CeCe spent the day of her twentieth birthday with her mom. Actually, now that she's thinking about it, she's glad she's turning twenty, at least, before the baby is born. It's like a line, somehow, to not be nineteen, means she's not a teenager anymore. She's an adult, and she's totally capable of raising a child, even by herself.

Or at least, being twenty makes her think she is.

Gunther randomly shows up at her front door at around six, with gummy worms in one hand and a Disney movie in another. CeCe nearly drops her phone, and mouths "Tangled?", pointing to the DVD while letting him in and closing the door behind him. "Oh, yeah," she says into the phone, Ty talking about—um, something, a show where fans were like, jumping and screaming in unison and stuff. "Ty, I, um—"

"Is Gunther there?"

CeCe sighs, "How do—"

"It's your birthday, as if he was going to let you spend it on your own."

"Mmhm," CeCe mumbles, and kind of wants to just, glare at the phone when Ty hangs up.

"That Ty?" Gunther asks, kind of, odd-like, after CeCe slips her phone back into her pocket.

"Yeah, he was just, you know, 'happy birthday CeCe!'" CeCe says, kind making the last three words sing-song like to emphasize the whole conversation. "Gosh, do you really have Tangled? I love that movie!" CeCe asks then and tries to grab the DVD out of his hand.

"Nope, no way, not until I get the birthday hug."

CeCe rolls her eyes a little, and with a sigh goes ahead and holds out her arms, and Gunther grabs her into a hug that's, well, warm and huge and comforting and um, CeCe wouldn't actually mind doing this forever, but.

"Also," he says, pulling back and handing the bag of gummy worms to CeCe.

"You're definitely the best!," CeCe says, before sitting down on the couch and ripping open the bag of gummy worms. They aren't the sour kind, but, well, she appreciates it anyway.

Gunther sits next to her, and she lets herself slide over a little, just—just leaning in a little bit. It's—she's been really kind of affectionate lately? She thinks it's the baby, knows it's the baby, but, well, it's not like Gunther cares, they've done a lot worse than half-cuddle on a couch while watching Disney movies.

"Yeah," he says, after he coughs and moves an arm so that it's over her shoulder.

"You're amazing, you know that?" Gunther says one night, after they've been on the phone for hours. CeCe is warm in her bed, with three pillows behind her, but she keeps having to interrupt the whole going to sleep thing with bathroom breaks every fifteen minutes and twice already she's had to throw up. (It's actually pretty bad—like, it's gotten to the point where the doctor is telling her to eat 2500 calories a day because she just keeps getting rid of it all when the bouts of nausea kick in.) So she's been complaining about all of that—and the headaches, and the insomnia, which is pretty par-for-the-course when it comes to her midnight conversations with Gunther these days. She's kind of, um, avoided getting into talking about her hormones, which have gone all wonky again lately and she's totally glad Gunther hasn't come over because she hasn't had sex since the last time, with the housewarming party, or whatever, and—well, it's not like having sex is even possible, she has a mini-balloon under her shirt now, but it's still—she still gets all hot and weird and flustered sometimes, randomly, and especially when Gunther pitches his voice all deep and rough and—anyway, she's just glad he's been busy with his business lately.

"No, I'm not," CeCe says. Clearly—she's spent the whole night complaining. That really, really, really does not qualify as amazing. "I'm really not."

Gunther grins—or CeCe thinks he does it sounds like he is, somehow—and says, "You really kind of are." And then quieter—"Kinda' crazy how amazing you are."

CeCe's not even sure if she was supposed to hear the last part, but it makes her cheeks heat up anyway, and the baby kicks her right as she's about to deny it again.

She bites her lip, and instead says, "So are you."

Gunther coughs after a second, and jumps into a story about a crazy cousin, but CeCe's kind of stuck on that for the rest of the phone call. She's not really sure why.

She can't believe this is happening. She can't—she knows it's always sort of been there, the whole—

She's never been in love with Gunther.

She's always liked him though—loved him, sort of, but in a—in a different way. Just thinking about him can make CeCe smile or laugh or roll her eyes. It's Gunther, he's—he's one of her best friends, he is her best friend, and even though they had that whole other dimension of their relationship sort of going on, CeCe has never been— She's never really thought about kissing him outside of sex. It's always been about the way his eyes would go all—all dark and intense, and how he'd pull her aside, out of the room, and run his mouth down her throat, and slide his hands across her hips, touching the skin and making it burn with this hot—hot need and want and desire. But that was it. She never daydreamed about him saying, I love you, and taking her hand, and giving her flowers or chocolates on Valentine's Day or whatever it was that people did when they were in love.

She's eight months—she's eight months pregnant. She's exploding like some sort of crazy hormonal blimp, alright, and this can't be happening. God can't be that cruel. It was—it was a mistake that she got pregnant, just two people not paying enough attention. It's not supposed to be more than that.

It was barely a few minutes ago that CeCe had complained into the phone, "She won't stop kicking." It was two in the morning, and she hadn't been able to sleep because the baby was trying to be a night owl.

Gunther had chuckled and said, "Alright, alright, let me—put the phone down so she can hear it, alright?"

And CeCe had, she'd held it against her belly, swollen and stretched and sort of amazing anyway (not that she lets anyone see it without the shirt, because, well, no.) She'd heard Gunther start singing, and closed her eyes, just listening to the faraway sound. It was nice enough that she almost fell asleep, so eventually she'd moved the phone back up to her ear to say, "The baby stopped! I think she fell asleep, oh my Gosh, thank you, Gunther."

Except—except she didn't say anything. His voice was deep and accented, but right then, it was—it was slow, and soft, and gentle and CeCe couldn't interrupt him, couldn't stop him.

And we'll linger on, time can't erase a feeling this strong, no way, you're never gonna' shake me, ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby.

She was in love with Gunther.

It was—oh, Gosh, it's—she's in love with Gunther, soft and sweet and singing for her—for their—baby through the phone at two in the morning, and—

If she told Gunther—would they still laugh at his bad jokes, and would they still go out to café's, and would they still show each other dance moves and would they still—would they still be them? She doesn't even know what she's thinking—if she told him she was in love with him? If she told him he was the father of the baby? If she—

And it's too late now, if CeCe told him, he wouldn't believe her. Or he'd be mad that she had lied to him—disappointed too, maybe. And whatever she would be hoping to get out of telling him—whatever she wanted, and she still doesn't really know, but whatever it is—she'd lose the chance to have it for sure.

CeCe tries to ignore Gunther for two days, but that ends with him calling and leaving a message where he's all, singing, like, obnoxiously, and really awful lyrics, what was that, rap or something? and CeCe ends up picking up the phone just to get him to stop. So that doesn't really work. It's just, he's been amazing, these past couple months, actually, and she can't imagine losing him right now.

She sleeps better when he comes over and ends up sleeping on the couch, or when he will talk to the baby through the phone—or sing, her brain reminds her meanly—or bring gummy worms and Disney movies and sends her texts like, "Would you ever name the baby 'Bubble'?" (Which, no, she would never name the baby Bubble, although, um, it's fine for like, Lady Gaga or—not that Lady Gaga's—that's—oh, Gosh, foot, mouth, why does that keep happening to her? And Gunther just laughs at her.)

But even though they talk kind of constantly, it still comes as a surprise when she walks back into her house after a really short day at the studio—Sarah had just needed her for like two minutes, it was hardly worth the gas cost—when there's a bunch of people in her living room, jumping up and being all smiley and excited and there are pink balloons and strings and plastic baby bottles and—CeCe thinks that's like, a wall of diapers, and Gunther is there in the middle, all like, smug, and with Rocky and Tinka and Deuce and Ty and—

It's a baby shower.

She blames the pregnancy hormones when she starts crying. It's not even sad tears, or stressed tears, they're happy tears. CeCe doesn't cry very much—she does, like, sometimes during sad movies or when her cousin died, or things like that, but she doesn't cry at baby showers. At least not ordinarily. She spins around and goes, "You guys! I can't believe—" and pretends to be looking at the balloons and all the little good luck wishes written on them, so that she can maybe, like, get control of herself, except Rocky runs over and hugs her, saying, "CEEECEEEE!" in this loud voice that is completely Rocky. Tinka is there too, and Flynn, so her Mom must be nearby and Ty and Deuce are totally standing by with cups, and smiling, and she can't hide the fact that she's crying at all.

It's kind of an awesome way to start a baby shower.

First off, CeCe is pretty sure if she tries feeding the baby the weird glop in that glass container that Rocky is trying to get Gunther to try, the baby will grow up to hate her. It's just—ew. All of them are really gross, even just the smell, so tasting them is—really icky. She thinks the one in her hand is bananas. But she's not tasting it to make sure. She looks at Gunther, whose writing on his little notebook peaches. CeCe had thought that one was apricots, oops.

She passes the bananas one to Gunther, and says, "Isn't there, um, something else I could feed her?"

Gunther grins and takes the glass container, "We'll figure it out. This is only for the first year or something, right? And half of that she'll still be drinking out of a bottle, CeCe. What is this, bananas?"

"CeCe," Tinka says, and hands her what she's going to assume is spinach. (Again with the not tasting it to make sure.)

"Thanks," she mutters, staring at the stuff dubiously. Tinka laughs.

Rocky ended up winning the baby food game. CeCe didn't actually do that bad—well, she did better than Gunther and Ty anyway.

They do some other things—at one point, they're all throwing baby names around, but none of them are, whatever, CeCe just doesn't know what she's going to do about a name. How can she pick someone else's name? One they'll have for their entire life. What if she picks one the baby will end up hating? And it's not like she can name her after anyone, because then everyone else would feel left out, and. It's just complicated.

Eventually, Rocky pulls two big things of string out of her purse, and says, "Okay, measuring time!"

"What?" CeCe says, already moving back, because—really?

Flynn is laughing, and says, "CeCe's not going to like this game." He's already cutting a piece of string though, wrapping it around his own stomach twice, as if that's going to be accurate at all.

CeCe kind of, like, flails a little, and says, "Really, do we have to—Gosh, this isn't—you guys!"

"It's tradition!" Rocky says from across the room, as she finishes cutting her piece of string and hands the roll to Tinka, who unrolls it so much CeCe thinks it'll wrap around her like, three times, maybe. She's not that big. Tinka adds, "Sorry."

CeCe crosses her arms and says, "Definitely not naming her Tinka."

Gunther snorts next to her and grabs the string that Rocky just finished with, and pulls it out carefully before cutting it. "We ready?" he says, but CeCe's mom walks in from the kitchen with a glass of apple juice and says, "Wait, I haven't done it yet!"

CeCe tries one last, "Mom—" but it doesn't get her anywhere, and then Rocky is standing in front of her, pulling her string tight. It's too small, and it's kind of—it's really embarrassing. CeCe fidgets uncomfortably before Rocky grabs Tinka's and measures it—way too big. Deuce's is too big too, and Flynn's is too small, and Ty's is too big, but closer to being the right size than Rocky's was. Her mom's is almost perfect—an inch or two too big. She's grinning when Rocky takes Gunther's, the last one, and pulls it around CeCe's waist.

Gunther's is perfect. He laughs from next to CeCe, loud enough that it makes her jump. She breathes a long sigh and waits for him to stop before saying, "It's not like—Gunther, it's because you're always touching me!" The exactly measured blue string drops from her belly where Rocky was holding it as she turns. "I think that's cheating? You had, like, foreknowledge."

Gunther just laughs again and shakes his head, saying, "No way, Jones," right as Tinka yells "Cheater!" and throws a diaper (clean, obviously, but still) at Gunther's head. CeCe's mom says, "I declare myself the winner since I was the closest other than Mr. Cheat here."

CeCe takes the opportunity—everyone play fighting or whatever—to sneak into the kitchen and get a glass of apple juice like her mom had earlier. She loves that everyone came and did this. She hasn't seen Rocky in ages, and it's great to see them all again, she loves them, and the party itself is—she has more baby food and diapers than she thinks one kid will ever need, basically. But it's all—it's kind of overwhelming, and she needs a break, so she takes her time in the kitchen.

Instead of going back out to the living room, she sits down in a stool and drinks her juice in the quiet kitchen. She can still sort of hear everyone laughing and yelling in the other room, and the baby can too—she's like, jumping or something, really excited. It's kind of painful, but not really. Distracting though, definitely, and a little annoying, but, well, it isn't like she can do anything about it.

She looks up when Rocky comes in the room and smiles because she's smiling. "Hey, CeCe," she says, looking to grab a plastic cup off the counter (courtesy of Ty, who'd also brought the alcoholic version of lemonade, but CeCe had vetoed that at a baby shower and so it's in the fridge waiting to go home with him again). "How are you doing? Tired? Want me to get Gunther?"

CeCe scrunches her nose up and shakes her head, still smiling but more just because it's polite. "I'm fine, I'll come back out when I finish my juice."

"Alright," she says, filling her cup up and sitting down on the other stool. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

CeCe nods, "Yeah. Everybody's been so busy."

Rocky smiles, and says, "Your choreography is great, CeCe. I liked, hm, which one was it, the lyrical hip hop with the Beyonce song. Yes! I love that one. It's—you've grown up a lot since graduation." Rocky muses.

CeCe looks at her stomach. "Yeeeeep," she says, and lets out a long breath. "Definitely growing."

Rocky grins again though, even as CeCe's smile is kind of, iffy, at the moment. "Bet you and Gunther were surprised when you found out, huh? It would have been so scary."

"Gunther's not the Dad," CeCe says abruptly, suddenly realizing why she's been all "Want me to go get Gunther?" and all-smiley and "Oh, CeCe, did you want my seat?" when she'd been sitting next to him earlier, and—and Tinka was doing that too, earlier, and Deuce had even—oh my Gosh.

Rocky blinks up at her, opening her mouth into an 'o' before closing it again. She says, "I didn't—really? But you're so—you're not dating? I thought—"

"He's just—" CeCe starts, and then stops. She hasn't really thought about what Gunther is doing—or why. At first it was just—a couple phone calls, like a friend, helping out. And then—he brought over gummy worms and helped with stuff in the house, and then they—they were talking all the time, and—he's just what? What is Gunther doing? "—helping."

"I'm sorry," Rocky says, awkwardly. "You two just seem really… like, a family?"

CeCe just shakes her head, and says, "But we're not."

"Come on," Rocky says, a moment later. "Your mom got you a present, and there's another tradition we need to fulfill."

"Another game?"

They walk back out and see Tinka and CeCe's mom laughing as the guys carry in a huge box. CeCe's eyes widen and she looks up at Gunther when they drop it down in the middle of the living room and he claps his hands together, grinning. "Georgia," Gunther says, looking at CeCe's mom, sitting on the edge of the couch. "This is great."

Her mom smiles and says something, but CeCe doesn't hear. She's concentrating on Gunther, Gunther whose smiling and walking over, and putting an arm out to touch her shoulder, completely—casual and intimate, like it belongs there, like he's not even thinking about it, like it's normal for him to just—just be touching her like—like they're together, like they're dating or married or expecting parents, like—

Why's he doing this, it's—it hurts.

"Alright, so it's the guy's job to put the thing together, right?" Gunther says, still looking all—all happy, like he's wanting to put together a crib and taste baby food and collect diapers and—like he wants to be a Dad, like he wants to be CeCe's baby's Dad, and that would mean he'd want to be—to be CeCe's—

CeCs jerks away from Gunther's hand, and yells, "Stop it!" Everyone looks at her, and she says, "Stop with—everything, you're not—you're going to be a great uncle, okay, but you're not—you're not going to be the Dad, just stop. I can't—I can't handle you being all—just stop."

CeCe feels guilty as soon as she says it, and Gunther looks like she slapped him, or—or told him she hated him, or—

"Sorry," he says, finally, after an awful, tense silence from the room. "I just—I thought it would be okay, to—but if you don't want me to, I'm just going to, uh." He turns so that he's not looking at CeCe, is looking everywhere but CeCe. "I'm sorry, you're right. I'm being really invasive. I'll just—I'm going to, uh, check on, something."

CeCe squeezes her eyes shut as Gunther walks past her, sliding through the backdoor, and Gunther's dog's loud bark makes it obvious that he's happy he's getting his owner's attention. CeCe hadn't even known that his dog was here.

"CeCe," Rocky says, quietly, tentatively, like she's going to explode again.

"I shouldn't have said that. You just—with all that stuff in the kitchen and—" She shakes her head, "I need to apologize, I'll be, um, I'll be right back."

When she goes through the backdoor, closing it again so that not everyone will be able to hear her talking to Gunther this time (and she's sure Rocky is explaining that they're not actually dating—she hopes most of this crazy drama or whatever goes down in history as crazy pregnancy hormones), Gunther is only actually a few feet away, leaning against the house and bent down. The dog is yapping at his feet, aching for attention.

CeCe kind of wishes she could be like that—a puppy, completely open with her emotions, no matter how crazy or weird, and not having to explain them at all, ever, and getting unconditional love back even when she's really foolish and makes a mistake. Gunther looks up at her, and the smile he sends CeCe is—is small, and nervous, like he's saying I'm sorry again.

CeCe walks over and when Gunther stands back up, giving the pup a last scratch in-between the ears, CeCe wraps her arms around him and pushes him into a hug. Gunther is half-frozen, his body not moving while his arms partially reach up as if to hold CeCe back. "CeCe?" he asks, after a minute, after the dogs whines get annoying and CeCe pulls back to sort of—awkwardly, maybe her stomach is that big—lean down and run a hand through his fur.

"I'm sorry," CeCe says, looking back up at him, and then stands back up fully because it's kind of—it's too hard to lean down like that, and her stomach is just always in the way it feels like. "I'm going crazy, and I overreacted. It's just—Rocky—I'm scared." She laughs, but it's closer to crying than, whatever, laughing. "Gunther, I'm having a baby."

He moves his arm, like—like he's going to touch CeCe. "I know that, CeCe. Believe me, I know that. I'm just trying to help. I guess I got a little too… into it. I'm sorry."

"No—you didn't—I love—" CeCe shakes her head again. "I love how into it you are. The texts and phone calls and presents and midnight snack runs—and helping to build the crib—it's—" She looks up at his face, registering that he is staring right back at her. "It makes me feel kinda' like—like I'm not alone, doing this. I'm just, confused and I still want—" She takes a deep breath, "I don't want you to stop what you're doing, any of it. Just ignore me when I'm being crazy, okay?"

"Come here," Gunther says, kind of—he's asking CeCe, rather than telling her, but she moves forward and grabs onto him anyway, and after a minute, mumbles, "Will you come back in then?"

"Yeah. I'll get the guys to help with the crib. Something your—friends can do to help, together, alright?"

"David just nods, and forces himself to let go of Cook a minute later when they go inside.

The next day Gunther sends her a text message, a picture of a goat onesie, pink and cotton and very obviously meant for a baby. CeCe just laughs when Gunther sends another right after, "I totally just bought that, yes I did." She sends a text back a minute later, "Doesn't mean she has to wear it!"

CeCe's never cared too much about Valentine's Day. It's never been a holiday that had much effect on her, honestly. She's never had a serious boyfriend, or even anyone she liked enough, like that, to give chocolate to, or whatever.

Gunther texts her at around one on February fourteenth, some joke about people who are alone on Valentine's day being sad and pathetic. CeCe only takes comfort in the fact that Gunther is also not in a relationship with anyone—thank you God!—and thus both of them are sad and pathetic, rather than just her. She doesn't answer it back though, testy and uncomfortable and just—she doesn't want Gunther to—it's Valentine's Day.

She ends up grabbing the container of vanilla ice cream out of the refrigerator and pouring a bunch of honey into it, and sitting down on her couch with a blanket pulled up to her waist, ignoring her phone. It's pretty pathetic, she'll admit, silently. There's nothing even on television except for Spongebob or re-runs of old Star Trek episodes. She updates twitter when she gets bored enough and the ice cream is too melted to eat anymore. "Happy Valentine's Day! Don't eat too much chocolate!"

She and Gunther don't really talk on twitter very much. It's too—public, sort of? And they can just text each other, so it seems kind of pointless most times. But she gets the alert a few minutes later, and opens it to read " guntherhess: What thececejones means by that is eat, eat, eat."

She laughs, and it's probably—it's probably silly, but she tweets back anyway, and her fans kind of like it when she talks to Gunther anyway, like, it reminds them of the old shake it up Chicago or something so— "Follow guntherhess's advice only if you want a stomach ache in the morning! (Like he's going to have.)"

Gunther texts her after that, rather than tweets, and says, "How can I get a stomach ache? You didn't give me any chocolate."

She shakes her head and texts back, "Sorry. Next year?"

Gunther responds a few minutes later. "I'm holding you to it."