This Moment, And Forever
"I'm home!" His familiar voice rings through the hallway. "And check this out, Mom sent another package."
Donna groans and lifts herself off the couch, where she's been settling down very nicely with Mrs. Santos' schedule for next week and the newest Grey's Anatomy in the background, and walks to meet her husband in the doorway. She nearly dissolves into giggles when she sees him carrying a huge cardboard parcel, a bag of groceries perched precariously on top of it, with a stack of briefing memos teetering out of his backpack. Raising an eyebrow, she grins, "You need a hand there?"
"I'm fine," Josh declares and walks –more like balances- his way into the kitchen, where he gently puts down the box, which causes half of the groceries to spill all over the floor.
"Josh!" She admonishes gently, bending over.
"I got it, I got it," he calls, crouching down beside her and gathering the vegetables in his arms, pages of memos now littering the tiled floor like leaves in fall. "You sit down. How are you? Are you tired?"
"Josh," she sighs, "I'm pregnant. I haven't been decapitated."
"Yeah, yeah, I know."
"I'm serious, Josh, you keep treating me like an invalid. I'm fine."
"Oh, what, do you mind that I'm being a good and concerned husband?"
"I didn't say that."
"Yeah, except you did, which I'm going to interpret to mean that the hormonal confusion you're undoubtedly feeling has left you befuddled and-"
"Shut up, would you? And I'm not in hormonal confusion."
"'Course you're not." He leans over and kisses her. "And how," he adds, addressing the bulge of her sweater, "are you?"
Another affectionate groan. "She's been kicking all day, she's driving me crazy."
"Daddy's girl, huh?"
"Definitely."
A comfortable silence spreads as she joins him in putting away the groceries, finally unearthing the big brown package, addressed to both of them in familiar handwriting. She smiles to herself. Josh's mother, overjoyed to be finally facing the prospect of grandchildren, has been for weeks sending them packages of brand-new baby ware, along with nursery decorating tips cut out Martha Steward Living. She doesn't mind- Boca is too far away for Josh's mom to become overbearing anytime soon, and since she's still at work all day, she hasn't exactly been up for too much shopping afterwards. Eagerly she tears open the scotch-tape bound package, and finds the usual note in her mother-in-law's loopy handwriting.
Hi you two (three, actually!)
I hope I'm not getting on your nerves yet, but I saw these and just couldn't resist! I also went through some boxes and found some of Josh's old baby clothes and… well, have a look. I hope you enjoy the clothes.
Lots of Love,
Ruth
She hands the note on to Josh and starts pulling out the neatly folded baby clothes, squealing with delight at every one of them. "Ooh, look at this, this is so cute!" She holds up a tiny demin skirt for Josh to see, who joins her. At the bottom of the package, they find two equal Ziplock bags tucked next to each other. She pulls out one and opens it, to find a faded photograph- a friendly looking, dimple-smiled man holding a tiny baby in a light blue romper- and the exact same romper. Light blue, hand-crocheted cotton with darker blue linings and a loopy J embroidered onto the front.
"Josh," she whispers, delighted, "look, it's you! With…with your dad. This was yours, wasn't it? Wow… I can't believe she sent this to us…" With a grin, she holds the tiny suit at arms length. "Joshua Lyman, I cannot believe you were this tiny once." It's only now that she notices that Josh has frozen beside her, halfway in bending over the other baggie, his eyes clouded and darting from the suit in her hands to the paleish pink content of the bag. "Josh? Josh are you…"
She watches him slowly, gently, lift the bag out of the package and open it. She watches as, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls out an identical romper suit, with the same, loopy J embroidered on it, except this one is pale pink, with magenta linings. Josh wordlessly takes her hand, steadying himself as he examines the two photographs in his hand. One, his father, holding a different baby, wearing the pink suit. Another, a curly-headed girl of about six or seven holding the tiny baby from the first picture, the tiny boy in the blue romper suit. He gasps and, leaning against the counter, sinks unto the kitchen floor, holding the suit in his hand, staring at the picture. He buries his head in his hands and she sees his body being shaken by a dry sob.
And it all makes sense, the photographs, the J, the pink romper. She hoists herself into a sitting position on the floor next to him and runs her hands through his hair. "Joanie?" It's not really a question.
Josh nods and looks up at her with that familiar, haunted look in his eyes, and it occurs to her, once again, that this man is truly carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. They've hardly ever talked about Joanie, the first of his tragedies. He first told her during their very first campaign, when, a few weeks after the Illinois primary, a fire in suburban Pennsylvania caught more of his attention than was strictly permissible for someone running a national presidential campaign. They grazed the topic a few times after that, but she knows that Joanie is pretty high on the long list of Things Josh Doesn't Talk About.
Sighing, she does what she does, she does the thing that makes her Donna. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't ask questions. She pulls him close and comforts him until his hands stop shaking and his breathing goes normal again.
"A friend of my grandmothers, Mrs. Rubinstein, made these for us. We both got one- I wore mine at my brit milah, I think, yeah. That's when that picture," he points at the photograph in his hand, "was taken. Joanie… Joanie loved that dress, she got it specially for then, and she used to wear it when we were playing dress up. Even whet it got way to small for her, she still wanted to wear it, 'cause she said it made her look like a proper princess. She's ask Mom if I could have another brit milah, so she could get another dress like that one." He rubs his temple, buries his head in her shoulder. "I still miss her." He says, simply. "It's been, what, thirty years since…but I still miss her. I miss the way she used to laugh and tease me and hum Beethoven under her breath. How ridiculous is that?"
"It's not ridiculous" she says, her voice caught and constricted. "Do you hear me?" Kissing his clenched knuckles urgently. "It's not."
He cocks his head, looking at her, then at the suit still in his hand. "She would've liked you."
She smiles. "Yeah?"
He nods. "She would've liked that you don't let me get away with stuff."
She can't help but laugh a little. She moves forward a little and leans over, cautiously touching the tiny pink suit, tracing the "J" with her fingers. She glances at him, uncertainly. "I think your Mom wants us it pass it along."
"Yeah?"
She nods, treading cautiously. "Babygirl could wear it at her Brit Bat, right?"
He laughs softly. "Brit Bat? You been secretly reading the Torah?"
"Wikipedia," she shrugs.
"God, Donna, what would I do without you?"
"I shudder to think."
It's his turn to give a shaky laugh, then he joins her fingers, still tracing the embroidered J on the pink romper. "What about that, then?" He askes, softly.
She takes a deep breath. They've yet to talk about names, but she's thought about it, of course, and… "Josie," she says, simply.
"Josie?"
"It's the closest to a female version of Josiah I could think of," she explains simply. When Jed Bartlet passed away two months ago, it was like both of them had lost a father. After a pause, she adds, "And it's got a J."
"It has," he smiles. "Josie. I like it."
"You do?"
"It's got a ring to it. Josie Lyman." He swallows. It really does almost sound like Joanie. He kisses Donna, then bends down and places a big wet kiss on her stomach. "You hear that, Missy? You've got a name." The baby affirmatively kicks, so forcefully that Donna winches. Josh tried and fails to hide a smirk, which earns him a swat on the hand. They sit in comfortable silence for awhile, side by side, fingers interlaced between the tiny pink suit he's still holding.
"What about Leo?" Josh asks after awhile, and, as usual, she knows exactly what he means.
"I thought about that," she says. "But you can't do it all at once. There's always next time, though, right?"
"Is there?" He asks, with a huge grin.
"There is." She cuddles against him and he gently runs his hands through her hair, and she marvels again, at the ease of it all. How, amidst baby names and resurfacing traumas, they've never ceased being Josh and Donna.
"You know what," Josh breaks the silence again, "if it really is Josie… we should ask Joey to be godmother."
"Joey Lucas?"
"Yeah. 'Cause her name's Josephine, right, but also 'cause…she was the first one who ever saw through you, remember?"
"Do I?"
"I've never told you?!"
"I believe you've never told me…what?"
"This was…during the first term, remember during that stupid blackout during the State of the Union, when you were still trying to get me to ask her out?" She nods, blushing, and he continues: "I was freaking out all over her because of some poll numbers, and she 's trying to explain to me that sometimes numbers aren't as obvious as they seem, and she said to me: 'If you polled a hundred Donnas and asked them if they think we should go out, you'd get a high positive response. But the poll wouldn't tell you that it's because she likes you and she knows it's beginning to show and she needs to cover herself with misdirection.' "
"She said that?!"
"She did."
"What did you say?"
"I told her she was wrong… but I never forgot it either."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"She's one smart woman."
"She is."
"She really said that to you?!"
"She really said that to me." Pause. "Donna? Was she wrong, at the time?"
She bursts out laughing. "How long, exactly, have you been wondering that?"
"Something like eight years, I guess."
"You know what? Keep wondering." She leans over and kisses him. "But you're right. She'd make a good godmother. Come on, I'm starving, let's order dinner. And call your mom."
He scrambles to his feet and helps her heave herself up. "Donna?"
"Yeah?"
"I love you."