Entry Eight
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She scrutinizes her appearance in front of the full-length mirror, regretting the decision to buy it in the first place. She should have been happy with the small circular mirror in the bathroom; who needed to see what they were wearing anyway?
Alas, she smoothes the front of her dress and twists her body to the side, hoping it will present a better profile.
She's dismayed however when she realizes the view is that much worse.
Growling, she twists her body back to face the mirror straight ahead and considers forgoing all this trouble and changing into a paper-bag once and for all. She can't seem to decide what's worse—accepting the fact she's become a frump or trying in vain to deny it.
Suddenly she hears a barely suppressed laugh from just around the corner.
She places her hands on her hips and glares out at the vacant doorway.
"What's so funny?"
Bravely he strides into view, leaning against the threshold to their bedroom.
"Nothing," he utters, striking a casual pose with tongue in cheek and both hands in his pockets. "You just look so adorable when you're flustered."
Blood suddenly rushes to her cheeks, and when she looks again at the mirror, her reflection is undeniably flushed.
"This is all your doing," she says. "And it's not fair that you still get to look the way you do while I swell up like a balloon." When she sees that he's still smiling, it only makes her flush harder. "I can't go out looking this way. You'll have to go without me—"
"Hey, hey!" He rushes to her side and turns her away from the ill-received reflection. "What are you talking about? You look amazing!"
"Don't lie to me, Charles Irving Bartowski!" she warns and he knows she means business when she uses his full name like that. "I'm a hippopotamus and I refuse to be seen in public with you."
He struggles to keep a straight face for her sake, but in the end, his lips betray him. "Seriously?" he asks, turning her back around. They stare into the mirror's reflection together, his arms wrapped securely around her. "Now tell me we aren't one good looking couple."
She has no choice but to smile.
He tilts his head towards her until they are cheek to cheek. "Tell me we don't look happy," he implores, his hands drifting down to rest against her belly.
She has nothing to say, her expression says it all.
He wags his eyebrows at her through the mirror and she breaks into a laugh.
"You are unflappably cheesy, husband mine," she informs, tilting her head back to gaze into his warm, loving eyes.
He smiles. "And you..." He dips his head down to capture her lips in a tender kiss. "You're perfect just the way you are."
She arches her brow, not about to give in so easily. "Even when your wife's a hippopotamus?" As if to prove her point she pulls him closer; the distance is impossible to close with such a prominent belly but she tries anyway.
He laughs and rubs the obtrusive bump. "I happen to love hippopotamuses." He kisses her again, coaxing the frown into a reluctant smile. "And I love baby hippopotamuses too," he adds, kissing her belly.
She swats him, threatening to put her skills to good use. "Don't anger the hippopotamus," she warns, narrowing her eyes. "You're no match."
He just smiles and shakes his head. "I saw defeat the first time I laid eyes on you." He takes her hand gives her a gentle tug. "Now stop stalling. We have a party to attend."
She pouts but her gaze is nothing compared to the heart-melting quality in his. She's a sucker and she knows it.
"Fine. You win," she says with a certain air of resignation.
He sticks his tongue out at her, undeniably pleased. Everything she's said earlier has just become null.
"I love you," he reminds, tugging on her arm.
She rolls her eyes. No matter how many times he says it, he still gets her every time.
"I love you too," she says, and when she looks into his eyes, she finds it impossible not to smile.
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Their hands thread together and lock in place; he doesn't leave her side for a second. There are dozens of beautiful women just dying for a moment with him, but when he stares down at her, it's like she's the only girl in the whole wide world.
"Penny for your thoughts," he murmurs into her ear. The party's died down and they've found a quiet place to sit so she can rest her swollen ankles.
She smirks. "Make it a quarter and you've got a deal."
He looks at her expectantly and gives her a quick peck on the cheek; definitely better than a quarter.
Suddenly she feels incredibly self-conscious. She tries to cover her belly with her shawl and pulls down her bangs to obscure her face but it's all in vain.
"What is it?" he asks.
She tries to shrug it off but she's captured his attention.
"Come on. You can tell me anything."
She takes a deep breath. "How did I get so lucky?" she asks. She doesn't expect an answer; if there's an explanation for how it's done they'd be millionaires.
He pulls a loose strand of her hair and wraps it around his finger. "What can I say? You're exactly my type."
When he winks at her, it's so unbelievably corny she can barely suppress a laugh.
"Chuck!" she warns, struggling to keep a straight face. "I'm serious. People like me don't deserve second chances."
He looks at her, slightly confused, and when he realizes she's serious, the confusion only deepens.
"Everyone deserves a second chance."
No. Not everyone. Only her husband would be so forgiving as to think such a thing, but she knows better. She's made so many mistakes in the past, but finally...she's gotten something right.
He rubs her belly and she's reminded again of just how lucky she truly is. She has nearly everything she could ever ask for.
"Thank you, Chuck," she whispers. He wraps his arms around her and she leans into him for support. Hippopotamus jokes aside, she knows he'll always be there to support her.
He kisses her, tickling her with the shadow of his chin.
"You're welcome—"
"Hey, there you guys are!" The couple split apart at the sudden intrusion. "Don't move, this will make a perfect photo for the scrapbook—"
"Ellie..." she drawls. The spotlight's been returned most unwillingly and she tries to find any opportunity to push it onto someone else. "You've already taken a hundred photos of us. Look!" She points to the little bearded man ambling along the courtyard with questionable sobriety. "The obligatory photo of Drunk Morgan. If you don't take it now you'll miss your chance."
The elder brunette rolls her eyes. "Right. That's exactly what I need for the scrapbook." She holds up the camera, not about to take 'no' for an answer. "Come on. Big smiles now."
Chuck puts his arm around his wife and draws her closer. However averse she may be to the idea of having her photo taken in such a state, she can't keep a smile off her face.
The happy moment is captured forever by a click and a flash of light.
Ellie looks down at the image on her camera and positively beams. "Aww. It's perfect. I always knew you kids would work things out." She puts the camera away and beckons for them to follow after her. "Come on, you guys see enough of each other every day. I invited you guys so you could mingle and meet new people."
Chuck laughs. "But Ellie, if you want to introduce me to other girls you have to do it when—" He jerks his head subtly to the one seated beside him. "—isn't around."
"Excuse me?"
Ellie runs off before she becomes entangled in a lover's quarrel and Chuck only laughs, kissing his wife to dissuade her of resorting to violence.
"That's not funny, Mr. Bartowski," she warns, clasping both hands over the hill of her ever prominent belly. "Do you have any idea how easily I could crush you right now?"
He just laughs; either he's incredibly brave or terribly naive. "It's only funny because you know it could never be true. Just look at how long it took for me to get over you—" He stops himself when he sees the warning look she shoots him. "Not that I ever succeeded...because you are quite frankly, impossible to forget."
If nothing else, she has to smile at that. "I love you, Chuck."
He clasps her hand and squeezes it, their matching wedding bands glinting in the moonlight. "I love you too, Jill; always and forever."