A/N 1: I really don't have anything to say except I wanted to write this, so I wrote this. TeeHee.

A/N 2: All standard disclaimers apply. Un-betaed, so all mistakes are mine.

Edit: Thank you to the anon who pointed out silly mistakes arising due to my mind wandering off into some other world. I've corrected it, hope there aren't more.

The One Who Knows

"So many believe that it is love that grows, but it is the knowing that grows and love simply expands to contain it."

-Wm. Paul Young, The Shack

February 14, 2008

4:03 a.m.

Master Bedroom

You wake up for the sixth time that night and waddle ever so softly, across the carpeted floor, towards the bathroom, careful of every step. Your son seems to have taken up Andrea on her words and has decided to start soccer practice already, inevitably increasing the pressure on your bladder. You finish your business in the bathroom and tip toe back equally softly, careful not to wake Andrea up.

She's had long days these past few weeks, in office as well as at home and you've not been of much help, instead you've added to her list of things to worry about. You think she worries unnecessarily and pampers you a bit too much. The latter part you like, of course, but you will never admit it.

You can only see the outline of her figure in the pale moonlight filtering into your room and it falls in a slightly thicker shard towards the foot of your bed and you notice Andrea's feet peeping out from under the duvet. You cover them again, carefully, and make your way towards your side of the bed.

As you slip under the covers, Andrea shifts slightly and places her hand softly on the bump of your stomach and caresses it haphazardly, as if in a dream. You marvel how she can snore and do these wonderful little things all at the same time. You realize you marvel a lot these days. Mostly about her. About how she seems to accomplish everything within the blink of an eye. How she knows what you need and when you need it. How, she knows it all.

One

The first thing that you do every morning for the first four months of your pregnancy is to make your way to the bathroom and empty the meager contents of your stomach. It starts out a bit differently, the first two days, tops, when you rush to bathroom while Andrea struggles to do the right thing, to be of any help while you feel miserable.

It makes you wonder whether, after all, she's is a little too young for the whole deal.

When the bout of morning sickness hits you on the third day and you all but try to run to the washroom, you find a firm hand guiding you, slowly but swiftly towards the sink. You find the same hand softly pressing a damp cotton cloth on your neck while you heave. Then, she helps you up and traces the coolness over the rest of your face and offers you a peppermint. You suddenly find the bathroom smelling of fresh rosemary which seems to calm down your queasy stomach infinitely.

She does this for as long as your morning sickness lasts, every single morning, without fail. She doesn't offer any false platitudes or sympathetic "There, there"'s because she knows you detest that. She knows what you like and need and she is there to do just that. She doesn't let your foolish thoughts linger beyond those two initial days. She knows, afterall.

Two

You know that she knows. Nigel must've told her. Your aide de camps seem to be more like hers because she knows every single thing that you've been upto during the day, although she pretends, badly, that she's ignorant. So she's definitely heard about your fainting spell during the run-through and your refusal to eat lunch because she looks at you inscrutably at the dinner table which makes you uncomfortable enough to chew on your vegetables with much show. The twins eat their dinner oblivious to all this. A while later when she passes on the bowl of grilled chicken salad to you, you almost blurt out "Oh no, I'm full." but you make the mistake of looking into her eyes, and she's glaring, so you take the bowl and heap your plate with food, wordlessly and eat it.

You almost wish she confronts you about your fainting spell, so you can throw a tantrum and say "I didn't fall down and smack my head on the pavement that I'd decide to faint on purpose, I'm eating adequately." That would piss you off and raise your blood pressure which would eventually make her feel sorry for creating trouble. So she doesn't confront you, because she knows this.

You don't need an elevation in your blood pressure level so she exactly does that which'll keep it in control and not make you faint. She makes you eat with that one glare which she's probably learnt from you. You know that she can work you like no one else can. She knows you.

Three

You're in a horrid mood because it's the seventh skirt you've tried on since morning and it only just fits really snugly making the contours of your growing belly even more evident under it and you're already running fifteen minutes late which is catastrophic in your dictionary of late. You make your way towards the shoe closet and decide to wear the black Prada suede pumps from last season which will look absolutely fantastic with your outfit and the five inch heels will make you look taller which you associate with looking less fat and that makes you happy, considering how much you seemed to have increased in girth. The five inch part makes you angry too because you know you'll have the worst case of foot ache and swelling by evening. However, when you enter the closet you can't seem to find it in the place where you last left it. You notice something amiss, you can't really see any of your five or six inch heels, they all seem to have been replaced by two or three inch heels which have been there in the back of your closet since the twins were born. All of them are effortlessly stylish, but out of season and you immediately know whose work this might be and you want to kill her for placing all those six inch heels on the higher shelf where you can't reach them. You know she's done it on purpose and you know she's done the right thing but you're Miranda Prieslty, queen of fashion, editor extraordinaire and you have a reputation to maintain and lots of other things-and you think all this while slipping onto a two inch black Prada heels because some things are more important than vanity and Andrea has decided it's you and your baby's health that's more important. So you dare not cross her, because she knows. Someone whistles from behind as you examine yourself in the full length mirror, you turn back to see that menace of that girl wink at you. She comes closer, kisses you on the cheek and whispers "I knew you were smart. Have a good day." And then she vanishes into the bathroom singing some song, tunelessly, while you stand open-mouthed.

Four

It's on a Sunday afternoon that you realize that Andrea doesn't just know you but she knows your Bobbseys too. You're reclining on the spacious couch in the den with these special pillows that Andrea has bought for your back and feet and you haven't felt this good in a while. You can hardly look at your newly manicured feet (courtesy Andrea) because of 'Spock', the name given to your baby bump ever since you said that it was the only character you knew from Star Trek, something that Andrea and your girls seem to be obsessed with. You have your eyes closed and pretend to not pay attention to whatever is going on next to you on the carpeted floor. Andrea is sitting near you on the floor and the girls are on the opposite side and they're playing a game of UNO or whatever it's called and chatting softly in between turns. They're talking about some trash that all three of them love watching on tv, you have tried to make them see sense and prevent them from watching it but Andrea deems it 'harmless' so you've made your peace with that.

Then before you know it they're talking about school-crushes, frenemies, algebra, choir practice and what not and you can hardly keep up with how much they have to share. Andrea, of course doesn't have a problem keeping up as she asks appropriate questions without missing a beat. You wonder how she knows about all the frills in your daughters' lives. You wonder when you divided tasks: you look after their homework and eating habits and she looks after everything else, like she's doing now. And all you can hear is laughter and jokes and it fills your heart with something warm, something you've never felt in a very very long time. You marvel at how she has not only swept you off your feet but also enraptured your children.

Five

You wipe your clammy hands on your expensive skirt into which you've only just changed after wearing that horrid paper gown while Dr. Abbassac conducted all those sordid tests on body, as you walk into the sitting area of the chamber where Andrea has been waiting. You look up into her face and she looks back with an unwavering smile which immediately calms all those silly nerves and foolish thoughts about you know what. You take the empty seat next to Andrea and she more than eagerly grasps at your hand and squeezes it gently. Her cool softness feels wonderful against your clamminess and you look at her again and see her smiling in the same way.
Susan enters with a small Polaroid like picture and hands it to Andrea and says 'You're welcome!'. You realize it's the ultrasound image and smirk; Andrea is staring at it incredulously and then she looks at you with the widest grin on her face and back to the sonogram and then at Susan.

Susan smiles and says something about everything being as she would want it and that puts you at ease. Andrea is still grinning like an idiot. Then Susan asks if we have any questions and you of course shake your head in the negative because you have none, either because you're content knowing everything is alright or you have what they'd call a case of 'pregnancy brain'. You'd think it's the latter because lately there have been too many occasions when 'Andy the saviour' as she happily calls herself has come to your rescue and prevented you from doing something stupid.

You don't have any questions, no, but Andrea does. She pulls out a pink sheet of paper from her hand-bag and starts reading out the questions in her messy handwriting; some of them have been highlighted even. The list goes on and on as Susan answers patiently and Andrea jots down points while chewing the pen's cap. Some things never change. Midway, you zone out and think of other warm fuzzy things-like colours for the nursery, baby boy names, baby clothes, whether to teach him music or horse-riding—and then you hear Andrea say something about what kind of music the baby should listen to and which brand of almond oil to use to prevent stretch-marks. Oh. You wonder how she even comes up with these. She knows it all.

She is grinning even when you get back home. She grins all day long and does all the things she knows how to do, effortlessly.

She stirs in her sleep again and murmurs something about "bibs" and caresses your baby bump again. You smile unconsciously and finally feel sleep coming on. You decide to look at the time on your phone and it's already 4:34 a.m. The date reads 14th February. The date isn't anything special to you, it never has been. You have to go to work in the morning and so does Andrea. And that's that.

You wonder if she has anything special planned; and suddenly a shiver runs through your body and fills you with terror. What if she has planned something special and expects the same from you, what if you let her down, what if she leaves you? What if? -But then, she kisses your cheek in her half sleepy state and like that, just like that the terror flees-no, Andrea never expects anything, she gives unconditionally and loves you to the moon and back. So do you. On some days you're certain, you love her more than she loves you. So you need to keep her and you need to up your game, so that you know too. Know everything just the way Andrea does.

Valentine's Day does mean something to you afterall, because you make a promise as dawn breaks, that you'll be ever grateful for all that she does and you'll know her like she knows you. Andrea is the sunshine that makes your garden-your girls and this bundle of joy growing in you—glow in full bloom and no, no, you can't afford to lose that sunshine.

Do I ever end an update without mentioning how much I love reviews?! Leave me some! :))