Reba's life seemed to be flashing by her, but she didn't want to know what it was coming to. The minute she had found out that her marriage was over, she had lived outwardly by the phrase: "My lawyer will do the talking". Anyway, she had enough to do without paying any attention to Brock outwardly, what with Cheyenne being pregnant and a new son-in-law. Secretly, she was very excited that she would have a grandchild in just a few short months.

But inwardly, she couldn't avoid talking to Brock entirely. Not long ago, he had started calling her, usually late at night. She was so determined to act like she wasn't sore that she picked up the phone each and every time, and before she knew it, had talked to him for an hour or more each night. Reba knew she couldn't help it, though; during the separation, what she missed the most was…their friendship; the friendship that she had fallen in love with. She thought he felt it as strongly, too, but, well, what else hadn't he proved wrong, anyway?

Even more secretly, she couldn't see herself ever getting over him. Where to start? Lori-Ann had assured her "Oh, this divorce will be such a drag and just so annoying you'll be glad it's over." But that hadn't really soothed her burns she insisted weren't there.

The first night, she had picked up the phone in a mood. Recognizing the number she'd muttered, "What?"

Brock's voice was quiet. "Did I wake you up? I'm sorry."

"No, Brock. I'm plenty awake. What do you want?"

"Um…" he paused. "Is this a bad time?" She sighed; he noticed. "Okay, look, I know it's stupid for me to be calling you like this, okay? But…" now he sighed, and she just knew he was running his fingers through his bronze, wavy hair. She could almost smell his aftershave on his face being blown off by his breath. It distracted her from saying something smart while he paused. "Um, Reba, how mad are you at me?"

Ha! That was a good one – like she'd discuss her feelings with Brock now. She hated to talk about them; it was hard enough to be on anti-depressants right now. She just felt so…weak. But anger would be one sure way to cover up…nah, he'd know she was hurt and that just might give him satisfaction. So she settled for, "That doesn't matter, Brock. Not anymore. Maybe if you'd cared a few months ago…but not anymore. Now I'm just the ex-wife-to-be. How am I supposed to feel, happy?"

"I hope…you can be. Someday, because Reba…you can't know how terrible I feel," he said, his voice breaking. "And I want you to know something…as crazy as it sounds…I…miss you." She knew he could've used a thousand words besides 'miss' but that right now, when their divorce would be final so soon, everything they said had to be thought out carefully, should it be taken wrong.

Now her voice broke; she hated this…this hell they called divorce. "I miss you, too." She meant it. And she meant all those other words that could be substituted: Love, smile over, want, cry over, need, etc.

"You know…I actually called tonight because this was my favorite part of the day: Talking to you at night, alone. This is what I miss the most." Now his tone was lighter, full of nostalgia.

"Looks like we still have a lot in common," she said, giving a small chuckle. It was hard not to want to lighten the mood with him.

"Nothing will be the same again, will it?" Brock whispered, more to himself. This kept hitting him, over and over, never losing any pain in its impact. He kept slipping out of reality, then being dragged back…over a bed of razors.

"No," Reba agreed. "I…really can't believe its…over." Or that it can be so over for you…when it never will be for me.

Suddenly they each heard a faint cry coming from Brocks end. She knew it must be BJ whining about something or other and suddenly her brick wall was being built up again. "Goodnight, Brock."

"Wait!" She sighed as he stalled her. "Call you tomorrow night?"

"Brock…"

"Please, Reba." She could hear the desperation in his voice that matched her own – the need to talk to someone who you saw as your soulmate. Ugh, mush. Why did it all have to be true?

"Okay, fine. Now goodnight!" she hung up.

From that night on, they had just called each other up and talked. Talked about the kids, about whose lawyer was more annoying, but always Reba would change the tone if it got to reminiscent. She couldn't handle being so fragile; she was still mad at herself for letting all that slip the first night.

She still hadn't seen Brock, and had told him to stay away from her, in not much friendlier terms than that. She didn't feel herself, she didn't even know if she looked herself. But she was sure Lori-Ann would tell her if she even had a hair out of place, so it didn't bother her too much. But she had no idea what emotions would come seeping through – no, flooding over the walls she'd built, if she saw Brock.

About a month after those phone calls, when the divorce was final and all seemed normal, Van had to ask her that stupid question:

"Will you be my Mommy?" Cheyenne had just bailed out on him; she had a 'Take-home-test-paper' she had to do, and consequently was missing childbirth class.

Reba stared stonily at her son-in-law. "Van. No."

"Please…?" he begged, staring into her eyes with his brown ones, almost screaming 'puppy-dog'. She caved; he made it tough to say no.

"Okay…but I don't even look like a pregnant woman…do I?" Vans eyes lit up.

"Oh, I can take care of that!" he ran upstairs and within seconds was down with a pregnancy pad, complete with one of Cheyenne's maternity dresses. Reba stared at it dully. "Van, no! Where'd you even get that?" she repeated her earlier statement.

"School gave it to me to see what its like being pregnant. Believe me, its hard. Now back to the point - You have to wear this! Otherwise I'll just look like a paranoid guy who thinks he knocked up some lady," he begged, giving her the puppy dog eyes again. Reba sighed, grabbed the get-up and headed for the bathroom. When she finally came out, she looked like one, unhappy, pregnant red-head.

"Smile, Mrs. H! C'mon, I don't wanna be late" Van said, squeezing her shoulder and helping her outside. She slapped him away, reminding him that she had been pregnant three times and a bunch of cushioning under a dress wasn't going to send her 'hee-hee-hee-hoo-ing'.

Once in the class, the instructor did a double take when she saw Reba. "Didn't you have a different Mommy last time?" she asked, curious. Before anyone could explain, Reba was bumped from behind and a familiar voice said, "Excuse me – Reba?"

She turned, exclaiming, "What are you doing here?"

Brock looked like he was wondering the same thing, but his eyes were glued to Reba's belly. His eyes bulged, and he pointed, chocking, "Reba...preg…mine?" he squeaked. Before Reba could do more than blush, however, Van came back over.

"Go find your own Mommy!" And he steered Reba away from Brock, now under an even worse impression.

"Oh this is great," Reba muttered, sitting on the mat.

"Yes, it is. Now BJ isn't here, he wants you to be his Mommy!" Van agreed. "Where is BJ, anyway?"

"How should I know? Just go get the plastic baby, Van."

Meanwhile, Brock was talking to the instructor. Reba tried not to listen, but she couldn't drown out his very anxious voice. "Hey, is a Barbra Jean Booker here?"

Reba's head jerked up. Why Booker? Hadn't they registered her as 'Hart'? Thats the way they did everything now - the bills, the checks, etc. even though they weren't married yet. For some reason, and to Rebas displeasure, it kept getting postponed.

"No, she isn't – she called and said she wouldn't be coming today." The instructor's voice was full of surprise. Reba couldn't resist; she looked up to see Brock. He looked extremely worried as he said, "Thank you…" and left, casting Reba one last suspicious glance.

For the first time, Reba dreaded the phone call that would come that night. The first time seeing each other in months, and she got to look pregnant with his child. Craap.