Who said fate doesn't knock twice?

Summary: A very different abortion storyline.

Disclaimer: I'll return them all ready for season one so quit bugging me!

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Hey, sorry for the delay. I have too much work to fit into a term and really didn't know what was happening in this chapter until I began writing! It also involved a bit of research! I'm not sure I'm exactly happy with it but see what you think!

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Advent

We hadn't had to set off early for the roadtrip so were spared Seth's moaning en route and he was in a refreshingly good mood when we arrived at our destination. I was relieved not to have to deal with a crotchety teenager when I felt decidedly that way myself.

'Long Beach?' he asked in surprise as Sandy parked up in a town just along the coast. 'Really going into the wild huh dad?' he teased and we laughed, knowing full well that the days of hiking in the National Parks, although fondly remembered, had caused much grumbling from our unathletic son.

'You'll see,' was his father's reply as he took my hand. We head off towards the centre and I tried not to react awkwardly as Sandy's warm hand encased my cool one. I couldn't figure out the right pressure, get our interlinked fingers comfortable and my palm felt damp. I felt silly. I hadn't been this self-conscious and analysed every movement since the first time he took my hand, on the way to the coffee shop. And even then, in the midst of my surprise and nervousness, I found how well our hands fit together. We'd drifted over the past few years, I knew that, but our love had not. Yes it had changed, grown, but it was still there. We couldn't have drifted so far we didn't fit together anymore. It was just my current situation. The fact there was this chasm between us. A chasm of my own making of which Sandy was unaware. Because I was keeping it from him. Protecting him? I don't think that excuse fit really.

'Honey?'

I felt a tug on my arm and realised I'd continued walking in my reverie when the rest of my family had stopped. Both pairs of eyes were on me, anxious blue and brown making me feel terrible. There we were meant to be having a family day out and I was miles away. I smiled quickly, masking the emotions that were no doubt swimming in my eyes, if Sandy's close scrutiny was anything to go by.

'Are we here?'

Sandy nodded and Seth gestured at the banner overhead.

'Can you believe Dad found a Jewish market in California, in Orange County! I thought we were the only ones!'

He looked genuinely excited and Sandy chuckled. 'Took some research I tell you.'

I'd known of the Long Beach Christmas markets but had had no idea that they also included stalls for Hanukah. For that weekend and the next there would be all kinds of Jewish games, items, foods and activities alongside the usual Christmas crafts.

'Very impressive,' I told him as we neared the mass of stalls and tents in Long Beach's central plaza.

'I thought we could all have a little education in Judaism seeing as it is Hanukah. But there's all the Christmas stuff in case our little gentile gets bored.'

He was teasing but it accentuated the feelings of being the odd one out that I'd been struggling with. I wanted to point out that Seth was only partly Jewish, that he was officially gentile because I hadn't converted. But being part Jew is important to Seth and it would probably hurt him more than Sandy. And it's not as though I had a proper faith I wanted to share with my son. I shouldn't have been jealous of the father-son bonding. But I was.

'I'm sure it'll be fun for all of us,' I said more confidently than I felt, already dreading the boys bursting into Jewish songs, the tunes and words of which I didn't know.

'You okay?' Sandy asked quietly as we followed Seth into the market and I nodded. It wasn't a lie. I hadn't even felt sick that morning.

We wandered slowly around the little streets made by the stalls admiring the various handicrafts and product but I was distracted by my thoughts once again. I couldn't help imagining the scene with another child; a baby and having to navigate a pram amidst the crowds on a higgledy-piggledy path. Dealing with a small child tugging on your arm, getting tired and sticky, wanting to be carried, perhaps getting lost. The thoughts scared me for a variety of reasons and I tried to focus on what was around me, not the images in my head. At the stall the boys had paused at there were a few tables of boxes of old books and I began to flick through happily, only to discover most of them were in Hebrew. To top it off Seth and Sandy had begun coming out with random words of the language, vainly trying to remember scraps of the Torah and passages from their Bar Mitzvahs. They looked happy, joking around, but I couldn't help feeling a little awkward. Thankfully I discovered a part of the market filled with antiques, hand-made jewellery and art. Some shop owners had spread their wares out to join the market and I found tables of paintings and sculptures amidst the Advent merchandise. It reminded me of a certain area of Sorselido with all its little shops, studios and galleries. The little streets would be crowded with boxes and easels, paintings tied to shutters and propped up against walls, strange sculptures sat haphazardly on the cobbles, handicrafts hanging from doorframes. It was a long time since I had smelt paint and canvas, since I'd thought about the street and the dreams I'd had for a little gallery on it. Such a long time. I wasn't the same person any more and I felt like an impostor as I admired and enjoyed the art on display. I'd given it all up. I'd done it for the right reasons; for my family, but I had the feeling I'd given up too much. After my mother died and my father got back on his feet I hadn't gone back to my life. I found new ambitions instead. I wondered how the rebellious eighteen year-old with a love of art and a place at Berkeley had ended up doing everything her father wanted, being at his beck and call with barely a question twenty-four seven. I wondered what she'd think of me.

I perused the arty section while Seth and Sandy played a game with a massive foam dreidel, ate the chocolate coins they were supposed to be gambling with and began, as predicted, a surprisingly tuneful attempt at 'Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel'. Luckily the coins ran out midway through 'I Have A Little Dreidel' and we moved on. In the more educational section there were big displays about Hanukah and other Jewish festivals, and, what Sandy was most excited about; a place where you could make your own Hanukah candles. We joined the one o'clock session which began with a demonstration and then we attempted the process ourselves. I had the easy job as I offered to make only two candles for the menorah whilst Seth and Sandy made three each. This meant I could spend a little longer getting them right and making them pretty. Or perhaps it was just my meticulous nature which made them turn out okay and meant my table, clothes and hair weren't covered in wax by the time I'd finished! It was good fun; I missed being creative. I was so used to pouring over other people's sketches and technical drawings, to number-crunching and negotiating that I'd forgotten what it was like to make something yourself. It felt good.

There were several high tables set out in lines beneath an awning. At intervals there were small sinks attached to hoses and primus stoves so each candle-maker had a workstation. First we chose and oiled eight identical moulds which would make candles the right size for our menorah. Then we selected wax and the uniformity ended. Seth chose bright, bold colours, attempting to swirl together different coloured wax in the hope of ending up with marbled candles. Sandy went for extremes of simplicity and difficulty creating a pure white candle and two rainbow ones with circles of colours like one of those traffic light lollypops. As always, I had to make things a little difficult and experimented with perfuming my wicks and adding dried flowers to the melted wax to make a rose candle and a lavender one. To make the candles a pot of water was heated on the stove and the wax was melted in a can within this. I added half a white and half a pale yellow crayon to colour the wax to a soft cream colour before separating it and adding rose petals to half and lavender to the other. My wicks I dabbed with scented oils before encasing in wax and hanging up to dry straight. Once the candle wax was fully melted and mixed we poured it into the cardboard tubes and carefully inserted the wicks. They were then labeled Cohen and we left them to cool while we checked out the food hall section of the market. Seth loves anything that hasn't been cooked by me and Sandy excitedly reminisced about treats he hadn't had for years whereas the scent of all the fried food made me a little nauseous. They wandered around sampling everything and piling paper plates with every kind of fritter and latke, sweet or sour, cheeses, brisket, blintzes, loukoumades and sufganiyot. (In other words fritters, potato pancakes, pancakes, yeast-dough honey puffs and doughnuts.) I trailed behind them, shaking my head at even the smallest doughball or pretzel, frightened my stomach would revolt and I'd ruin the day. We sat at a picnic bench and I half listened to Sandy holding forth about the superiority of his mother's brisket as I people watched and tried to figure out how many other gentiles were here. Once the boys had licked the last of the oil and sugar from their fingers we moseyed about the Christmas section, Seth earnestly discussing how the areas could be better combined to create the perfect 'Christmukkah' market. Sometimes I wonder where he came from. His imagination is definitely something special. I'm a very lucky mother.
We then went to collect our menorah candles which, although they were not fully set yet, were hardened enough to be packaged up so we could take them home. Seth wanted to carry them but he has an awful tendency to swing bags without any thought for the contents so Sandy claimed it whilst I distracted my son with the prospect of ice-cream, which he agreed to despite having declared himself 'stuffed' half an hour earlier. Sometimes teenagers aren't that different to little kids. Sometimes husbands aren't either, Sandy deciding to have one too! I didn't, still not feeling quite up to any food and I couldn't exactly dig out the saltine crackers I'd brought. The boys happy, we walked towards the beach and down onto the sand. Long Beach is a proper port so the sands are nothing like as long and golden as those at home but it was a while since I'd been to the beach so I didn't really notice. Sandy did however, even saying something that sounded like he maybe even quite liked Newport. We walked along the beach until it began to get dark and Seth mumbled about it being past dinner time. 'You can't be hungry,' I said to him. 'An hour ago you were full.' 'It was nearly two hours,' he corrected, 'and I'm a growing boy.' Sandy smiled and gestured to the pier up ahead, 'No doubt we'll find somewhere along there.'
And so we found ourselves in a diner on the pier. It wasn't full of the teenagers I expected but a random mix of people; an old couple, a group of twenty-somethings, a young family; the parents trying, and failing, to feed a squawking toddler. The scene tired me out from just watching. I couldn't really imagine Sandy and I doing that again.
'You must be hungry,' he said and I nodded even though I wasn't, just to prevent worry or suspicion, or both. The boys both had burgers whilst I stole Sandy's chips and made up for missing out on ice-cream earlier by ordering a sundae. They laughed at my appetite for sweet things as I devoured it but I was the only one thinking about cravings. Great way not to arouse suspicion Kirsten.

I fell asleep on the way home. It was a relief to escape the circling crows in my head if only for a little while and I wished for once that we'd gone further afield this year. Long Beach was only a forty minute drive, taking about an hour in the Thanksgiving traffic, and the respite was short lived. Tomorrow I had to make up my mind. Hanukah had already begun, tomorrow it would be December; Christmas and the New Year would come all too fast. It was eight weeks. I had to decide. I had to tell Sandy. Or not. I had to choose between keeping a baby or the biggest, most deceitful and most devastating secret.
It shouldn't be a choice; I shouldn't keep anything from my husband, never mind this. His own child. But this wasn't just about Sandy was it? This was about me. My life, my child, my body. My fears, my insecurities, my nightmare. And yes, perhaps my selfishness also. I was too busy. Too set in my life and my work. There was a big job on that had to be done by Christmas and the New Year and the spring were always hectic. I was run down as it was. I was too busy. Too busy to think about having a baby, never mind actually raising a child. Too busy to take the time off work for my family.
Too busy to even schedule an…The little voice in my head added.
Too busy to even talk to your husband.

I thought of the things I'd kept from him over the years. There wasn't much. The odd glass of merlot I'd rounded down, some things about Jimmy, the way I felt about Newport and the sacrifices he'd made; those thoughts too complicated to express in the way I wanted him to hear them.

There was nothing huge. Nothing so potentially catastrophic.

I really didn't know what to do. Did I tell him and risk everything? He would never understand. Never. He would be so angry. He'd convince me otherwise and I didn't want to be convinced. I had so many doubts.

But how could I live with myself doing it, keeping it a secret? What about afterwards. What if I couldn't bear it? What if I slipped? What if I told?
What if he found out?

No. How could he? No one knew.

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Sorry for the delay but this is now over 2500 words so perhaps it is worth it. Please leave me a review if you think so!

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