Oops.
Standard disclaimers apply.
There's a tiny little flower growing through a crack in the sidewalk in front of their apartment building, and Katherine thinks it's the most magical thing in the world. Well — almost.
Of course, the little creature she's starting to feel inside her takes the prize for most extraordinary. Though she still hides it in public in the interest of keeping her job without a fight, the tiny bump growing at her waist secretly fills her with warmth. But the small plant is special too, breathing life in the form of soft yellow petals into the grimy New York June. The writer in her feels there's some sort of undeniable connection between the two.
She wants to capture it somehow, but she's not entirely sure what the best way would be. She can't exactly write a news article about vegetation sprouting through the cement. It's too bad she's never been any good at writing fiction — it's the sort of flower a princess or an elf maiden might be drawn to, she's sure. She debates pressing it in one of her dictionaries, but she quite can't bring herself to pluck it, either.
"It's just a dandelion, Ace," Jack says when she takes him to see it, grabbing his hand and dragging him away from his latest cartoon. His hair, unrestrained by a hat since he left it hanging on his easel, is blowing in the wind, and he squints through the sunlight. "It ain't exactly somethin' special."
"It absolutely is," she says emphatically. She kneels beside it, running a finger along the thin stem. "Look at where it decided to grow — right in front of our house. It's a miracle. It's a sign."
"Oh yeah?" Jack snorts, smearing charcoal on the back of his neck as he rubs it exasperatedly. "What exactly is it a sign about?"
"I haven't decided yet," she mutters, glowering in a way that makes him retreat hastily, muttering about crazy pregnant ladies. But she doesn't care that he slinks back inside to finish his drawing, shooting her one last funny look. She sits on the stoop and watches her tiny flower trembling in the breeze for the rest of the afternoon.
The day has been a horrible one since the moment she woke up with an awful stomachache, and it's only gotten worse. Her attempt at making breakfast results in a pile of burned, smoking toast and an omelet laced with eggshells. The sky darkens without warning halfway through her walk to work, the subsequent downpour catching her unprepared and without an umbrella. She arrives at work five minutes late, only to be informed that her increasingly obvious condition is becoming unprofessional, and that perhaps she should refrain from producing news stories with legitimate interviews until the child is born. This leads to her turning on her heel and stalking out of the office, muttering about writing society fluff from home.
She finds herself scowling down at her stomach as she trudges wearily back toward her apartment. All this baby has given her is unemployment and a backache. Sometimes she wonders why—
Don't be stupid, she tells herself. She wants this baby, this little mixture of her and Jack who will emerge in a few months as a concrete proof of their love. Of course, that doesn't make it any easier to walk. Or waddle, which is probably a far more accurate description of her current movements.
When she reaches her house, she drops her key on the ground, and as she bends over in an attempt to retrieve it around the bump, she realizes her little flower is gone.
The stem, brown and dead, lays flat against the groove in the sidewalk, its yellow petals nowhere to be seen. That realization is all it takes to push Katherine over the edge.
Overcome with a wave of negative emotion, she wants to sit down on the stoop and cry about everything — the frustration over her job, the helplessness of carrying an entire living being inside her everywhere she goes, the fact that Jack has to go away this evening to draw cartoons about some rally for steelworkers in Pittsburgh. The raindrops trickling down her face make it impossible to tell if there are tears escaping yet or not.
That's when the bleeding starts.
"Something's wrong," she tells Jack once she's managed to make her way up the stairs, and he takes one look at her and leaps to his feet. The next few moments — his yells for Davey to get the doctor, the way he gently lifts her off her feet and carries her to their bed — are a blur.
"The doctor's gonna be here soon," he tells her, and then he tells her again — at that point, she's sure he's reassuring himself. He falls silent, stroking her hand. It's as if he's afraid to touch her anywhere else.
She's afraid to move.
"Jack," she whispers suddenly, her face pale and tear-streaked. "This is my fault."
"It ain't your fault, Ace." He shakes his head, refuses to even consider a reality where she might be to blame for whatever might be going wrong right now. "You weren't far enough along for there to be any danger in working, you were eating healthy–"
"Jack — I wished I wasn't pregnant."
"What?" His head snaps around to face her, his eyes widening. She imagines a terrible accusation there, and struggles to find the words to defend herself.
"I was so upset about work, and the thought just entered my head, and I obviously didn't mean it and thought about how lucky I was right away, but—"
"Ace. Ace!" He takes his face between her hands, forces her to meet his gaze. There is nothing but tenderness in his eyes. "Listen to me, sweetheart. It's still not your fault."
"Jack—"
"I mean it. I can't imagine how frustrating this whole thing is for you."
She chuckles weakly, a wet, tear-filled sound. "It's worth it. I promise you."
He smiles down at her. "It will be. When the baby's born, healthy and beautiful like her mama."
She whispers a tiny prayer that this future is still a possibility.
But about your work," he continues, "they can't just fire you like that. Can they?"
She knows he's distracting her, but she takes the bait. "Legally?"
"Nah." He winks at her. "According to your rules."
She laughs outright, wincing as the movement jostles her stomach. Jack steadies her immediately, his hand enveloping hers over the bump that is their child.
Please, please let him be safe.
As if Jack can read her mind — at this point, she's not sure he can't — he presses a kiss to her head and pulls her close. "Everything is going to be fine."
She finds it hard to believe him somehow, but before she can tell him so, the door bursts open as the doctor enters and he is hustled away.
"You're gonna be fine. You're both gonna be fine."
"I know." Exhausted as she is, she can barely contain her grin. She must have thanked the doctor a hundred times.
"I told you."
"You were telling yourself."
"Well …" He grins sheepishly. "Maybe a little."
She gives a happy, albeit tired, little sigh and shifts slightly so he can lay down beside her. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and tucks his feet beneath hers, so she's partly on his lap. His free hand drops immediately to her stomach, as if it was drawn there by a magnet.
"She's okay."
"He's fine," she corrects, but there's no annoyance in her voice.
"Whatever you say, sweetheart," he says cautiously, giving her a sideways look to test if she's actually angry. She buries her face in his shoulder in surrender and he chuckles, before letting the quiet wash over them.
After hours of laying there in silence, just feeling the warmth of her stomach radiating through the sheet, he glances at the clock and gives a little groan. "Damn."
Her heart drops as she remembers his job. "Jack—"
"I am so sorry to do this, but I have to go. My train leaves in forty minutes and I'm gonna miss it if I don't run." Jack pushes himself up off the bed, grabs his hat from a pile of cloths on the floor, then leans over to give her a lingering kiss.
She breaks away. "Jack—"
"Mrs. Humphrey from next door is going to get you everything you need. Don't leave this bed, you hear me? You need a drink, you call for her. You have to go to the bathroom, you call her. Hell, you need to roll over? You call her."
"Jack!"
"What?"
"I don't want you to leave," she murmurs against his shoulder, trying to keep her voice from trembling. She fails.
"Aw, Ace." He sighs, running his hand up and down her back in a soothing pattern. "You want me to have them send someone else instead? I'll call the office. I ain't gonna leave you here if you're still not feelin' right."
"No," she sniffles, trying to hug him and push him away at the same time. It doesn't really work, and he ends up flopping back onto the bed beside her. "I don't want you to miss the rally, either."
He stares at her, half exasperated and half concerned, from his sideways position on the pillows. "So …"
"So go," she says, half laughing through her tears. "I'll be fine. Go save the world, Kelly."
He leans close to kiss her. "Keep my world safe while I'm gone, Mrs. Kelly," he murmurs in her ear, his lips ghosting across her skin longer than strictly necessary. And then he is gone, leaving her cheek tingling in his absence.
The feeling fades far too fast.
She follows the doctor's orders and remains on strict bedrest for the next two days. By the third she's going out of her mind with boredom, having reread every book on the shelf two times over. She decides a reasonable first step is to make her way to the kitchen on her own, to brew a cup of tea. Surely that will be fine. It would be silly to trouble her neighbor for such a trivial matter.
For some reason she becomes tired halfway there, around the middle of the hallway. She makes her way immediately to the sofa, terrified of something going wrong again and hating herself for being so constrained at the same time. But when she looks up the frustration drains away. Sitting on her typewriter, placed directly in the ray of sunshine streaming in through their window, is a detailed watercolor painting of her flower.
The baby kicks enthusiastically inside her, and she smiles. "Your daddy was thinking about us," she whispers softly.
And week later, when Jack returns to a healthy wife from a successful rally, she knows exactly what to tell him.
The little flower symbolizes hope.
Aaaaaaand ... I'm back! Reviews are confidence boosters!
Much love,
KnightNight
