Saturday, April 12th

To convince Grace that she could leave for the weekend serenely was one of the hardest tasks I ever had to deal with. If I have to be honest I am the one not serene. She's spending the weekend away for the first time with her new boyfriend and I'm a bundle of nerves. Not that I don't trust her, but I'm not yet sure that I can trust the guy. The last few days have been all about me and as much as I love the idea of being protected and cuddled I don't want to lose control of what happens around me, first and foremost in my daughter's life.

The fact that my cramps got worse during the last couple of days just made it even more of a challenge to convince her that I'm fine, just tired and in need of rest. And if the sickness and my tense, stinging breasts are any indication – and I know they are - this baby is definitely fine, too.

Yesterday morning when I checked my lingerie drawer I had a moment of depression. I sat on the edge of the bed and went through my most sexy underwear. Laces, embroidery, nothing that my body could tolerate and probably nothing I could slip into anyway. Half of my clothes would give away my pregnancy only with a quick look at my cleavage. The other half will stop fitting me in a few weeks. It's the downside of my decision to spice up my wardrobe back when my story with Will started, ages ago. All my skin can bear now is cotton and no-frills silk – it could have been worse – so I opted for the latter and yesterday on my way back home I went for a round of shopping, something that Grace seems to find entirely amusing.

Speaking of… I freaked out at the news that my mother has promised to shop with Grace again. The last time they did I had to argue with Grace about the inappropriateness for a teenager of at least half of the lingerie they bought. Those two together are quickly becoming an explosive mix and sometimes I sense they might team up behind my back. I have a hard time keeping them at bay. But on a positive note, I noticed that since the day I called my mother – the morning after finding out I was pregnant – she seems to enjoy more and more to spend time with us instead of hanging around with a different boyfriend every day. She will never admit it, but I suspect she missed playing grandma with Zach and Grace back when they were children and wants to stick around for this one. I'm not sure it's a good thing though, I dread she might turn into a Jackie-version of herself and I know I have to set some limits while I still can. At least try to, for I'm sure that buying lingerie for Grace is well beyond those limits.

I wander like a tormented soul in the living room. Will should be here at any minute. It wasn't planned for him to stay at my place for the weekend, because I know for sure that he has an important trial session on Monday. But it was the only way to make Grace stop worrying about me being home alone, after the state I came back home in last night from the office.

I knew that Bishop's defection was bound for an inevitable fight with Cary. He blames me for being absent. He hinted, though very covertly, that I'm paving my way out of our firm, that I know more than I share. Can I blame him? Not really. But he has his nice part of blames too. His insistence for me to join the rebellion has always been more about Peter's influence and Sweeney's soft spot for me than for real esteem. I always knew it, but my desperate need to put some distance between me and Will was clearly bigger than my pride. I often wonder if I made a mistake. If this experience is teaching me something, it's that I have limits.

The doorbell rings, ending my moment of commiseration. I hurry to open the door to Will and when I meet his soft smile I forget all my troubles. He greets me with a delicate kiss and I welcome his gesture of affection, though for a moment everything feels awkward. Him being here; I can't even remember the last time he walked through my door, let alone with a smile on his face.

"How are you doing?" he asks me with that veiled concern typical of every word he addressed to me over the last days.

My nose lightly wrinkled in nausea is more eloquent than any word. He smiles as he takes off his leather jacket – I had forgotten how much I like him when he's dressed casually – and takes a few steps in my direction. It's clear from his look that he feels my same uncertainty, my same where-do-we-go-from-here anxiety. The idea that we have roughly seven months to adjust back to each other is reassuring and worrisome at the same time. Time is on our side, but we are also unbelievably good at hurting each other at the speed of light. In seven months anything can happen. Now that I think about it, that's how long our affair lasted the first time around. The parallel is amusing, but a bit disturbing at the same time.

It takes us a good fifteen minutes to overcome the initial uneasiness. Both sitting on the couch, we can't seem to get past the trivialities. I'm quite sure that it has a lot to do with our fear of being misunderstood, of misinterpreted signs and words; our past harm seems to be keeping us guarded with – and against - each other. How can you know if once the ice is broken you find a warm fireplace or taste the freezing water underneath? And on more than one occasion, the first led to the second, keeping us stuck above water. "This conversation is certainly one of the most embarrassing we've ever had," I joke at some point, half-laughingly.

Will bursts into laughter. "Definitely the worst I can remember," he nods.

At least we agree that our lost synchrony is something to laugh about. It's a sign that maybe it's not completely gone, but just mislaid.

I have only a blurry memory of all our long talks, but I'm sure that none looked awkward and forced like the one we are having now. Our shared passion for law used to drag us into the most disparate debates, usually leading to the most glowing sex; two different kinds of passion melting together in a fiery, mind-blowing combination. Will we ever be back like that? The current state of lethargy and sickness, combined with the hormonal ebb and flow, put me in a depressed mood most of the time so I know it's definitely unfitting for me to ponder such considerations now. Will we ever be back like that? The question is stuck in my head. My mischievous memory keeps picking random images from a past that I miss and that right now I'm not sure I'll ever get back, rerouted by diapers, baby bottles and sleepless nights. I've been there twice, I know very well how it works. And age is not really playing on my side this time.

"Alicia?"

I jump slightly, as I realize that my mind started a flash-forward trip in a near future I'd better ignore for now. Will's voice rescues me just in time before my apprehension can grow into panic. "What?"

"You weren't even listening to me," he says with a resigned exhale. But his light laugh reassures me that he's not holding it against me.

Still, I'm sure that guilt is carved on my face. I have no idea what he was talking about and I can't really throw a random guess. "I'm sorry…" It's all I manage to say. When I see his face grow serious, I already know he's up for a prickly dialog.

"We should talk," he murmurs.

His request doesn't surprise me. Talk. This word always scares me. Suddenly, our initial attempt at a conversation sounds like a symphony orchestra. I curl up and move my hand so it rests on my belly. I can feel my inside tense up, making my belly hard and a bit painful under my touch. A light contraction. I breathe and focus back. I'm well aware that everything revolves around this baby.

"About us," he points out.

And the way he emphasizes the us leads me back to his words when I told him that I was pregnant. His 'I love you both' sometimes - often - pops in during my few moments of quietness. I know he means them, but I also know that he wouldn't be sitting on my couch, a few inches from me, if it weren't for the unforeseen outcome of our last and desperate act of passion. It's a reality I can't blot out. "I destroyed everything we had… everything we were," I look down as I admit it, for the first time since the first fallout. It's still vivid in my mind, more than I actually want to; the way he dashed into my office with his eyes blinded by fury, the destructive surge he unloaded on my desk and on everything that was lying on it, the hurt he couldn't hide as he reminded me of everything that he did for me and that I betrayed. That was the moment I realized it was the end of everything. It was what I wanted, but when my wish became reality I wasn't ready to face the consequences. When I look back up, I can see that same hurt in his. That moment is clearly still vivid in his memory too.

"I shouldn't have cornered you," he says as his gaze slowly makes its way down and alights on my belly. I don't know if he means it or is just trying to share some of my blame. I assume the second, since we are making a shy attempt at honesty, and his words brings me back to the election night. Cornered is the right word to define the emotional grip of finding no way out of my feelings for him. I was desperate, and when you are desperate you end up taking desperate measures. I had blindly believed it was the best for both.

I feel like roles have somewhat switched and I am the one who's cornering him now, but it's pointless to mention my fears, for I know he'd deny anyway. The few words we share in the quiet of my apartment resound, bringing with them the echo of all the unspoken admissions behind them. Our gazes keep easing up and down between our faces and the discreet guest who's silently witnessing our confessions. It's like we are admitting our faults to this baby instead of to each other. It's easier to deal with them, though I'm not sure it's entirely fair towards our child.

I sigh and try to relax. It's not much progress, actually it's not even remotely close to be enough, but it's a beginning. I slowly lean towards Will, then let myself rest against him, almost unthinkingly, as my head ensconces on his shoulder. I breathe both the familiar scent of his cologne and the comfort of his proximity. It's a feeling I've missed, and it's soothing to know that I don't have to hide my feelings for him anymore. Not with him at least. I'm still guarded yes, but for once I'm striving to build something instead of destroying it.

The Saturday goes by lazily. I'm tired most of the day so during my naps Will has all the time he needs to work on his case. I stare at him sleepily from the couch as he goes through a pile of paper thick enough to make me shudder. He takes notes, fiddles with the pen and carries his hand to his forehead in resignation a few times. I can't help but smile sweetly at the memory of all the times I walked in front of his office and found him in that same posture. I used to stop in front of his closed door for a brief moment just to enjoy the sight. I'd probably trade my name partnership on any day for the chance to feel like that again.