It was the last ounce of anything he had left, after days of driving, after days of being awake, after days of scheduling changes and phone calls and voices echoing around him and doctors reporting to him about Aaron and Amber's still unanswered messages and all the stuff he'd moved from the car and the street signs that passed in a blur and the roiling stomach contents he kept depositing in toilets or bushes – it was the last ounce he had, and it all just poured out of him as Abbey's arms closed around him, and he didn't have it, even an ounce more, to push her away.
It was all a mess, anyway, the photos scattered around him and the jewelry still in the little plastic baggie from the facility, labeled with her name – a chain he recognized vaguely, a few rings, a tangle of blue and white rosary beads – and it was all just a mess, the house and the surgical board and the social workers in L.A. and the pile of forms on the kitchen table, it was all a mess and it was all his fault and he should've put a stop to it months ago, years ago, before it was all too late.
It was the last ounce he had left, and it just poured out of him, and he could barely feel it, as she burrowed into his chest, and it should've been terrifying to her – like the nightmares, not the fake ones she made up, but the real ones, the shrinks and the counselors who couldn't do a fucking thing for her, and it should've pushed her away, that he was… that he didn't… that he couldn't… that it had all been his doing and he'd let it all happen and it would start all over again if he didn't stop it.
He should've pushed her away, the first time she'd called him that, and he should've pushed April away, the first time she'd trailed him to Iowa – since she'd seen it – and he should've stopped it, the pond and the fish stuff – and he should've seen it all coming and he had and he hadn't done anything to stop it.
It was the last ounce he had left, and he should've stopped it long before and she shouldn't be there, whispering to him and fishing the rhino crackers out of the box, and it should terrify her and send her away – the nightmares piled around him, in little plastic baggies and a polished brown box and a few crinkled shopping bags marked with a name she shouldn't know – and it all just seeps out of him, in the faint moonlight filtering in through the frilly white curtains.
He should've done it all different, every last bit of it, and it shouldn't have gone on like this and it shouldn't have ended like this and it was the last of anything that he had left and it was spilling onto Abbey's hair and it was the only thing he'd ever learned from his old man – that boys don't cry - and he had to put a stop to it right that instant, since it was one of the few rules he ever actually believed in.
It was the last ounce he had left, and it was a minor miracle he'd made it through the day, with his old coaches' voices ringing in his ears and it all made him dizzy and groggy and it was another minor miracle he'd made it home in one piece and he just couldn't imagine doing it the next day but he had to and he struggled against it, the crushing weight on his chest as another pair of arms wrapped around him, and he just couldn't get it to clear – his throbbing head or his smeared, blurry vision – and it was impossibly hot even though he was shivering and it was all grey and heavy and dizzying and it was the last thing he remembered, sinking into the darkness, before it all went blank.
It was almost 8:30 the following morning before she got Katie off to the car pool, and Eric fed and settled happily in his play pen, and called the hospital again, and returned to find him right where they left him, curled on the floor and wrapped more tightly in Abbey's pretty in pink princess throw, and it figured, that Abbey had forgotten to take the empty milk glass down to the kitchen with her, after she'd whispered to him that it would be okay, again, and kissed him goodbye before going off reluctantly to grab her school back pack, since it seemed to run in them, too – shared DNA or not – the trail of milk glasses that needed to be washed – and it figured, that Abbey finally flatly refused to leave, Abbey the cooperative one, Abbey the one who never gave them any trouble, Abbey the one who suggested that they try to make him pancakes when he woke up, as if whatever it was, maple syrup could fix it.
It was as good a theory as any, April thought with a smirk, as she quietly scooped up the photos that littered the floor, placing them neatly with the boxes and bags in the corner. It was as good a theory as any, she imagined, because he wouldn't want to talk about it, and he probably wouldn't remember much of it, and he probably hadn't been eating much, anyway – unless you count a few rhinos – and it wasn't like it could hurt, even if she shuddered at the thought of Abbey wreaking havoc in the pantry.
It was probably just as well, she imagined, brushing her fingers lightly through his hair, and it was probably just as well, that it wasn't until after noon, when he finally stirred, and it was probably just as well, since it would give him time to shower and change, and it was probably just as well that Abbey was so proud of her lumpy, golden pan cakes that she didn't think to ask him about it, when he finally popped into the kitchen nearly a half hour later, with a mild smirk.
It was probably just as well, she noticed, since he and Abbey had something to talk about instead of the night before, and it was probably just as well that he didn't even ask why she was home from school that day, and it was probably just as well that the papers had been cleared from the kitchen table, because however urgent they were, it wasn't the time, and it was probably just as well that Abbey remembered what she'd been told, and went out into the yard with him and Winston afterwards, to help him dig holes for the weeds – for the bulbs, she corrected herself immediately – that wouldn't need planting for a month, and to clean off the drive way that would be mud covered again by morning.
It was just as well, she imagined as she watched them work, that Abbey could chatter to him about her latest photographs and the up-coming swim meet and how excited she was for spring, about anything but whatever it was that had unraveled him the evening before, and it was just as well, she noticed, that Abbey knew better than to mention it, too, and it was just as well, she imagined, as she scooped Eric up to feed him again, that Katie would probably only come home with one note that day, since she'd heard from the car pool mothers that the reading teacher was still out with the flu.
It was probably just as well, she imagined, that Hurricane Katie blew in precisely on time that afternoon, and that the yard erupted into a flurry of shrieks and sprints, and that dinner was the usual chaotic blur, and that homework was the usual battle of wills – at least, with Katie – and that Abbey seemed to catch it, April's nod to her as she tucked her in that night, that she'd take care of it that night.
It was probably just as well, she imagined, that he was almost asleep by the time she'd crawled into their bed, and it was probably just as well that he was exhausted from digging and aching and stiff from hauling dirt and rocks and creaky and chilled from the damp cold and that he at least had something she could do something about, and that he didn't push it away immediately, as her fingers sank into his back, and that it went from stiff and cramped to warm and supple before she knew it.
It echoed around her, too, a chorus of light moans, and it was all in there, apologies and regrets and fears and bewilderment and anger and denial and shock, and it all pooled into the curve of his spine, and it all flowed over her hands as another round of soft sighs followed and it all ended up where it always did, curled in her arms and snoring softly into her chest.
It was all his fault, too, she noticed, shifting repeatedly, that she now had her aunt Edna's hips and those Martian boobs, and they'd warned her about it, all those pregnancy books she'd barely had time to skim while keeping up with Katie and Abbey, about the post-pregnancy weight that would cling to her, and it was all his fault, since it spent so many nights making her shriek and shudder and tremble, even if it was just wedged comfortably against her at the moment, as sleepy as the rest of him.
It was all his fault, too, she smirked, studying his face before pressing her lips to his hair, again and again, since she'd seen it on the counter that morning as she was hastily preparing the lunch Katie wouldn't eat, anyway, and it was absurd, really, that it never failed even in situations like this, and it just made her shake her head and smirk at the thought, that nothing said it quite like a Snickers bar, or a goofy, glow-in-the-dark Fun in the L.A. Sun pair of flip flops key chain, complete with working flashlight.
It woke him at 3 a.m. that morning, the scatter shot of sleet against the windows, and he glanced bleary eyed at the alarm clock beside his bed, and he struggled to remember if it was morning or afternoon, and if he was due at the hospital any time soon, or already late, and if it would ever stop throbbing, the dull ache behind his eyes, and if it would ever settle, the roiling in his stomach.
It was always 3 a.m., he remembered, even back after… even back after the shootings, and it was 3 a.m. with Abbey back when she had nightmares, and then again when she didn't, and it was probably a hint or a sign, that he should go for a run in the sleet, or go watch television in the basement, but his legs were still stiff and the room was still oddly chilly and he just burrowed deeper under the comforter, tugging it closer around April as she drew closer into him with a sleepy sigh.
It was still strawberries, too, he noticed with a smirk, the scent of her hair, which shimmered even in the faint moon light filtering in through the huge windows, and it was still her gentle arms wrapped around him, and it was still her warm curves pouring into his body, curvier curves even, he gathered, as he traced his hands along her silky skin, and it was always her warm hands or her soft lips or her quiet murmurs, whenever it was 3 a.m. and he didn't run or watch mutant potatoes take over Idaho.
It was nothing like he'd ever expected, and he just watched it spread across her face as his hands continued their travels, another sleepy smile, and it was never supposed to be like this for her, and she was never supposed to have to deal with it, with Iowa and psych wards and the madness that bubbled in his own veins, and it wasn't supposed to be like this, with social workers and counselors and legal forms all over the kitchen table, and he was sure it was nothing she ever expected, to be untangling his spine after her own long day with the kids, while he was barely holding any of it together.
It was nothing like Abbey should have to deal with either, he reminded himself, and his face flushed beet red for what little he remembered of it, of her small voice assuring him it would be all right, before it all unraveled completely. She shouldn't have seen any of it, he reminded himself, and it wasn't like she didn't have her own crap to deal with, and it wasn't like he wasn't supposed to be helping her – and not making matters worse – and he wondered if it even freaking scared her, even if he was still sure she'd been faking it for over a year, the nightmares that required their usual late night fix.
He shook his head at it, too, and he flushed red all over again, at the milk and the crackers and the pan cakes, and it was all spilling into the house, no matter how hard he fought it, and it was like a miniature version of that crappy old farmhouse had followed him, clinging to his mother's things, and it made his stomach churn all over again, the idea that he'd have to get rid of it at some point, as if it might infect the rest of the place if he just left it all where it was.
It would help if Amber would return his freaking calls, he reminded himself, since she might want some of it, even if she had made it pretty freaking clear of late, that she wanted nothing to do with him, and it wasn't like he blamed her for it, and it wasn't like he didn't get it – why she'd never quite trust Aaron, either, even if she'd seen it her whole life, what the madness could do once it kicked up where the pills left off, and he'd get it – if she wanted to keep her distance – so she wouldn't catch it, too.
It was irrational, he thought with a smirk, and unscientific, and it had no medical basis – any such fear of it – and it might've made him frustrated or angry, too, if he didn't have it himself, the nagging sense that he was prone to it, too, that he might catch it – from a stray photo or a bible or a music box or a string of rosary beads – that it might overtake him, the moment he least expected it.
It wasn't like that, though, he reminded himself, holding April closer, and it didn't work like that, the brain, even if the shrinks pretended they knew all about it, and it had to stop, he insisted to himself again, and he'd make it up to them, he insisted, even if he had no idea how, exactly, and it wasn't like it was an option, anyway, since it just kept echoing through his mind, a familiar small voice assuring him that it would be all right.
The girls were already gone by the time she woke the next morning, popping abruptly out of her bed as she raced down the stairs. It was a mess, she noticed, the kitchen – littered with the remains of what looked like a slightly less lumpy pancake breakfast, and it trailed off into the family room, where Alex and Eric sprawled on the floor, giant colorful blocks strewn everywhere, while sports news flickered in the background. It almost made her laugh, because he was sure that Eric was going to be an architect someday, even though he was only six months old, and prone to drooling on his Lego masterpieces.
She joined them anyway, and it was more giggling and gurgling and laughing, and Eric was still the happiest baby she could imagine, and it was time for his next meal before she knew it, and it was time for his nap soon after, and it was the first time she and Alex had had the house to themselves in ages, and it was different now, since the baby, and she was still getting used to it all, the Martian boobs and aunt Edna's hips, and she wondered if he was getting used to it all, too.
She'd wondered, but it was throbbing in her hands moments later, and it was thundering through her as she shifted her weight, and it was a sudden sharp gasp as she snickered and reminded him that she was still horny, and it was thundering through him as they plunged into a familiar rhythm and it was still rippling his skin as she curled tightly around him afterwards and it was still echoing around her in a series of deep moans as it settled comfortably between them, still trembling, and it was still quivering as her hands wandered gently down his body, slowly steadying his breathing.
It was still all his fault, she teased, running her fingers delicately along it again and smirking at his low, rumbling groan, that they were doing it on shag carpet, amid piles of brightly colored plastic blocks, and it was all his fault, she giggled, as she brushed at the indentation one of the plastic pieces had left in his hip, and it was all his fault, if her shrieking startled the neighbors.
It was quiet and warm and peaceful, in the dimly lit room, and it still made him blush sometimes, with a lop sided smirk, when she traced her fingers lightly over his face, and it was still hypnotic, the beating of his heart beneath her ear, and it was still unpredictable, even when it wedged lazily between them, and it was still nothing like she'd ever expected it – not that she'd ever expected to be doing it on blue green shag carpet, in front of an entire crew of Lego construction workers and cement truck drivers – and it still startled her sometimes, what it could accomplish without a word.
It lasted all of twenty minutes, too, before Eric was up again, and it took her another four minutes to dress, after Alex untangled her bra from the coffee table legs, while she shook Lego workers out of her robe, and it lasted all of another hour or two, before hurricane Katie blew back into the house, followed closely by Abbey, and it was the usual rush of dinners and papers and baths and giggling and toys and tooth brushing and rocking and zoo keeping until she finally dropped back into her bed again.
It was nothing like she expected, the chaos and the madness, and she still couldn't imagine it ending, and it simmered in her head as Alex slept peacefully beside her, and he just couldn't take it, she was sure, if they took Katie and Abbey away from them now, and it would just finish him, she feared – after his mother and his sister and his brother – and he was barely holding it together again after the ride to L.A. and the polished wooden box in the spare bedroom, and it just couldn't happen to him, not again, not now she insisted, and it had to work this time, the system, or she just didn't see how he'd manage it.
They couldn't take it either, she reminded herself the following morning – the girls – because Abbey's pancakes were getting better, even if it was crushed animal crackers, she suspected, one of her secret ingredients, and Katie loved reading science fiction and anything about fish, even if she wouldn't do it for school, and it just wouldn't be the same if Abbey wasn't faking nightmares, just to watch late night television with him, and if Katie wasn't squabbling with her over homework and fish tanks and chores and the whole idea of rules in general, and it just wouldn't be the same, with any other kids but them.
It just wouldn't be the same, she insisted, and she'd tell them all that the following month, and the month after, and she would register them for school again, even if it was all still in limbo, and it didn't matter how it would look – if it was like they were spoiling the kids or like they were trying to impress the social workers or something else entirely – because Alex wanted to take Katie to Sea World, and he wanted to take Abbey to see the Spinning Tea Cups and the Little Mermaid she was always chattering about, and it was just going to be what they did that summer, and that was all there was to it.
It was 5:36 a.m. when he woke the next morning, and it was receding a little, the fog in his head, and her arms were still wrapped around him as he stretched lazily and it was finally starting to dull some, the steady ache in his back, and it just washed over his skin, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and it just all slid smoothly against him, her warm skin, and it sank into him in all the right places and he just smirked as she murmured, since it sill melted readily into his hands.
She'd blame it on him, too, he imagined as he slid out of the bed, the whole bigger boob thing, as if it was anything to complain about, as if Eric could help it, either – that guys just preferred it, when they were like that, he smirked again, as she followed him into the shower, giggling, and she'd probably blame it on him again, too, even if he was the one gasping and shuddering as it trembled in her hands, and it was probably his fault, too, that she left the plush shag carpet in the family room, because, she'd snorted sarcastically at the time, he remembered, it was "cushy."
It was chaos as usual an hour later, as the girls thundered down the stairs and it was breakfast and book bags and permission slips as they chattered, and it was surprisingly good pancakes as Abbey watched him eagerly – even if they were a little crunchy, which was kind of weird, but whatever, since they were smothered in syrup, anyway – and it was car pools honking as April finished feeding Eric and it was finally back to the hospital again, where he still worked too hard just to focus his mind.
It was consults but no cutting again that day, Bailey insisted, and it had obviously spread through the grape vine, about his mother, and he got it all over – those uncomfortable looks and the awful sad glances and he just rolled his eyes and he just holed up in a conference room and caught up on his paperwork and wandered up to the NICU, to see how things were going there. It was the usually midday madness, with frantic, panicked parents and busy nurses and babies too sick or too weak even to scream, and it was always better after midnight if you just went there to think.
It was the same the next day, and the next, and he was cutting again by the following Monday, and it was intense and focused and precise and it forced everything else out of his mind, the lawyers' phone calls and Katie's attitude and Abbey's clinging and April's flurry of stress organizing activity as Eric happily stacked his blocks, oblivious to it all, and it got pushed out of his mind entirely – the crap about Amber and his mother and his brother, since it wasn't like he could do a damn thing about any of it.
It was the same the week after until he heard it on the grapevine, the news of another possible merger, and it had been a disaster, the last one, and it was already freaking people out, about layoffs and cut backs and possible shakeups in the departments, and it was a terrible time for April to be on leave and he'd tell her about it, except that the last time he'd tried to help a wife with her career it had all blown up in his face.
She hears about it, anyway, and it's more juggling as they hustle Eric into day care as she returns part time and it's a battle for her but Eric is thrilled and he just doesn't get it, why April's so freaked about it when the kid's already flirting with Jensen's daughter from Ortho. It's loaded with every kind of block he could ask for, too, Alex notices as he drops him off the next week, and it's not like he wasn't laughing and getting tickled by the pretty young red head as Alex shoved a diaper bag into Eric's cubby.
It was fine, he insisted to her later that morning, and it was convenient and Eric loved it and it wasn't like he'd be scarred for life if April had lunch with him before she went to retrieve Eric from the teachers and it wasn't like she was going to get fired that week for being part time – no matter what the stupid grape vine said – and it wasn't like she wasn't still the go to chick in trauma, and it wasn't like they still weren't a Level One Trauma Center, mainly because she'd organized them into being one.
It's all driving her crazy, anyway, he notices the next week, and it's lunch outside that day since it's actually clear for a change and it's hot salty pretzels and hot dogs - with vegetables, he points out gruffly when she deems it the "heart attack in a bag" Tuesday special, and she's rolling her eyes and fussing with napkins but at least she's finally laughing about it ten minutes later, as she dabs the hot mustard from his nose, while he opens her water.
It's a walk after that, and it comes out in dribs and drabs, again, about the lawyers and the merger and the girls and day care and whether it will ever fall into place, and it's not like he can tell her it'll all be fine, because he gets it, how the system works, and it's not like he can tell her that Eric's already hitting on hot day care workers, because then she'll just glare at him, and it's not like he can tell her it'll all be fine, because that's just another "F" word, so he really just listens as it all swirls around them.
It apparently wasn't so awful though, the lunch, since she's kissing him afterwards right there in the middle of it, the main walkway – grapevine central – and it's long and deep and he can feel it all through his body, the blood rushing to his face, and he can feel the electricity from her fingers as she holds his face and he can feel it pour right through him, when she releases him and smiles shyly into his eyes, and whatever it is, it sucks the air from his lungs and leaves him tingling and wobbly for the rest of the day, as she rushes off to retrieve Eric from his growing harem.
It left her flushed and wobbly, too, and she beamed as Eric reached for her, giggling happily, and she smiled broadly as they raved about him, again, about how good he was, and how sweet, and how friendly, and about how they all just loved him, and she smirked when they asked her if she was sure about who his father was, and she just scooped him up and grabbed his bag and toted him to her car, hoping she'd have some time to play with him before the girls got home.
She wouldn't let it upset her, she promised herself as she pulled into the driveway, all the merger gossip at the hospital, even if she remembered the first one vividly, and she wouldn't let it unravel her completely, the current piles of forms on the kitchen table, and she wouldn't let it rattle her, the news from Beth that she'd accepted a three year position with a travel magazine based in Seattle, and that that would be her new home base as she continued to jet around the globe half the year.
It was good news, she insisted to Eric, that Beth's career was really taking off, that her new job would take her to the Caribbean and the Caymans and a host of exotic vacation locales, and that she'd finally gotten it – the big break with the major magazine, making major money to fly all over the world and be obscenely pampered – while April washed dirty milk glasses and played with sticky plastic blocks and tried to fathom exactly what Abbey was putting into her pancakes to make them so crunchy, anyway.
It was good news, she reminded herself, after she'd heard the rest of the grapevine weigh in on it – on how Cari would be joining her in Cairo over her winter break, and Dani already had dibs on Cabo around Thanksgiving, and about how Jenny would love to see Japan. It was good news, she insisted, since they were all young and carefree and could come and go as they pleased, and it was good news, she agreed happily, when her mother – who never went anywhere – called about a Caribbean cruise.
It was good news, she agreed, just like she was happy that Cari had been chosen to do advanced Oncology research, and Dani was now a vice president of … something… and Jenny was working for the only congressman in her state who'd never been indicted, at least – not yet – and it was all very exciting, she reminded herself, amid another evening of homework and hash browns and hot pink bubble bath.
It was good news, she reminded herself the following month, and it would all work out, she insisted, as more forms flooded in, and it would be exactly what she wanted – even if Katie was really pushing her limits – and it figured, she smirked a week later as she clamored out of a late shower, that the only book she'd had a chance to scan about it during her pregnancy had been all wrong, since it had been almost eight months since she'd had Eric, and it was still nowhere in sight, the body she vaguely remembered from back before she'd started doing it on the shag carpet.
It was all his fault, she smirked, shaking her head as she pulled her light robe around her. It was silly though, she noticed, since it was a warm June night, and it wasn't like he hadn't seen it all before, and it wasn't like he'd complained any, about the Martian boobs he still couldn't keep his hands off of, anyway, and it wasn't like she hadn't thought about it before, what it would be like, to be more busty, like Beth, or Barbie, or the Martian women over running the Science Fiction channel.
It would've been great, she'd been sure, back when she was sixteen and still looked twelve, back when Beth was two years behind her, and still sprouted two whole sizes over one summer, back when Beth got it all, the drooling and the attention from the guys, back when she was sure of it, that Beth's boobs were just pushing her out of the house, and making her more invisible to boot. It had been awesome for Beth, she was sure, until she had them herself, and had to dress for them, or around them, if they weren't the first thing she wanted people to notice about her.
It wasn't that easy, though, she'd noticed, to dress around them, except maybe in her lab coat, and it was starting all over again, she imagined, since it was starting with Katie, too, and it wasn't like she'd ever wanted to talk about it with either of them, any of it, and it wasn't like she was ready, and it made her mad, really, that the parenting books said she'd grow into it – the whole being a mother thing – but they didn't say what to do when you'd already skipped some steps, and were staring midway.
She could probably ask Beth about it, she thought with another smirk, and it wasn't like she wouldn't get used to it, she imagined, as she placed her robe on the chair beside her bed, and it wasn't like she wouldn't stop hearing about it on the grapevine – about how pregnancy had been great for her, about how she'd gotten them from Sloan, about how she'd taken a longer maternity leave just to get them done - and it wasn't like she didn't have more important things to think about, like what to do about all of them, the next round of hearings and interviews and court proceedings.
She'd already done it anyway, she reminded herself forcefully, registered them for school the following year, and they'd already done it, made reservations for Sea World and Disney, and she reviewed it all as she sank her fingers into Alex's stiff back, though he already slept peacefully. It was hypnotic, anyway, she'd noticed months before, the play of his skin beneath her fingers, and she was already half way down his back before her own breathing began to slow, and she was already tracing fine outlines along the base of his spine, before her mind began to clear and her thoughts to slow.
Not that he minded it, she was sure, even when he was asleep, judging from his deep sighs, and the lazy stretching as her thumbs sank into his hips, and it figured, she imagined, rolling her eyes, that the closest she'd get to an actual honeymoon was feeding chopped squid to starfish or dancing with Donald Duck, not that they'd ever even agree about it, she reminded herself with a smirk as her eyes trailed her hands over it, since they'd never even agreed on whether he fractured it, even though she still had the pictures to prove it, no matter what he said about it.
It had healed nicely, though, she reminded herself, giggling again as another deep sigh escaped him as she passed back over it more slowly, and she remembered hearing about it on the grapevine, too, from the pretty young nurses, about what it probably looked like minus the scrubs, and she could tell them that it looked better coming out of the shower, and better still in the golden orange light of the fire place – not that she recommended fire places, necessarily –and better, either way, when it was all one color, and not purple and black and blue, and, she giggled again, she even had the pictures to prove it.
It made his stomach churn as they drove down to California that July, the street signs and the semis and the trees and he did it deliberately, took the side routes, and he just breathed a sigh of relief, that April didn't even ask about it, and it was a big state, so it wasn't like Amber was even an issue, and it was there in front of them before he knew it, anyway, the aquatic park/resort they were staying at.
It sucked that Katie couldn't really enjoy it, Alex imagined, since the hearings had been pushed back to late August, again, as if it didn't matter that they'd already be preparing for school by then, as if it wasn't a big deal for them, if they'd have the same house and the same friends in another month, as if it didn't freaking matter that Katie had Atlantis 2.0 to take care of and Abbey was practicing the butterfly for her swim team and Katie's baby Koi had hatched and Abbey's Barbie pool was in full swing.
It was the same fucking system, he grumbled, as Katie eagerly held star fish and fed penguins and begged to swim with the dolphins and it was fifty bucks extra but what difference did it make, he shrugged, as April raised her 'you're spoiling them' eyebrows at him while he fished out his wallet, since it might be the only chance she ever got to do it, and it wasn't like they couldn't see it, anyway, that she was going to work in a place like this, someday, or do something with aquatic animals, or be a marine conservationist and nag the rest of the world about dolphin safe Tuna, the way she already did them, and her classmates, and her teachers, and even the stockers in the grocery story.
It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, as Abbey reached shyly into the tank, to brush her fingers across a small shark's fin, drawing them back abruptly, wide eyed and shocked, as if she was counting to make sure they were all still there. It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, as Abbey took photo after photo, of bright coral fish and menacing eels, of whales in flight and otters devouring clams, of bug eyed crabs and Alex winning her the smiling pink Octopus in the ring toss.
They'd just have to do it again, next year, he almost caught himself thinking – if it all, well, if the system ever did anything right for once – and then it wouldn't have to be like this, with everything all tentative like it could end at any moment and the girls all distracted and worried and April on the phone to her parents and Beth – who all had Eric at her place, and were meeting them at Disney later that week – and it could be more freaking normal then, with annoying sisters and frowning in laws and everything.
It sucked that it had to be like that, too, he frowned the next day – since Eric had crabby grand-parents and an annoying aunt, while Abbey and Katie still struggled with it, what to call them and how to answer their questions, since it wasn't like they even knew where they'd be the next month, and it sucked that Eric would get it all, the whole fucking proud grand-parent thing– even if they didn't think much of his father – just because he was the real kid, while the other kids got the table scraps.
It sucked all around, being the other kids – who were always third class, behind the real pets, even – and April could stare her 'you're spoiling them, again' daggers at him all she wanted but it wouldn't change anything, that he wasn't just going to watch it, even if it was a little pricey, all the extra film for Abbey's camera, and the silly Little Mermaid lamp she'd fallen for at the gift shop.
It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled to himself, again, when Katie eagerly grabbed a brochure about the aquatic life summer camp that the place was running the next year, and it sucked that they couldn't just enjoy it, when Abbey asked him to pose for pictures with Mickey and Minnie Mouse, and the Little Mermaid, and on the spinning Teac Cup ride, before they took their turn.
It sucked that they couldn't enjoy it, he grumbled, toting Eric as Beth and Abbey and Katie raced off to take a ride down the Witch Mountain, and giggled and hiccupped their way down the water slide; it sucked that they couldn't enjoy, he thought hours later, as Abbey grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the Ferris wheel, clutching his arm tightly as they soared above the tree tops.
It sucked that she'd been scared of that ride, too, he imagined, until he realized that it was a con, too, and he was on it again with her – and her beloved camera – the next day, and it would be awesome, she assured him eagerly, the shot she'd get of the whole park, as they soared up into the sky.
It would kill him, April imagined weeks later, laughing as she scanned through Abbey's photos – the one of him seated on the spinning Tea Cup, and she imagined posting it at the hospital, and she imagined it might be an even better option for black mail then her photos from their honeymoon if it came right down to it – her need to get his spoiling the girls under control.
Not that it was the immediate problem, she reminded herself as she sorted through her closet, since she hadn't worn very many dresses lately, and it wasn't like she was the same size – or shape – she used to be, and it wasn't like she could walk into the next legal hearing looking like one of Sloan's busty stripper clients, and it wasn't like anything fit all that well. It was just as well, she sighed moments later, and it would probably be chilly in the courthouse, anyway, and she'd just wear a sweater over her blouse and be done with it.
It was about what she expected, anyway – not that she'd ever expected to be there, exactly, in court, petitioning to take children from their mother – and it was awkward and uncomfortable, with Abbey in her Little Mermaid sun dress, which matched her lamp, of course, April remembered, rolling her eyes – as if he'd ever cared about anything "matching" before, as long as it was clean – and Katie in her Save the Dolphins shirt and Alex in his crooked tie and pinchy shoes – as if that was even a word – and her in her too tight blouse and the sweater she'd just realized on the ride over was missing a button.
It would be fine, Beth reminded her again, via text – while she was no doubt spoiling Eric rotten, since it seemed to be a growing conspiracy – and it would all work out, her mother had assured her again that morning over the phone, as if anything ever worked out the way she expected, either – as if she'd seriously planned to have two adopted grandchildren and a doctor son in law who ate cotton candy and hot dogs for lunch, and a daughter who'd gotten pregnant doing it on the world's ugliest carpet, which didn't match anything else in the known universe, even on Mars, even if it was technically clean.
It would all work out, she repeated, forcing herself to breathe, but not at all in the way she expected, and she was stunned when the judge announced it – even for the children to hear – that their mother had surrendered her rights to them with no contest, that it wouldn't even be happening this time, the hearing, that it was settled, that the girls were theirs, and that all it would take to make it official, was to sign the forms beside them.
It rattled through her brain, jarring her, and she caught it almost immediately, Alex's face reddening as he heard the words, like it sucked the air out of his lungs, too, though it might have just been Abbey, who maybe hadn't heard it all, and who'd just thrown her arms around him happily instead, and April almost lost it right there when she heard it again, the small shaking voice asking him "You're my daddy for real now, right?"
It wouldn't quite come out, any actual words, and it was tightening around him as she burrowed into his neck and it wasn't what he'd expected at all – since he knew all about it and it never worked out for kids like them – but it did this time, apparently, and it still wouldn't expand enough for him to take a deep breath, his chest, but he pulled her closer anyway, even if he'd hear about it later from April, about how he'd wrinkled her little Mermaid dress.
It wouldn't quite come out, and it lodged worse once she whispered it into his ear, another breathless promise that "it's okay, daddy," another promise of pancakes the next morning, as her flowing auburn hair tickled his face, and it was nothing like he ever expected, even if it came with pink glitter and lumpy breakfasts and embarrassing photos and flagrant con jobs and over-priced table lamps.
It was still shaking, her hand, as she signed her name again and again, and it was entirely up to them, she assured the girls, that they could still keep their last names if they wanted, and it wasn't an issue at all, as Abbey proudly printed out Abbey Elizabeth Karev in her neat block printing, and it was a point of defiance, April imagined, as Katherine Jane Jensen was scrawled with a quiet scowl.
They got it, they assured her quietly, as the social worker came over to meet with them again – that it would be hard for the girls to accept, that their mother had just left them behind, and that they would still have court ordered sessions with the counselors, and that they would still have follow up visits, to see how they were all adapting, and that it wouldn't be easy, since they already had a child of their own.
"Three," April snapped, since Katie was already sitting beside Alex across the room, while Abbey still clung to him. She was sure it wasn't intentional, that it was just a slip of the tongue, but she'd worried about it from the beginning, that it would be like that with careless people, like Eric would be theirs and Abbey and Katie would be – something else –and she was going to put a stop to it anytime she noticed it, since really, it wasn't like Alex held onto Abbey any less tightly on the Ferris Wheel because she didn't have his genes, and it wasn't like Katie was any less mouthy, even if she wasn't biologically 'his,' and it wasn't like anybody else's daddy ever got more enthusiastic pancakes, even if they were… crunchy.
"It will be fine," she heard herself tell the social worker, and it would be, she'd see to it, and they'd work with the counselors if they needed to – though she was fairly sure that all Abbey would need to adjust completely was a stash of animal crackers – and it was finally sinking in as she watched them across the room, that it was three kids forever from that point on – unless they started doing it again on that shag carpet, she remembered with a smirk – and that it was the last thing she'd expected, that she'd ever adopt two little girls, until it had somehow become all she could imagine.
It was three kids, she reminded herself, as Beth returned with Eric later that afternoon, and it was super soaker wars and river rocks piled on the deck, again, after Alex ditched his pinchy shoes and the crooked tie for something more him, and it was Atlantis 2.0 bubbling away and photographs of everything and reading lists to argue over and book bags to clean and sticky colored plastic blocks everywhere – even, somehow, in the washing machine – and it hit her later evening, as the whirlwind swirled around her, that it might never be alphabetized again until they all went off to college, her once pristine pantry.