week."
Bianca laughs, but it sounds all wrong. "Of course. Wouldn't want to distract you from your studies."
The tone could cut him in half. "What's your problem?" he demands.
She whirls around to face him. "My problem is that you said you'd take those boxes over today. It's today. They're still here."
"And I said I'd do it tomorrow!"
Her eyes harden. "Fine," she replies coldly. "Do it tomorrow, then."
Drew isn't sure if this argument is over or not, but he knows he still lost, somehow.
"Okay," he mumbles. "Okay. I will."
Bianca stares at him for a moment, one hand on her hip and the other holding the laundry basket. Then she sighs, sounding tired, and goes into Lola's room. After hovering in the doorway for a moment, he follows her inside.
She pretends not to notice as she stands at Lola's dresser, putting away the newly-folded clothes. He stands there, still feeling heavy and stupid, like the floor might actually sink under his own weight. He focuses on the walls – seafoam green was the name of the paint, he remembers, though why they couldn't just have called it "light green that isn't obnoxiously bright" and had to give it a fancy name like "seafoam green" like it was some super-expensive paint and not a regular can he got at the hardware store – and wonders what color Bianca wants to paint the nursery when they move over to the new place. Then thinking about the new place makes him feel heavy and stupid again, and he can't just stand here in the silence anymore.
"Look" he says, "why don't I take some of this stuff over."
He reaches for some of the boxes where Lola's stuff is packed up, but when he tries to grab it, Bianca says, "Don't touch that."
He wonders if she can hear him grinding his teeth. "Do you want me to help or not?"
She finally looks at him. "No" she yells. "Just leave it alone!
"Okay!" He puts the box down so quickly it almost drops on the floor. Whatever Bee managed to pack inside it rattles and clangs together before steadying itself. His hands on his hips, he stares at the pink rug at the foot of Lola's twin bed.
Bianca turns back to the drawer, then turns right back around to face him. "Just, for once, I'd like to know that you're going to do what I ask you to do."
Drew groans. "Oh my god."
Her face is furious. "I asked you to take the fucking boxes over; I should be able to count on you to take the fucking boxes over!"
"Then I'm sorry I didn't take the fucking boxes over!" He throws his hands in the air. "Fuck, is that all?"
Bianca waves her hand at him dismissively. "Yes, Drew, that is all. Now go." She says his name like she's cursing, but her voice wobbles, and it sounds much higher-pitched than it normally is.
That makes Drew feel about two feet tall, and part of him knows he should just shut up and let her win this, but he looks at the boxes stacked in the corner and the paint on the walls, and suddenly that bit of sanity is shut out by something louder and uglier.
"Jesus fucking Christ, what is it that you want?" His voice sounds much louder than he feels like he's actually talking, and angrier than he can remember sounding. "You change your goddam mind every fifteen seconds, I never know what the fuck that you actually want me to do. You see me packing shit up, you yell at me for not studying. You see me studying, you get on me about not helping you pack. Then I fail a quiz, and I'm a fuck-up. Well guess what. You married a fuck-up."
Bianca looks up at him, eyes red and tears spilling down her face. "I married an asshole who I can't count on for shit! Maybe if you weren't such a drop-out, we would have been able to move out of this house two weeks ago, like we were supposed to!"
There's a ringing in Drew's ears, like a bomb exploded. He stares, slightly slack-jawed, rooted in place on the carpet.
"Wow." He can hear himself reply like he's in a tunnel, and everything echoes." Okay. Fine."
Hands on his hips, he nods his head a few times, until the ringing in his ears starts to fade.
"Fine," he repeats. "Okay. If you really feel that way, then you can pack all this shit up on your own. Go and fucking move without me."
He turns on his heels, swallowing away the image of her swollen, tear-stained face and furious eyes. "Have fun," he calls behind him without turning around.
He walks out of Lola's bedroom, and makes it to the front door before he realizes that she's yelling for him. "Drew! Where are you going?"
Her voice cracks on his name.
"Out," he says. He slams the front door and cutting her off as she yells his name once more.
He puts his forehead to the front door, breathes deep. He doesn't have his keys or his phone, so he just walks. Down the hall, the stairs, the lobby. Out the door. Down the sidewalk, just keeps walking. He stays out until the sun goes down. His hands are numb. They ache, and the rest of him shivers as his teeth rattle. He huddles into himself, trying to keep out the cold, but his body refuses to stay warm, like he's been gutted from the inside.
"Up ahead."
He hears Adam's voice snap him out of it. "What?"
"Make a left," Adam repeats. "The restaurant's on the right. Across the street from the tire place."
"Oh." Drew turns into the parking lot next to an abandoned-looking grey building that looks way too much like a haunted asylum from a horror movie for Drew's liking. Storm clouds are gathering through the windshield over the city, and the heavy grey sky above the old building only makes it look more run-down and spooky. He shivers and pulls his coat around him, burying his numb fingertips in the deep pockets and hoping for warmth.
The inside of Blacksmith's makes up for the abysmal exterior: inside it's a semi-lit, cozy restaurant that doesn't pretend to be any nicer than it is. The booths are small and the tables crammed tight, and there aren't any flowers or candles or live music. But it smells terrific, and there are other families looking like they're enjoying their own version of Sunday dinner. Drew looks around until he sees Bianca at a booth in the corner, her hair brushed back and trying to get Lola to stop unrolling all the silverware at the table. His mother sits next to his daughter, holding a still-rolled packet away from her as Lola reaches with no success.
His mother's eyes catch his, and for whatever reason Drew feels a too-familiar burn in the pit of his gut. It's just a dinner. Just dinner, with his wife and daughter. And his brother, and his father. His mother just happens to be a guest. It's just a dinner. He can get through it.
He just keeps telling himself that as he takes a seat next to Bianca, leans in for a kiss that tastes like haste and mouthwash. Someone's been having morning-noon-and-night-sickness, he thinks. Then he's reminded that Bianca spent the afternoon moving shit and being huge and pregnant at the same time, and damn it, why is it Make Drew Feel Like An Asshole Day?
"Feeling okay?" he murmurs.
Bianca shrugs one shoulder, the symbol for no, but I don't really feel like talking about it, so drop it. Her palm comes to her forehead, and she closes her eyes as her body slumps over the edge of the table. If possible, he feels like an even crappier person than he already does.
Drew places a hand on the small of her back. "Bee, are you sure you're okay?"
"I said I was just tired, Drew," she snaps.
He withdraws his hand.
"Okay," he says. "Okay."
Bianca sighs. "Did you and Adam get the boxes from the liquor store?"
He nods. "We got as many that would fit in the trunk and the back seat."
"Good," she says. She takes a deep breath and runs a hand through her hair. "We should probably box up the kitchen tomorrow."
He watches her take one hand and rest it on her swollen stomach, then take the other one and use it to prop up her drooping head.
"Babe," he whispers, leaning in, "we can take a day off tomorrow, if you want. Or just you. Adam and I can handle the kitchen. If you need a break…"
"Let's just get this over with," she interrupts. "Your family's only in town until Sunday. Might as well move over as much shit as we can."
Her voice cut off abruptly, but not before Drew heard her unspoken words: since we can't afford movers to do it for us.
His stomach turns into a knot, but before he has time to dwell on it there's a waiter in his face listing off the house specials, and recommending the wines. His mother orders one for herself, while Adam and his dad order something on draft. Bianca orders chocolate milk for Lola, and just asks him if they have any ginger ale.
"Not sure," he says. "We got Sprite. That work?"
Drew watches the annoyance flash across her face – no, it doesn't work, I fucking said ginger ale, since when is that the same thing as Sprite, you idiot? – but she just sounds resigned when she says, "yeah, that'll be fine" and reminds the waiter to bring the kid's drink with a sealed lid and a bendy straw.
Drew orders a soda for himself and watches Bianca. He can tell that his mother is watching her too, and seeing the same thing he is – the circles under the eyes, the slump of her shoulders, the too-pale color of her skin. His wife had to move a bunch of big, heavy things because of him, and he fought with her over some stupid boxes when she's been feeling sick nonstop.
And not only is he the asshole who did all that to his pregnant wife, but he's the asshole that made her cry.
He knows that he'll be spending probably the rest of his life trying to make it up to Bianca for being that asshole, but whatever, she can kill him later. Risking life and limb, he reaches a hand over the table and takes one of his wife's in his own, and just closes his over her fingers.
She doesn't look at him, but she doesn't pull away either, which he considers a good sign. He runs his thumb over her wedding band, and after a moment, Bianca squeezes his hand back.
"Daddy!" Lola squeals.
Moment over.
He turns to her, hand still holding Bianca's underneath the table, and looks rapt with attention. "Yeah?"
Lola doesn't answer, just says "Daddy Daddy Daddy!", and lets out an almost impossibly high-pitched scream that he's surprised doesn't shatter the windows. She squirms out of her seat, trying to reach across the table to get to him.
His mother grabs the back of her jumper and tugs. "Lola, sit down."
"Stop it, Lola," Bianca says, trying to hold her back.
Instead of trying to climb over his mother, Lola instead darts under the table, her head popping up in Drew's lap as she crawls on top of him, wrapping her arms around his neck.
He grins at her, his face inches from her own. "Yes?" he teases.
She giggles. "I wanted to show you something, Daddy."
"Wanted to show me something?" He makes his eyes wide with surprise. "What did you need to show me?"
Instead of answering, Lola just laughs. She presses her forehead to his, and grabs onto his shirt collar. He can smell the spice of leaves on her from earlier, and the sweat from running, the cold autumn air. Her cheeks are bright red and her eyes glowing. Good, he thinks, kissing her neck as she writhes and giggles. At least someone's happy.
"She needs to wash her hands," he hears his mother say. He turns, and she's watching the two of them as if she were watching him and Adam roughhouse on the living room floor when they were twelve, or Gracie yank his tie and make him holler right before they went into Sunday morning church. "She can't eat her food after touching that disgusting floor. You shouldn't let her crawl around like that."
"Mom," he says. The edge in his voice is badly contained. "I don't let her crawl around."
His mother opens her mouth, then looks like she second-guesses the idea. She snaps it shut before she can say anything else, and instead focuses on taking a sip from the glass of water in front of her, staring at the whorls of the tabletop.
Bianca doesn't say anything, just gives him a look. Drew shifts Lola in his lap, wrapping his arms around her pulsing toddler belly while she squirms. He kisses the top of her head, curly like Bianca's, and tries not to look at the look on both his wife's and his mother's face. Across the table, Adam and his dad try to watch the hockey game from the television above the bar, acting like this isn't happening.
"Mom," he says after a beat. "Could you take her?"
His mother hesitates a moment before sliding out of the booth. "Come here, Lola," she says, taking the little girl's hand and leading her to the corner marked RESTROOMS.
As soon as they're out of earshot, Bianca gives him a look. You promised you'd get along.
Drew doesn't say anything, just focuses on the subtitles running across the television screen as it plays a pet food commercial.
His mom comes back, and slides into the bar seat next to his dad, and Lola climbs in next to her. The waiter comes back with their drink orders, and Bianca takes the kid's cup and slides it down the table towards her.
"Take a drink, Lola," she says.
Lola ignores her. She seems more interested in shaking the salt onto the table than listening.
Audra reaches over and takes the salt shaker out of her hand in one swift grab. "Lola, stop that."
Lola's face screws up. "Noooo!" she hollers, reaching for Audra.
"Knock it off, Lola," Bianca says.
Her daughter ignores her, trying to climb into Audra's lap. When his mom pushes her off of him, she throws her head back and cries out in protest.
Bianca runs her fingers through her hair. "Move," she says to him, sliding out of the booth.
He climbs out of her way as she brushes past him. Dew catches her wrist as she turns to leave. "Where are you going?"
"Bathroom," she replies, pulling her hand away.
His mom is still trying to keep Lola from salting the table.
"She hasn't been feeling good today," she informs Drew.
He looks over at her. "Yeah, she's been really stressed."
"You think she needs to see a doctor?"
His brows knit together. "It's not like that, Mom."
His mom's mouth tilts down. "She doesn't seem well, Drew."
Her emphasis on his name makes his blood pressure rise. He wonders if his face is as red as it feels, from the heat surging through him.
"I would know if I needed to take her to the doctor, Mom," he says. "So would you just leave it?"
Audra looks like she's on the verge of saying something, but she just looks away instead.
"Okay," she says after a moment. "Okay. Forget I said anything."
Drew sucks in a breath. Before he can say anything else his mom turns away, busying herself with looking over the menu.
Across the table, Adam is keeping Lola distracted with his phone. He gives Drew a look –cut it out, man – but keep silent as he cheers Lola on through a game of Cut The Rope.
Drew takes a sip from his Coke, feeling the bubbles almost burn in his stomach. He doesn't know why his mom always has to do the same predictable bullshit, but this is going to be one hell of a dinner if she keeps this up.
V.
The bathroom's empty, which makes her eternally grateful. She steps out of the stall, holding onto the door, and leans over the sink, taking a deep breath. She doesn't feel nauseous anymore, just dizzy, and when she looks at her reflection in the mirror the fluorescent lights hurt her eyes and make her stomach turn more.
Maybe she should have just stayed home for dinner. And, she thinks glumly, if Drew is just going to pick Audra apart all evening, she'd wish she just stayed home.
She splashes some water on her face, tries to straighten her hair out. Applies some more mascara, and decides that what's done is done. At least it's dark in the restaurant. Nobody should be looking too carefully to notice she looks like a hag. A huge, pregnant hag.
Bianca hears Lola laughing before she sees the rest of their table. She's sitting across the table from Adam, and it looks like they're playing slap-jack with the Sweet n' Low packets, completely absorbed in their own little game. Watching the two of them makes Bianca instantly, insanely grateful for her brother-in-law in a way that makes her want to cry. She swallows that down as quickly as she can, before anyone at the table can see.
Fucking pregnancy crazy train of hormones. Fuck being this huge and sick and emotional. Fuck it all.
Omar is still watching the game above the bar, but he meets her eyes with a question he doesn't ask. She doesn't know what to say to him as she slides into the bar next to Drew, trying to ignore the spasm in her back. Drew and Audra aren't fighting, she notices, but Audra is staring at her napkin with much more focus than necessary and Drew seems determined to keep his neck craned at an awkward angle to focus on some muted television over the bar that is broadcasting the evening news. In other words, they're trying way, way too hard to avoid meeting each other's eyes.
"Are you feeling all right?" Audra asks.
Beside her, she can feel Drew tense. "Just my back," she replies.
Her eyes narrow. "Are you sure?"
The tension from Drew makes her want to scream. She smiles as best as she can. "Really, Audra. I promise."
Her mother-in-law doesn't look the least bit convinced, but her eyes slide down to her glass of wine and the questions stop.
Bianca looks over at Drew, trying to catch his eye. When he finally looks at her, she glares at him. Cut this shit out, her look says. She sends him the vibe, hoping he'll listen for once. She's not really sure what "this shit" is, but whatever it is, he better knock it off right fucking now.
Drew frowns, but after a minute he shakes his head and sighs, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself.
"Hey," Drew says after a beat of tense silence. He tries to make his voice light. "Lola's been getting pretty excited for Halloween lately." He grins at his daughter. "Tell Nonna what you're dressing up as."
Lola looks up from her sugar-packet-card game with Adam; apparently they've switched to some variation of 52-pick up.
"Scary monster!" Lola says. She smiles at Audra. "I has spikes!"
"Bianca made her a tail," Drew says. He looks over at her and smiles. "It looks great."
"I has spikes!" Lola repeats. She clenches her fists at Audra. "And cwaws! Grrrrrr!"
Adam leans over to her. "Monster at the table!" he says. "Grrrr."
"Grrrr!" Lola shrieks.
"Don't wind her up," Audra warns.
Lola darts under the table again, popping up in front of Adam. "Grr!"
"No yelling inside, Lola," Bianca snaps. Her voice sounds angrier than she meant it to, and Lola shoots her a look that's a mix of wounded and defiant. It's so Drew it would make her laugh if she weren't so damn tired.
"It's okay, Mom," Adam says, but he's looking at Bianca. He puts his arms around Lola, pulling her into his lap.
Audra gives Adam a look, then turns back to Drew and Bianca. "I thought she didn't like Halloween."
Bianca shrugs. "Don't know what happened. She's been really psyched about it since the stores put up decorations last month. I'm taking her trick-or-treating at the high school. They have this little party for the kids, pass out candy."
Drew frowns. "I thought I was taking her."
Bianca raises her eyebrows. "Your exam's the next day."
"I can spare two hours to take her trick-or-treating," Drew argues.
"Bianca's right, Drew," his mother interrupts. "You should take the time to study."
Drew turns to her. "Seriously, Mom?"
"Drew," Bianca says, her voice low.
He ignores her, rounding on his mom. "It's her first real Halloween. I'm not gonna miss it. So please, back off."
"Hey," Adam says evenly, distracting Lola with a roll from the bread basket, "can we not start something right now, please?"
Audra's mouth tightens. Bianca takes a breath, wanting to smack her husband upside the head. Maybe she actually will. She clenches her jaw, waiting for the moment when her hand meets the back of his thick skull.
The waiter chooses that moment to come around and take their orders. Another person around their table causes Drew to deflate, though Audra still looks like she's gritting her teeth.
Drew turns to Bianca. "What's Lola getting?"
She sighs. "I don't know."
"Lola," he asks, "you want grilled cheese or a cheeseburger?"
"Just get her the grilled cheese," Bianca snaps.
Drew frowns. "I just asked her," he says, petulant.
"Girl cheese!" Lola says. "Girl cheese!"
Adam looks between the two of them. "I guess she knows what she wants," he says. His tone is light, like they're having small talk about the weather.
Drew just looks at her, then turns away. Bianca rolls her eyes and stares at her hands in her lap.
Audra looks at the two of them and takes another sip of wine.
"So," Adam asks after a beat, "anyone seen a good movie lately?"
The looks on all of their faces send him digging into what's left of their now-cold bread basket.
