I promised to leave if you ever went cold.
Then leave when I'm sleeping, you told me.
Put your spine in your back and your arms in your coat.
Don't hold on to me when there's nothing to hold.

- The National, "Cold Girl Fever"


He's been putting this off for four days now, but Mom's been getting increasingly impatient about her guest list for Christmas. And it's not like he can avoid her - he's stuck in his parents' house like an overgrown adolescent until his subletter finally leaves his own apartment.

This has all translated into a lot of late-night bar runs with Marc and those guys, and a lot of sleeping in, and a fair amount of hangovers, and also a fair amount of trying to avoid his parents. Dad's not exactly difficult to miss; when he's not at work he's in his den, or possibly at an AA meeting. (Of all the fucking things Jack never thought he'd see in his lifetime, Dad at an AA meeting would probably rank somewhere up near the level of "unicorn.")

Mom, though. She is always home. A book club brunch last Sunday, but other than that she's been sitting at the center island, stinking up their newly renovated kitchen with cigarette smoke and going though cookbooks for Christmas day appetizers. And sales circulars for baby gear.
Jesus.

The phone rings for long enough that Jack starts hoping maybe it'll go to her answering machine, but when Juliet picks up, she sounds like she's been laughing, and Jack relaxes. She's happy right now. That's good. That's a way in. Unless someone else is there with her, making her laugh? His mind spools back to Juliet opening a door, laughing, glancing over her shoulder, and when the hell was that?

He should probably say something. "Hey. It's Jack."

"Hey," she says, warmly. Or at least, a lot more warmly than she's sounded lately.

"I just..." Now what? Does he launch right into it? No, bad idea. "I just thought I'd call to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine, but someone's been punching me a lot this morning. And I think he likes music."

The... what? How could the baby like music? And here's big manly adult Jack, sitting on the old rug of his childhood bedroom, cracking cordless phone clutched in hand and hoping his mother can't overhear this conversation. "You're kidding."

"I just put headphones on my stomach and he went crazy."

"That's amazing." That he (he!) could have likes and dislikes, opinions already, and just the fact of this all, the realness that keeps crashing up against Jack like ocean waves, makes him feel like he should... well, like he should not be sitting on the floor of his childhood bedroom. He should have a career and a paycheck. He is NOT ready for this.

"Yeah," Juliet says softly.

But he can't back out now. Can he?

His parents are expecting him to invite her. Of course, he could always just tell them she declined. Hell, she'll probably decline as it is. But... she'd mentioned her father was angry with her, and whatever's going on with her sister doesn't sound so good. What about friends? Maybe. But what if she really has nowhere to go on Christmas? He couldn't live with that. "Listen, I wanted to see, um, what you were doing for Christmas."

There's a long pause, long enough that Jack braces himself for an angry retort, a Why is this any of your business? Instead: "I'm not sure yet," she hedges.

"My parents wanted to invite you to Christmas, if you don't have other plans."

"Your parents?" She sounds skeptical.

And me! And me! Because I'm not an asshole. "Well. And me too. I mean - you know you're..." Jack trails off, then tries again. Crap. Crap crap crap. "You're more than welcome to..."

He trails off. Again.

She doesn't respond. Again.

He tries another tactic: "They just want what's best for... for you and the baby."

That's at least vaguely true, no matter their motivations. Mom is determined to "make things right," whatever the hell that's supposed to translate into. She'd started up about "that poor girl" and her "family situation" and "Isn't this a nice crib?" and "Look at the little bunnies on this."

Jack thinks probably the last thing Juliet would want is pity or pandering, or little bunnies on something, but then why does he think he still knows her so well?

And then there's that $3,000 check Dad had written for him, hardly twitching a facial muscle. Just another thing to lord over him, and he'd hated every cell in his body as he slid that folded piece of paper into his pocket, but what the hell was he supposed to do otherwise? His mother's not the only one who's been looking into the cost of some of this stuff, baby gear and decent childcare, and does Juliet even have health insurance? And she thinks she's going to afford all this with a work-study grant and a cashier job?

Maybe she does, but she's wrong, and she's got him backed into a corner whether she knows it or not.

"Can I let you know?" she finally says.

"That's fine." He's relieved by the affability in his own voice. "I can pick you up, of course. And bring you back. We have some relatives coming in from out of town, too, so it's not just going to be you and me and my parents. And my grandfather will be there. He's a good guy. If that changes your mind at all." He's babbling right now. But the best Christmases they have are always the ones with his mom's family. That should count for something, right? "Should be sort of a big, old-fashioned family Christmas thing. Too many cookies and the Carpenters' Christmas album."

"Ugly sweaters, too?"

He smiles in spite of himself. "Well, you never know." Might as well go for it. "Do you... what do you still need for the baby?"

"I um... I'm OK, Jack, really."

"Juliet, I told you I want to help."

"I... I still need a stroller." Her voice is full of hesitation, and anyway, unless she's had some kind of (very unlikely) baby store shopping spree since Jack helped her move last week, he knows she's lying when she says that's all she needs. Anyway, his parents have way more money than they even know what to do with. What the hell else would they use it for, another hot tub? It's probably not exactly fair that their grandson's stuff has all come from Goodwill so far.

But there he goes: their grandson. He imagines what kind of grandparents his parents would (will?) be, given the chance, though, and feels sweat creep up under his clothes. "Just a stroller?" he prompts, trying to ignore his clammy fear. How the hell is he supposed to shield this kid - his son! - from parents when he's taking their money?

"Jack."

"What would you say if I said we should go shopping?" he forces out, when part of him wants to blurt, OK, then, bye!

"That sounds awfully hypothetical."

What the hell does she want from him, anyway? Nothing, a rude little voice inside his head reminds him. She didn't tell you about the baby for a reason. Or maybe a whole lot of reasons. And so she's skeptical and sulky and he's not all that sure how much he can push her, but there has to be some way of convincing her he's going to stick around. (Why does he even want to? What is his life going to be like from now on?)

"Am I allowed to tell you I'd like to take you shopping?"

"Yes. OK."

Just work with me here. A little. Please? Any other guy in this situation would probably be running away as fast as he could. But Jack's not any other guy. Or at least, he hopes he's not. He can be a good father. Even if he has no clue in hell what that means right now. Right?

"OK? So I'd like to take you shopping?" he prompts. All right, step 1 of being a good father: Get things for the baby.

There's a bit of a pause, and when she finally speaks, he's not sure whether he hears a smile in her voice or not, but it's at least a possibility. "Thank you. Yes."


Step 1 doesn't go flawlessly - Jack eventually lets Juliet talk him out of a crib and high chair. "There's just not room for them now, and he'll be in the bassinet at least a couple of months."

She's making a perfectly logical point, but it frustrates him nonetheless. If she bought that other stuff at Goodwill to wrap her mind around the baby's impending arrival, shouldn't he get to do the same? Make it a little more real? Get as much as possible?

As they look at the changing tables, he can't help but notice her shyness as she asks the salesgirl if a certain model comes in white. To which the salesgirl - nametag: Monica - replies (to both of them, that's unmistakable), "Is this for your bedroom or the nursery?"

To which Juliet turns bright red.

"The bedroom," Jack answers, and hello idiot girl, the bedroom is the nursery, and he feels a little pang of secondhand embarrassment for Juliet, who is diligently not looking at anyone else.

"That matches better? Usually people want the darker woods if it's going in their bedrooms."

"I just liked the white," Juliet says softly.

It's not in stock, but they arrange for one to be delivered next week, and they find a stroller she likes, and one of those strap-a-baby-to-your-chest things, which has a too-cute name Jack immediately forgets.

What else, what else? "What about those baby swings?" he asks. "I hear those can really calm them down."

Juliet turns to him, tilting her head. "Where did you hear that?"

"I've been asking around." Sure, if "asking around" entails asking the one guy I know who has a baby.

Juliet bites her lip, trying to suppress a smile, and Jack feels a rush of pride, however undeserved. "You have?" She looks more like the girl he used to know, just now.

"There's a guy in my cohort who has a baby," he admits, not mentioning how utterly exhausted Jonathan looks most of the time. Or how, when Jack had told him about his own impending fatherhood, Jonathan had actually winced, sucking his teeth.

"Oh," Juliet says.

The salesgirl blinks on her smile again, starts talking about the models they carry, leading them over to a row of swings in colors from bright and cheery to pastel and cheery. They pick out a pale green and white swing that's on the smaller side, even though he points out another that has three different settings.

"Yeah, but this one has a chance of fitting in m... the living room," Juliet says, and he notices how she skirted over the "my" but wonders why.

"This one, I think we can even fit in the car," he replies, and speaking of that - "Oh! Car seat!"

Juliet nods. "The funny thing is, I'll probably only need it to get him home from the hospital."

"Well, what about when I have him?"

She freezes. "What?"

You didn't think I was just going to disappear after today, did you? "I mean, aren't I... going to... have him, sometimes?"

The salesgirl shifts from one foot to another, looking confused and embarrassed. What's her... oh. Oh. She thought they were together, didn't she? Well, that would be the logical assumption. Shit. Juliet's bright red again.

"Could you give us a minute?" Juliet asks the salesgirl in a strained voice, and she leaves.

"He's my kid too, Juliet," Jack says before he knows he's going to. But it's the truth, and he's not even going to get a chance to contribute to his son's name. He'd asked her what she was considering, and she'd said Matthew, which made him think of Matt Lambertson, playground bully; and James, which made him think of... well, he's not sure, but something about that name had always carried around a sense of sorrow and guilt, and who even knows where that came from, but it doesn't exactly signify that's a name he'd like his son saddled with. And David, which he likes just fine, but it was last on her list, and -

What's she going to do? Yell at him? Storm out? Those were never really Juliet-type things to do before, but that's exactly it, that was before, and he doesn't know the new Juliet all that well. He's not even sure if he likes her, and he misses the old one, but then he's the one who turned her into this, isn't he?

Juliet's face is oddly calm, though, and she lets out a long, quiet breath. "I'm going to be breastfeeding, so... at least at first, we can't really be apart for that long." Only then does she raise her eyes at him.

Thank you, thank you, thank you. "We can talk about it some other time," he replies, not at all sure he even wants to bring it up again. Someone who could afford it would probably be able to take her to court for joint custody, but he's fairly certain that's one thing his father wouldn't give him the money for. And anyway: No. No no no, it's almost like it's her baby, and she's maybe maybe going to share it with him, but how could the round belly under her shirt have anything to do with him?

But then he remembers what she'd told him this morning, about the way the baby liked music already, and how real that had made him seem only a few hours earlier.

"OK."


It takes three trips to get most of the stuff upstairs to her apartment, mainly because Jack won't let her carry anything. That can be one contribution to this mystery baby that's supposedly showing up in February.

"You want something to drink?" She asks as he drops the last of it, reaching for the remote and flipping on the TV, going past a football game and a news show to land on something in black and white.

"Water would be great, thanks. Hey, 'March of the Wooden Soldiers'," he realizes.

Juliet gets out a couple of glasses. "I always loved that movie. It would always be on - "

''The day after Thanksgiving," Jack supplies.

"Yes!" She smiles, a genuine smile like he hasn't seen from her in a long time, the apples of her cheeks swelling up. "And my dad and I would watch it every year while my mom and Rachel went shopping."

"There were a lot of years my grandfather would stay over on Thanksgiving. And we'd always watch it the next day. My mom would go shopping too, and my..." He trails off. My dad was working, or hungover, or out of town, or who even knows?

Juliet shifts where she stands. "I could make coffee, if you want," she says, seemingly uncomfortable now.

"Yeah? You're not supposed to have caffeine, though." Med school's been good for something, at least. Also, he's not entirely convinced she'd ever really liked coffee when she drank it with him. And he feels like a little bit of an asshole for knocking up someone who's not even old enough to like coffee. Moving on:

"Or hot chocolate. I'm impressed they actually sell it in L.A., so..." She shrugs.

What's he supposed to say? "Hot chocolate would be good."

While she's filling a pot with water to heat, he notices the magnetic alphabet letters on her refrigerator. All haphazard - a green L upside down and masquerading as a 7, two S's back-to-back, one in the wrong direction - except for one word: DAVID.

And he's not exactly sure how it happens, but somehow they end up on her couch watching this surprisingly creepy old musical. It's been years since he's last seen it. They stay on opposite sides of the couch, though, and as they drink their hot chocolate, Juliet opens a packet of onesies from the baby store, unfolding one with a little palm tree on the chest and staring at it for a long time.

Halfway through the movie, right before the townspeople trick Barnaby into marrying Stanley Dum, Jack calls for takeout. They eat Pad Thai and spring rolls, Juliet looking everywhere but at him. They don't talk much, and he's not sure what to say because every potential interaction he runs through in his head seems akin to navigating a minefield.

When he's leaving, though, she looks up at him, a serious and appraising gaze like she's trying to weigh out her words down to the quarter ounce. "What time should I be ready on Christmas?"

Relief washes over Jack, that she's willing to spend more time with him, that she's willing to give in a little, that he's not going to leave her alone on Christmas. Of course, that relief is immediately tempered by the realization that he's going to have to spend the entire day with Juliet and his parents in the same place.

"Eleven," he says, and hopes he's not making a huge mistake.