Thanks so much for the fantastic reception to the last chapter, y'all! It really helped me crank this next one out, and your feedback helped me hone a few things to hopefully make them more clear now. I'm hopeful that having the next few weeks off from school/work will lead to more productivity, and even a few more oneshots for "Hearts." And, to those worried about the lack of Will and Maggie - I hear you! Hopefully that will change soon. Will is the hardest for me to write, which is why he's not featured super-prominently, but I'm trying to write at least one point from his perspective. And Maggie will come swinging back with a venegeance soon. (And, if you think the last sentence contradicts an earlier chapter, go back and read very carefully :) ).
If you're reading, I always appreciate hearing your thoughts. Thanks so much to all who have read/reviewed.
The problem is not merely one of Woman and Career, Woman and the Home, Woman and Independence.It is more basically: how to remain whole in the midst of the distractions of life; how to remain balanced, no matter what centrifugal forces tend to pull one off center; how to remain strong, no matter what shocks come in at the periphery and tend to crack the hub of the wheel."
-Anne Morrow Lindbergh
August 31
"Nora, please eat all of your samosa," Mac says, for the third time. She's positive that half the reason her daughter is such a picky eater is that Mac's terrible at preparing traditional Pakistani dishes, which Nora frequently requests in a dialect that she and Will have dubbed Urduglish.
"No. No more. Tummy aches," Nora says. Max Keefer had taught her that word. "Cookie?"
"Of course not, you did not finish your samosa." Nora shakes her head and gets up from the island counter.
"Cookie!" Nora shouts, throwing the samosa into the sink. "Samosa no. Samosa bad."
"You cannot have the cookie, no, you did not finish your food." Tears threaten to overflow her eyelids, and she gasps in a lungful of air, a clear sign of a tantrum on the horizon. "But you may have a granola bar," she compromises, pushing it at her.
"Where Daddy?" she asks, sullen but hopeful, as she takes the bar. Mac has the distinct feeling she just got played.
"He's at work. He'll be home soon. We're going to go to your madarassaa, your school, today. We're going to meet your teacher, your new ustaad, like how Miss Amira was your ustaad. This will be exciting, right?"
School was starting on Wednesday. Sloan had gotten Nora into the 92 Street Y preschool with no problem (Sloan's ambivalent to ignorant about most Manhattan Mommy stuff, but she's assiduous, ambitious and smart, so she'd be damned if Max went to anything but the best preschool in the city. One call from her had gotten Will McAvoy's orphaned, adopted daughter in quickly. Personally, Mac would have preferred the International Preschools at the UN), but no matter how many times Mac explained school, she was certain that the entire concept would trigger an episode for Nora. Again.
Nora has been with them for almost two months, and Mac is amazed at how quickly she has acquired English. They had found an Urdu-based playgroup through some UN contacts, and Mac found she remembered key conversational phrases, both of which were helping. But she still has nightmares, still turns sullen frequently, still has meltdowns and resorts to tantrums when she is confused and overwhelmed. They'd taken to letting her fall asleep in their bed and stay there all night, which all the books and Sloan discouraged. They hadn't had sex in weeks. All of this was completely expected, but nevertheless taxing. Mac was convinced school would make Nora feel abandoned all over again.
"Naeema'n Arjan a' madarassaa?" she asks, referencing her two friends from the orphanage.
Her heart falters. "No, but Max is. And you'll make new friends."
"Mac? I'm home," Will calls as the elevators open.
"Daddy!" Nora shrieks and runs to him. Mac smiles. Nora became a daddy's girl in a span of hours, which is a source of relief to Mac. Will had been so worried about adopting her that she had worried they would not bond, that he would be preemptively, protectively, distant and surly. Thankfully the opposite had happened. He's working much, much saner hours, now that he's prepping for his show, and it's odd, both of them in this domestic groove.
"Hello, shehzadi," he says, using the Urdu word for princess and kissing her face as he holds her under her armpits. "How was today?"
"Mommy and I go park with Nadia," she says. "We eat popsicles." Nadia is the British-born daughter of an Iranian diplomat whom they've hired to be Nora's nanny. She speaks Urdu and Arabic with ease, has just graduated Barnard, and knew Sloan's nanny, Cristina. When Mac returns to work full-time next week, she'll be staying with Nora in the afternoons and on Tuesdays and Thursdays. They had been lucky to find her. "We go to madarassaa now. You go."
"Yes, shehzadi, we're going to your new school now. We get to meet your new teacher and see your playground and your classroom." He swings her easily onto his hip and leans forward to kiss Mac. "How was your morning?"
"Good," she says, pasting a smile on. It has been good, but exhausting. She is so happy to get back to work next week. She is not cut out for the constant negotiations and questions and dalliances of a three-year-old. "Is the car waiting?"
"Yeah, Kenny's downstairs," he says. "Ready to go, princess?" he asks.
"Ready, Freddie," she chimes. Max Keefer taught her that phrase.
"Here, let's brush your hair first, Nora, and you need to wash your hands," Mac says, feeling a bit like a nag. She knows that Nora's already in — they've paid the year's tuition — but she still wants to make a good impression. Parenting thus far has been a constant tug against a threatening current. She's not actually sure if the Manhattan-mother set is as cutthroat as it seems to be in books — and she'll barely be participating in it anyways, due to her job — but she still feels like she needs to look over her shoulder, that she's doing it wrong and doesn't even know it. MacKenzie McHale McAvoy has never done anything badly. She has always done things fearlessly. But she's terrified by the vague, undefined specter of simply messing up with Nora, or even looking like she's messing up (the sad truth is, she's a mid-forties career woman who still melts Tupperware in the microwave. She's not exactly a strong candidate for success here). At her edict, though, Nora makes a face.
"I got it," Will says, and he sets her on the stool and helps her wash her hands, distracting her enough that Mac is able to run a comb through her hair. She looks very cute, in a gray Boden dress with cap sleeves, a hot pink Peter Pan collar, and a colored-pencil print. She's also got pink leggings, trimmed in lace, and white sandals on to compliment the outfit. Mac's pretty proud of herself for putting together something that says 'school' the way this does. She still hasn't gotten the hang of getting clips into Nora's hair so that they'll stay — Sloan has tried to show her a million times — so she slides a headband on too and hope that will keep everything neat.
"I see Max?" Nora says hopefully as they head into the elevator.
"Not today darling," Mac says brightly. "But we'll see them all tomorrow, alright?"
"The way she talks about this kid, you'd think they'll end up married," Will rolls his eyes. "I refuse to end up related to Don Keefer."
She laughs, because that's simply absurd. "You want to marry Max, Nora?" she asks.
"What marry?"
"It's when you're very big and tall and you sleep in the same bed as Max," she says.
"I is big and tall," she says, indignant. "I'm —" Forgetting the word, she holds up her fingers. "This."
"Yes. You're three, and you are right. You're very big and tall," Mac smiles fondly.
They get into the car and head up the East Side. Mac passed the building a million times when she and her parents lived at 86th and Lexington, had gone in for plenty of book readings in her early twenties. It's older, brown, with two flags flying out front. It's inconspicuous, yet stately. She's seized with terror.
Will slides out first and then she helps Nora down. Nora grabs Will's hand and skips as they walk in. Kenny pulls the car somewhere. Inside they give their names to the gentleman behind the desk, and a few moments later, a petite, very young woman comes down to meet them. She looks barely old enough to have graduated from Ramaz and has Tory Burch flats and shiny, straight hair.
"Hi," she smiles, extending her hand. "I'm Gabriella Klein, Dr. Grubman's assistant. I'm pleased to meet you both. And hello, my dear. You must be Nora." Nora buries her head in Will's hip.
"Sorry," Mac says. "She's quite shy."
"Not a problem," Gabriella smiles. "She's new to the States. She seems like quite the brave little girl!" She chirps, leading them to the elevator. "Now, we're very excited to have Nora join our three-year-old class on Wednesday. She'll be coming Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, correct?"
"This year, yes," Mac smiles.
"Wonderful. And who will be dropping Nora off? One of you, or her nanny?"
"I will," Will says.
"Great. Now, we just ask — this has become a problem in recent years — that you have your driver circle the block during drop-offs and pickups. We've found that it makes the situation quite untenable, and we've unfortunately had to give some students less-than-stellar kindergarten recommendations due to parents' unwillingness to comply." She smiles. Mac's jaw drops. This is a thing?
"Now, once you arrive, just bring her straight in and up to the sixth floor. Abe, at the front desk, never forgets a face. You'll sign in on the sixth floor." Like magic, the doors slide open, revealing a wide, welcoming hallway with cubbies snaking along the sides. It's older, but exceptionally well-renovated. "This area is usually covered in artwork, but we let the children add as the year goes on. We believe that it's important for children to build their own environments, see themselves reflected in their space, and be able to take pride in their accomplishments," she smiles.
"The classrooms for the 2's and 3's are along the right down the green hallway, the 4's and 5's are down this center blue hallway, and administrative offices and specials are to the left, down the yellow. Classes are divided by the number of days attended, and students who come for three days a week — our Monday-Wednesday-Friday pupils, like Nora — split a classroom and teachers with our Tuesday-Thursday students. I'll take you on a tour in a bit, but right now Dr. Grubman would like to meet with you," she smiles. She leads them down the yellow hallway, and into a small outer office — outfitted with a single glass-topped desk and a Mac laptop — and knocks on an inner door.
The door swings open quickly, and another very petite, albeit much older, woman walks out. Mac feels like a leper-giant. This woman wears a blue caridgan, tailored mint-green capris, and Tory Burch flats. Her dark hair has no gray strands, and is immaculately blown out. "Mr. and Mrs. McAvoy, welcome. Dr. Elaine Grubman," she smiles. "We're so happy to have you join the 92nd Street Y family. And this must be Nora," she beams, kneeling down, and this time Nora smiles back. Mac can tell why this woman got into child psychology. "Sloan Keefer has just said some absolutely wonderful things about you all, and of course we just love Max. And we're so excited that we'll have his sisters next fall as well!" She welcomes them into her office, which is full of soft toys. Nora immediately dives for them; when Mac tries to stop her, Dr. Grubman shakes her head. "We adults will talk. The toys are there for her."
It's an extensive, 30-minute conversation, first a simple getting-to-know you, followed by an interrogation about what their Parenting Beliefs are. Dr. Grubman wraps up by saying, "Wonderful! Now, I'm going to spend some time getting to know Nora, and Gabriella will walk you through our policies, procedures, and collect some information from you."
"We're leaving Nora?" Mac says. "We … we rarely do that." They've done it once, when they took Alicia and Jim out to dinner, and it caused even more grief that evening.
"Mac, c'mon, she'll be fine. She's here three times a week from now on," Will says, tugging her hand. Dr. Grubman smiles, but says nothing else, and Mac slowly realizes that it's not up for debate. Dr. Grubman joins Nora on the floor, then Will leads her out.
It's a blur of paperwork, but soon Nora is skipping out, excitedly talking about her playtime with Dr. Elaine. They take a tour of the building, meet Nora's teachers — Ms. Olivia (who Max had last year, Mac remembers) and Ms. Corrie, who is new. Nora loves them too, and hugs them enthusiastically. They leave, and Nora is still talking about school.
"I'm beginning to think that Nora loves everyone else more than she loves me," Mac announces glumly to Sloan the next Saturday, as they pick at sandwiches at Espresso's Italian Market and Sloan prattles on about the plans she's made for Don's surprise birthday party in three weeks. It's Labor Day, and they're all staying at Will and Mac's place in Sag Harbor to relax and spend time on the beach. They hadn't even bothered to invite Jim or Maggie, knowing what memories it would invoke for all involved.
Sloan, dressed in navy shorts and a gray sweatshirt from Benetton, snorts. "Don't be paranoid, Kenzie. I'm thinking that Don and I should buy a place in the Hamptons."
She laughs now. "For his birthday? Way too big. And don't be stupid; you've spent years talking about how much you hate the Hamptons. And I'm serious. Don't joke."
Sloan crunches a fry. "Ok. I still think it's ridiculous, because I've seen you with her, but why? I'm indulging you here."
"Because … Will makes her laugh more. And Dr. Grubman made her smile within a minute or two! She loves all her new teachers. She'd prefer to play with Nadia. She'd rather talk to the other mothers at her playgroup than me, since they speak Urdu. And she likes your house better because Max and Emma and Anna are there."
"Kenzie, all of this sounds normal. And more importantly, that she's happy. She wants to play with other kids. She is ready to go to school. She's not panicking at the thought of being with her nanny. I mean, crap, Kenzie, if I was concerned about every time my kids liked their nanny or their teachers or Don better than me, I wouldn't get out of bed most mornings."
"Don't be silly; your children love you." She has seen the three children interact with Sloan; more importantly, she has seen Sloan interact with them. She anticipates their every move. Is able to read their moods like they're a stock report. Counters every misbehavior with firmness and love. She'd had plenty of difficult, exhausted days, particularly after the twins were born, but Sloan had a grace and an ease with her children that Mac envied.
"I know that. But Don is more patient and less strict, Cristina is always artistic and energetic, and Keiko's a freaking baby whisperer. But I'm mom, and … that's enough. At the end of the day, you're a special person to her, and the rest of the shit doesn't matter." She pauses. "Look. You're going back to work in a few days. Maybe that'll help."
"How the fuck will that change anything?" Mac says, her voice bursting from her unevenly. "If anything that'll just make it worse." Her hand flutters to her head and oh god, is she going to cry? No. She will not.
"A few reasons," Sloan says carefully but vaguely, concentrating on digging the strings of onion from her sandwich with her pinky finger.
"Like?" Mac demands.
"Like, I think it'll give you some more confidence," Sloan says finally, putting down the sandwich. "You're so close to Nora right now, so focused on each and every detail every day, that it makes you obsessive about failure. And you're new to this and it's scary, because it's raising a freaking kid, and I think work'll be good for you to relax, Kenzie. I think it'll improve your mood so you can relax around Nora. Right now she …"
"She what?"
"I mean, think about it, from her point of view. You're great with the nightmares, with comfort. But you're … anxious, and everyone else is just a little …"
"Warmer? More fun?"
"Honestly? Yeah," Sloan bites her lip. "It's OK to have fun with her. She won't break. And every time she has a breakdown or is disagreeable or confused or … overwhelmed, don't take it personally. She's a kid. She doesn't mean it. And if she does mean it, you're her mom so you can shut it down. Think about what kind of shit you said to your mom as a teenager — that's what's coming." The mention of her mother causes her heart to clench just a bit, closing off as if doused in frigid water.
"What have you decided to do about the job?" she asks after a beat, trying to deflect the attention.
Sloan makes a face. "I need to make a decision soon," she says. "My contract at Bloomberg runs through December 31, but they're pressuring me for a re-up. I need to make a decision by the end of the month. My agent's no help, and I can't talk to Don about it —"
"What's going on with you two?" she interrupts. They've been — not bad, just awkward — for a while now.
She shrugs. "We keep going back and forth. There's no getting around the fact that he'll be my boss, and that it looks like I was hired because I'm married to him, and, hell, I might have been."
"You haven't been, that's bullshit," Mac says, getting a little angry. "And if anyone thinks that — well, fuck them."
Sloan winces, a tic flexing in the right corner of her mouth. "It's not that simple. I don't know — I don't know if I'll ever be able to trust that decisions are being made for me and not because Don loves me. I'm not sure they'll be able to be separated. If something goes wrong, it's my career in jeopardy, not his."
Mac's taken aback. "Surely you trust Don more than that?"
"It's not about trust," Sloan insists.
"Then what the fuck is it about? Because it sounds like you don't trust him to be a professional. You don't trust him to respect you." It seems absolutely surprising, coming from Sloan. She's usually fearlessly balls-out.
"This isn't about trust," Sloan insists. "This is about … jobs, and power, and our relationship. And how he doesn't get why this is a big deal."
"Christ, Sloan, neither do I."
"If this goes south, I will have nothing," Sloan says. "I'll be untouchable. No network will hire me. I screwed over one network for my husband's. That's bad. I'd be a … joke. Late-night talk-show joke. ACN's in … a tough position, again, like all news networks, and there's a lot riding on me if I take it. And the only reason I'm thinking about leaving Bloomberg is because my dad's job means I can't do my job. So if it's just a case of me trading one job where I'm screwed over for my dad for one job where I'm potentially screwed over for my husband, it's not exactly moving up."
"Well, if that's the case, don't take the job."
"You just heard how I'm getting fucked into a corner because of my dad's job, right? I'm being … boxed in by the fucking patriarchy. Damn the men, Kenzie. "
"Well, what can Don do about that?" Mac asks sensibly, and Sloan cracks up, just a little. "You don't honestly believe you'll be an unemployed laughingstock, right? For crying out loud, you're in cable news. We consistently hire far more ridiculous people. Look at Sean Hannity, for fuck's sake."
"Wow, that's definitely what I aspire to," Sloan says, rolling her eyes. "Don would also be my boss. Not in the way that Will was your boss, in the way that Reese is your boss. I'm not wild about the concept. It's not just for a year, or two years. It would be a significant portion of our lives. I just think it would be … wearying. And he doesn't get that, and every time I try and bring it up, he tries to just … make it go away, and it can't, and it won't. And he doesn't get any of this. Every time I try and bring it up, to make him understand, we end up fighting. And it's the same damn fight, over and over again."
Mac stabs a pickle, because Sloan is right there. "I just … First, you're both better than what you're giving yourself credit for here. No, seriously. You're being too harsh, about the possibility of you guys wrecking it in the future. And secondly, you and Don get it right, so much more than you get it wrong. And you do it by being honestly supportive, and … talking, and just … committed. I don't doubt that it would be hard, but if anyone was going to make this all work, it would be you two." Sloan looks honestly taken aback by this. "And honestly, if anyone gives you shit? Fuck them. You know that."
Sloan tips her head, just a little, in a you may be right gesture. "So what did you think of Alicia?"
Mac stiffens, then picks her sandwich back up and chews carefully. "She's young," she muses, her tone neutral. "I forgot how truly young twenty-four can be. She just seemed very young, didn't she?"
"She's a spitfire, that's for sure," Sloan says. "Even though she was wrong."
"Jim's always liked them spunky and willful," she remarks. It's one of many reasons she knows he had a crush on her, ten years ago. "But you're right, she did seem particularly … set. Like she'd never considered there might be other viewpoints out there."
"She was passionate, and it had to have been overwhelming — out to dinner with Will and everything," Sloan says thoughtfully. "I think she held her own. That's not bad."
"Do you know — has Don said if they have had any interaction?" Mac asks.
Sloan shakes her head. "No. I mean, he says they haven't. Or barely. He says she usually sends a producer to talk to him. They both seem to be doing really well at their jobs, though."
"Poor thing. They never got over it, I don't think."
"Mac — you said you wouldn't Emma Woodhouse them."
"I'm not," she protests. "I'm just saying — from experience — that you can't just run away. You really can't. Everything catches up to you, everything comes out, eventually. Maybe they won't reconnect romantically, but they'll need to sort everything out." She raises her eyebrows and shrugs. "You know it's true. You have to face your problems." Sloan gets her implicit connection, and rolls her eyes.
Tuesday, she's incredibly nervous to leave Nora. "She'll be fine, Mac," Will says as he tugs her to the door. Nora, for her part, is already quietly coloring with Nadia.
"That's easy for you to say, you've done this three dozen times already," she says indignantly. But it's easier to slip out instead of making a big production.
At AWM, Will heads to his team on the twenty-second floor — the floor he derisively used to call the geriatrics ward, where all the longform news is — and she heads up, up, up to Don's office. It's a bit disconcerting to see him in a suit. She's seen him in a suit maybe ten times, and eight of those occasions were weddings, funerals, or christenings.
"Mac! How's it feel to be back?"
"A bit odd, actually," she says. "D'you wear a suit every day?"
He rolls his eyes. "Actually, yeah. Got to, Reese says. Max calls me Boring Daddy whenever he sees one."
"Well, it's a snappy look," she finally says. "So, what do I need to know, boss?" She won't technically report to Don — they're both senior vice presidents, and they both report to Charlie — though everyone knows that she will actually, since he is Being Groomed.
Don grins tightly, ill at ease with the nickname. "Charlie'll be stopping by shortly. We've got to talk the ratings mandate and expectations for long-form investigations."
"The ratings mandate?" she asks. She's known for a while that ACN's not in great shape, but Charlie's never been explicit with his words and she's never totally taken Reese seriously. Don, though, is another matter.
Without warning, Charlie pops his head in, his body following, and she involuntarily beams. "Good to have you back, McMac," he says, kissing her cheek. "How's Nora?"
"Great. Handling this better than I am," she grins. "What's this ratings mandate?"
The rest of the discussion is a blur, and she begins to understand Sloan's gripe of ACN 'expecting a lot.' She goes downstairs, meets her staff, most of whom she's met or worked with before. They're already putting together an hourlong program, slated to air in six weeks, on companies in South Africa who, for an exorbitant fee, take wealthy Americans and Russians on safaris that culminate in poaching. It's an engrossing project that makes for a busy day, and she doesn't notice that it's two p.m. until Jim sticks his head in. "How are you liking being back?"
"Jim!" she exclaims. "It's … good, actually." And it is. Time is flying. "Do you want to grab lunch? I suppose you've already eaten, I've completely forgot."
"No, actually, that's why I came down," he grins, and ten minutes later, they're at the cafe across the street, the one with the perpetually rising exorbitant prices. She plonks down thirteen dollars for a sprout-and-eggplant sandwich and hears Neal's voice scolding her. He never likes paying more than eight dollars for a sandwich and constantly scolds them for being lackadaisical with money. She would retort that time, not money, was her precious commodity, though it was less true now.
They pick at their sandwiches and talk about nothing for a while, and finally she says, "So how's Alicia settling in?" at the point where it would be rude not to.
He swallows. "She's … good. She's not really making any sudden moves about her job right now — she's working part-time at a homeless shelter in Brooklyn, and then interning at Save the Children for about 20 hours a week. She says it's just pushing paper." He crumbles a potato chip thoughtfully before saying, "I've gotta ask — that dinner, at Le Bernadin?"
"Yeah?"
"Alicia felt a little …. ganged-up on."
"About what?" Mac asks, a little stunned.
"Well, she thought that you, Sloan, Don and Will were being … intentionally combative."
"How I remember it," Mac says, "is that she said some things about international aid that you, as a reporter, would probably disagree with. Then we asked her to defend herself, which she did poorly, with copious amounts of optimism."
"See, that's how I saw it too, but there's a gracious way to say that, and a harsh way to say that, and you just said what you said pretty harshly."
"You think I'm being harsh on her, Jimmy?" she asks, pipling the detritus of her sandwich on her tray. "If she's going to sit at the grown-up's table, she's going to have to start acting like one."
"Yeah, but it'd help if the other grown-ups at the grown-up table didn't pile on her," he says. "You didn't need to do that. If you're angry at me, fine, but don't take it out on her."
She sighs. "Oh, Jimmy. I'm not angry at you. Not in the least."
"Then what the hell are you?"
"Worried about you, and scared you're going to get hurt again," she says bluntly. She doesn't mean Alicia; she doesn't think that girl has enough of a clue or an awareness to hurt him. She thinks he's going to hurt himself, more than he already has. "I've got to get going back. I've got this slavedriver boss," she jokes.
He carefully piles everything on his tray, but says, "I'm actually going to take a walk, first."
She nods. "Alright then."
Around five-thirty, Will swings by to collect her. She blinks stupidly. "I didn't know it had gotten so late."
"We've got a daughter to get home to, a daughter whose first day of school is tomorrow," he reminds her.
"You know, you've taken to this fatherhood thing more quickly than I expected," she says. "I'm glad, Billy. I didn't think we made the right decision at all, and some days I'm still not sure that I did. … But then I see you with her and I'm glad."
He sucks in a breath. He's still so nervous around Nora, still so concerned he'll turn into his father somehow. He's also, she suspects, worried about keeling over and dying when Nora is dependent on him to be the better parent. "She's hard not to love," he says lightly. "And I'm sorry I haven't been as helpful, but I think now that you're back at work it'll be easier."
"I thought I would feel much guiltier today, but I don't," she muses. "I suppose I could worry that makes me a terrible parent, but I'm too relieved to be back that I don't care."
"It makes you a parent, Mac," he says. "I don't think we'll ever feel like we're doing enough, but we're doing what we can, and the fact that you're working means you're happy, and that will make her happy."
She leans up to kiss him. "I'm very lucky that I married such a wise man."
"And patient, and understanding, and debonair," he says, kissing her again.
"I'll give you the last one, but on the first two? Don't push it, mister," she laughs.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open into their apartment, Nora, undone ribbons clinging to her ponytail, sees them both and dashes for them. "Mommy! Daddy!" she shrieks, and Mac drops to her knees to open her arms.
"Hi, darling one," she says, enveloping her tightly. "I missed you." And she says it with such sincere joy that she begins to see Sloan's point.
It's still not easy when she's back at work — on the first day of school, Nora cried so hard that Will went and sat with her all day, and she spends at least an hour a day worrying about Nora — but it's easier. She enjoys her time with her daughter much more, and Nora seems to find her more interesting. When Nora starts throwing a tantrum for a cookie at lunch, she says no, means it, and Nora miraculously stops crying. She and Will finally start carrying Nora back to her own yellow room once she's fallen asleep, and then eventually they just read her books and have her sleep there full-time. This means they can finally have sex again, and it restores a balance to her life. She's clearer-headed. More relaxed. Capable of nuanced, non-desperate thoughts. When Nora brings her back artwork from school, she brings it into her office to decorate, and things feel blessedly normal.
Three weeks later, it's Sloan's surprise birthday party for Don's fortieth. Will and Nora are part of the ruse — they're taking Don and Max to a baseball game at Yankee Stadium, and Sloan's parents are in town and watching the girls upstairs during prep — and she has to help Sloan set up. "Have you made a decision about the job?" she asks as they greet guests and arrange presents. There are easily sixty guests, and they're luckily mingling all together, giving her and Sloan an extra blessed few seconds to get everything set. Sloan's in a tizzy.
Sloan pauses. "Not yet. But almost," she promises. "Do you think there's enough booze out? And you think he'll like this, right?"
"Yes, and of course he will," she says reasonably. "He'll love all the thought you put into it."
"And Will hasn't texted back yet?"
She checks her phone. "He's about ten out, actually." The doorbell rings. "I'll go get that."
It's Jim and Alicia, and she smiles widely though artificially. She hasn't spoken to Jim since they're lunch, really. "Jim. Alicia. Welcome! Come in, come in, how are you?" she tries to sound busy and warm and welcoming, for Jim's sake.
"Great," Alicia chirps, holding up a wrapped box. "I love New York in the fall."
"Makes me want to send someone a bouquet of pencils," Mac quotes.
"Oh my god, that'd be adorable," Alicia says, the reference completely skating over her head.
She tries not to roll her eyes. "Well, come in, presents go that way, by Sloan, on that table."
"What a lovely home," Alicia smiles, handing Sloan the gift.
"Did you guys redecorate?" Jim asks. "It looks much bigger."
"Yeah. When our family grew by sixty-six percent, we added a floor" she smiles. "I need to go turn off the lights for when they get here, but I'll give you a tour later."
Don and Will and the kids come back, and Don is surprised speechless. He kisses Sloan deeply in front of all their guests, and it makes Mac turn to Maggie and sigh. "We pulled off this surprise pretty well," she says, with a wry smirk. She's terrible at surprises.
Maggie responds with a joking eyeroll. "Yes, we're all very proud of you."
"Damn straight," she says, half-laughing, when she gets a tap on her shoulder. She turns to see Jim.
Maggie turns serious in a second. "I need to be going," she says vaguely. She's brought a date — a friend of Tess's husband — which makes Mac proud and sad. "I need to find Brent. Hey, Jim. Good to see you."
"Hey, Maggie," he responds, awkwardly drawing out the words. "Hey, Mac. Can we chat?" Maggie slips away.
"Um, sure," Mac says. Sensing he wants a little privacy, she slips into the media room, with its glossy, expansive views of the city. "Where's Alicia?"
"On that tour Sloan promised," he says. "Listen, I just want to talk about the … lunch we had. And I want to talk. And for you to listen. Just … listen."
He looks nervous, and earnestly serious, and so much younger than he is. She nods. "Alright. Go."
"I know that you don't particularly like Alicia —"
"I don't dislike —"
"I talk, you listen, right? You promised."
"Sorry. I just —"
"You promised —"
"I know I did, Jim, and I'm sorry, because I know what you're going to say. But I just — I worry, I do, that you did this because you're impulsive about love, sometimes, you are. Don't make that face, Jim. You're impulsive sometimes, and I just worry, I do, that this was one of those times. I mean, Christ, Jim, did you actually think this through? Before you married her?" she bursts out.
"Yes," he says harshly. "I know you don't particularly like her, and I get that. It's fine. I don't need you to like her. I know you want me to … patch things up with Maggie. I know you think we need to do that, to be friends, at least. You don't need to say it; it's in each and every one of your interactions with any of us. But Mac, I need you to stop. I need you to get over it, to accept Alicia. I know that you think she's young, and I know we're not a perfect couple, but nobody is, Mac. Not you and Will, not Don and Sloan. But we're in this, we're married, and Christ, Mac, I've fucked up enough, in the last eight years … Basically since we've come back from Afghanistan. I've fucked up every relationship I've had. Maggie … I know you think you understand what we went through, with the baby, but you don't. You can't. Neither of us will get past that, not now, not ever. I wish, every day, that it had turned out differently. That we'd stayed at your place, or that that man had seen that stop sign. Every. Single. Day. I will die wishing that had gone differently. But it happened, it's done, and now … I've fucked up every good thing in my life in the last eight years, and I can't fuck up one more. But I can't make this work unless you're supportive, Mac, I can't. You're my sister. You are. In a way that neither of my actual big sisters are. And so I just … I need you."
Her throat is dry, and Jim is near tears. "Alright. Of course. Jim … I'm so —"
"Don't say sorry," he says, roughly. "You've said it so much. Everyone says it so much. I can't respond any more, I can't think any more. So don't say it."
She's numb. "Right. Of course. I won't, Jim."
The door swings open, and they both turn. "Hey," Jim says brightly, as Sloan and Alicia come in, presumably on their tour. Alicia has Emma on her hip, and Sloan's helping Anna toddle in too.
"Jim, this home is amazing," Alicia says, her eyes wide and happy as she comes up to him. She kisses him briefly before pulling away. "Have you seen the Where the Wild Things Are mural in Max's room? It's a work of art. And the views!" She lets Emerson down and turns to Sloan. "Thank you so much for having us over. This is wonderful. And such a thoughtful birthday gift."
"Thanks," Sloan says. Don enters then, sliding in behind her and looping his arm around her shoulder. Mac knows that they'll be fine. "Hey, mister," she smiles. "Happy birthday."
"This is fantastic. Thank you," he murmurs, kissing her ear. "Everyone enjoying themselves in here?"
"Yup," Jim says, holding up his drink. "Happy birthday, Don." The girls run up to the window, and Alicia starts wandering to look at the bookshelves, which Mac has to admit are lined with a pretty impressive collection. "How's 40 treating you?"
"You know, I'd always thought it would start some sort of crazy midlife spiral, but it's great," he smiles. "Way better than turning twenty or thirty felt, actually. But I've got a lot that I'm honestly pretty grateful for, I think that helps," he smiles.
"Sloan, when was this picture taken?" Alicia asks, in a funny voice, holding up a silver frame. Sloan goes over to inspect, and Mac turns to watch, half-listening to the guys' conversation.
"Oh that? That was, um, Max's christening," Sloan replies.
"And that's Maggie? Jim's ex?" Alicia asks, and Mac puts it together before Sloan does. Oh, Jim. Such a pretty, optimistic idiotic man. Fuck. This will not end well. She sits down on the arm of the sofa and tries to discreetly gesture to Don.
"Yeah. She's … she's here actually," Sloan says, slightly tense, unclear where this is going.
"Yeah, I thought I saw her," Alicia says, her brow furrowed and her tone confused. "Jim, come here, please, babe?"
"What's up?" he says and Mac sucks in a breath.
Alicia looks up at him, hurt on her face. "Jim, was Maggie pregnant?"