Jordan sits silently in the passenger seat of her car, almost shell shocked, her mouth hanging agape.
"That was…" TC starts, squinting to find the right words, one hand on the wheel, glancing over at Jordan.
"Awful," she finishes for him, shaking her head.
He gives out a laugh.
"Yeah, that was pretty bad," he says with a grimace.
"I mean, I don't think I've…ours won't be like that, right?" She asks, panic tinging her voice, as her head whips to his direction. As if the thought had just crossed her mind that that could be her every day life.
"No," he assures her, reaching for her hand across the console. "No…our kid…well, there will only be one, so that'll help I'm sure," he says with a grin.
"I mean I've heard of the terrible twos, but they're not even two, it's gonna get worse than that…" she trails off, her free hand coming to her slightly rounded stomach.
The news of their impending parenthood had struck them in ways they were still comprehending. A chronic worry that seemed to swirl around in her mind, each day presenting new and un-thought-of fears that suddenly came screaming into focus.
She'd jumped at the opportunity to watch Topher's twins, giving the parents a much needed night off.
They should've known by the sly grin, and the way Topher's wife had pushed him out of the door with urgency, that they were in over their heads. Perhaps twins had not the best way to dip their toes into the parenting pool, instead having jumped into the deep end without a life vest. The two of them struggling through the night, having to scream to each other over the cries.
"Jor—" TC starts, and then cuts himself off with a laugh. He untangles his hand from her own to reach into her hair, dried oatmeal cemented into her brown locks.
"How…how does that even happen!?" She asks, throwing her head back against the headrest.
"It's okay—"
"We're gonna be terrible parents. Our kid will be out of control, and we'll never sleep again, and you'll still be riding that bike," she rattles off, her stress level rising as the reasons keep piling up.
"Woah, hey, what does my bike have to do with it?" He says with a scoff.
"You're still riding it, are you not?" A glare shot right at him.
He closes his mouth, biting back a smile at her irritation.
Just when the silence seems to have engulfed them both, they pull into parking lot of his apartment, turning the car off. The heat of the night quickly making its way into the car without the air conditioner on.
Her tears now illuminated by the lights, her cheeks glistening with the fear of the unknown.
"I can't do this by myself," she whispers through silent sobs.
And there it is, the one fear that had been strangling her since the moment she'd found out she was pregnant, multiplied when he'd taken off to help Topher across the globe, waking up in a hospital bed, alone. It's the same fear she found scratching at the back of her throat every single time he rode that bike of his.
She needed him. And she lived with the very real fear that him being there would become an impossibility.
"Hey," he says, placing both of his hands on her cheeks, leaning her towards him, awkwardly situated across the car. "I can't promise you that I'll always be there," he starts.
And the car echoes with her sob, the tears traveling down into his hand, soaking up her fear, and taking it on as his own. The wrack of her body with her cries, shaking them both.
"You're not doing a very good job—" she sniffles, "at easing my mind."
"But…" he says with a tilt of his head, leaning it against her forehead. "I can promise that I will always try my best to be here," he finishes.
Her hands coming to settle in his hair.
"Was that better?" He teases, the sincerity of his words still present even through his joke.
"Yeah," she admits, her cries settling.
"You smell like baby oatmeal," he whispers against her, causing her to laugh against him.
"You better get used to that," she warns.
"We're gonna be okay," he says. "And if not, well, Topher owes us one."
"He definitely does after tonight," she says with a smile.
TC places his hand on her little stomach, and they both stare down at the gesture, the promise he'd made hanging in the air between them.