And Now The World Is Ours
Chapter Thirteen: A Village To Raise A Child
Oh, my god, I'm getting married this week. On Sunday. This Sunday! That's, like, the day after the day after tomorrow. How the hell did this happen?
It all went so quickly. We met with Rabbi Eliser and his protestant partner in crime, Pastor Fisher, the quintessential interfaith odd couple, and decided that it had to be them, and since the only opening this side of my due date was Sunday, April 3rd, we stuck with that. I dragged Josh to look at the locations I'd seen, really boring stuff like the Georgetown Ritz-Carlton, but none of that seemed right. Then I remembered that Guiseppe and Beano, my chef buddies formerly in the employ of Capitol Hill, opened in this adorable, kitschty, Italian place with a rooftop garden with fairlylights and potted orange trees that overlooks the Mall, and I knew that that was the perfect place. Neither of us wanted the big ceremony with the two sides of the aisle and the registry and the hotel ballroom and the crowd of people. We wanted a small ceremony, with our families, the ones we were born into and the ones we grew into, to bless us as we started our own family. Small, artless, magical, with home-made antipasti, prosecco and Italian pizza as the catering arrangement, and not a canapee in sight, overlooking the cherries, the monuments to America's best presidents, the Hill and the White House. That's what we wanted. I called Guiseppe, and he was delighted, and he and his mother have practically organized my wedding, aided by my mother, the First Lady, who was determined to be helpful, and me. The rooftop is perfect, even if I live in constant fear of April showers these days. Bt I'm sure the Universe will cooperate, somehow. It always does, in the end.
We sent the invitations out, and apart from my Mom, received unanimously delightedly squealed yeses back. Not that my mother isn't delighted in her appointed son-in-law, it was the invitations that squicked her. I admit they're a little unusual, but I love them. They're creamy white, with cartoon-ish cherry blossoms printed on them, and on the front there's two pictures of us. One of them was taken during the very first Bartlet for America campaign, Josh with a young, goofy grin on his face, his arm around me and we're grinning in a playful way belied by the look in both our eyes. Even then, we knew we had something, I think. Admitting it was hard. Living it was harder, deliciously awkward, but we pulled it off together, and in the second picture on the invitation, taken maybe three weeks ago, my Guppy bump very clearly visible in the picture, we've got the same looks as the first one. Mom thought it was very bad taste to, in her words, advertise the fact that I'm pregnant, also the part where we could have had this eight years ago if we'd gotten our act together, but I laughed the first complaint away and told her that we would never have found the happiness we have now if we'd started dating eight years ago. It was a painful uphill climb; most of it, but in retrospect, there isn't a single moment I'd want to erase, because that's how worth it it was.
They're getting in on Thursday night, my parents and Ruth. Many of our guests are out-of-towns, now, and most of them are taking the opportunity to spend a few days in the District. The Bartlets are coming in Friday morning, and so are CJ and Danny. CJ flew back two days after her shouting match with Josh, once she'd dragged us to her lecture (Honoring the Bartlet Presidency, which was kind of depressing in light of recent events), once she was sure I'd be okay and had helped me narrow down dress-options. When all this is over, I'm sending her a giant bunch of flowers and a Big-Bird-sized box of expensive German chocolates. And possibly a puppy.
"Earth to the bride?" I look up, and Ishmael is waving a sheet of paper in front of me with a half-impatient, half-giddy smile on his face. Of course, today of all days is the First Lady's speech at the UN, which means we're on Air Force One right now going to New York, and back tonight. My entire staff is running around like headless chickens on amphetamines. Including me, but I'm nervous for all the wrong reasons. We're supposed to be making last-minute improvements to the speech, and all I can think about is that in less than ninety-six hours, I'm going to be standing in front of an altar with Josh and vow to honor, to cherish and to keep him until death do us part. Please, God, let it not rain. "Sorry," I apologize to Mrs. Santos and Ishmael, but they just exchange smirks and shrug. "You were saying?"
The speech is fine, actually, in fact it's pretty much brilliant and I am excited about this unique opportunity to bring my boss into the limelight far, far away from the White House and her husband. I know what it's like, the last-minute additions because each of us are scary perfectionists with this insane need to get it a hundred and fifty percent right. In the end, one word or maybe two will be changed, one phrase will be removed or expanded, but we will be convinced that this can move the world. I have this urge to introduce Ishmael to Toby one of these days; the boy needs someone to curb his enthusiasm for speechwriting.
We land, get into the car, and I can tell that Mrs. Santos is getting nervous by the way she's twisting her earrings. I talked her into this, and I can only pray that this wasn't a mistake. But I know that if she wants to be, Helen Santos can be a brilliant, captivating public speaker. When I heard the UN delegation was introducing a resolution into the General Assembly to ensure Gender Equality in primary education, I knew that this was our chance to make one of our key issues publicly heard, away from the power playing of G8 summits and backdoor legislative work in Washington. I fought with Lou until I was ready to take her in a mudwrestling match, but I won, the news cycle is completely ours and she even gave us our ex-Press Secretary, the illustrious Ms. Schott who moved to the West Wing last year, back for the day.
We ride through Manhattan and arrive at the UN headquarters, glistening and blinding in the April sun. Please, God, let this weather hold. They take us into our Green Room, where everyone gratefully gulps down the contents of a fruit basket and green tea.
"God, I wish this was Tequila," Mrs. Santos tells me with a wry smile as she empties a glass of water. "I should stop, or I might I have to pee. Oh, my god, Donna, what do I do if I suddenly have to pee?"
I giggle. "You'll figure it out, I'm sure. Are you nervous?"
"I just freaked out about having to pee, I think it's safe to say I'm a little spooked." She stares at me palely. "What the hell were we thinking?"
"Mrs. Santos, you're going to be great. The speech is mind-blowing, and you're going to do a fantastic job presenting it. You've done this before," I remind her.
"Not before five hundred half-dead diplomats. Not on something that actually matters."
"That's not true- well, the last part isn't." I smile at her. "Relax!"
"I'll try."
Into the GA, and I don't have time to be awed by where we are, because immediately she starts speaking, and it's truly, truly brilliant. The diplomats applaud in all the right places, and ten minutes into the thing, I figure she's going to be okay, and Annabeth and I sneak out to make sure the world knows how brilliant we are.
Three hours, a reception, a press conference and the friendliest coverage this office has had since the election later, we're back on the plane, dancing to Tom Jones and everyone except me is emptying champagne bottles.
"Donna, thank you so much for talking me into this," Mrs. Santos says for the millionth time, hugging me. I laugh and spin her around, singing along to "She's a lady. " I only realize now relieved I am, how this is a huge weight off my shoulders.
"And the lady is mine," Ishmael "sings" as he flounces over, spinning me around and planting a friendly kiss on my cheek. He raises his glass: "To Donna, the crazy pregnant woman who hired us!" Everyone claps and cat-calls, and I blush and giggle stupidly. Somehow, this is a very reassuring start to the next few days.
Thank God I am pregnant, because if I wasn't, I would be very, very tipsy by the time we land at Andrews. "Make sure she gets into the residence safely," I tell the secret service guy when the First Lady dances into the car, still humming tunelessly. "And without falling over."
I'm about to get into my car when I notice an SUV that isn't part of our motorcade. I frown, and then the door opens. "DONNA!"
"Josh?" I'm grinning as I hurry over- the last time Josh picked me up from the airport was, god, it must have been after Gaza. "Hey, you," I slip in beside him and kiss him. It's so nice to know that after all that he's finally, totally and completely mine. And will be officially come Saturday.
"Is Helen… drunk?" He asks me, peering out of the window and watching my boss' third attempt to get into her car.
"What can I say? Empty stomach and too much champagne."
He laughs softly as we pull out of the airport. "Hey, congratulations. That was quite a coup you pulled off there."
"Thanks."
"I hate to tell you this, but I might have to steal your little Lebanese Wonderboy away from you. He's incredible."
"Ishmael? Yeah, I know he is."
"Like Sam in the old days. Except possibly better." He smiles out of the window and squeezes my hand. "And how," he asks the bulge of my dress, "are you?"
"She was very good, didn't kick at all during the speech," I report, happily. "But she's going pretty strong now." Josh places a hand on my stomach, and immediately his face lights up. I smirk. "You are ridiculously adorable."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
"Don't." I lean against his comfortingly solid frame, closing my eyes. I guess I doze off, because next moment we're at home, and after many kisses and whispered compliments and slow, delicious sex, and cold pizza for dinner afterwards, we fall asleep in each other's arms.
I spend most of the day with my parents on Saturday, but am far too busy to worry about tomorrow, because we're having our pre-wedding-get-together-slash-bridal-shower-slash-baby-shower tonight, which basically means two giant pots of chili, a lot of guests and presents galore. We asked in our invitations to either get us something for Guppy or to refrain from giving us gifts, instead donating to money to an Ethiopian Children's Hospital I visited with the First Lady last year, but I'm still excited about the presents, especially the stuff for Guppy. The doorbell rings just as I've put out the last bag of tortilla chips and the Barlets -Abbey, Liz, Gus, Ellie and Laura, Zoey and Charlie- Toby, Andi and the twins are crowded in our doorway.
Hugs are exchanged; Liz and Ellie apologize for their loved ones' absence: Vic is tied up in surgery, Doug with work –Josh raises his eyebrows at me- and Annie with finals. Abbey, Zoey, Toby and Charlie are carrying a huge, apparently heavy wrapped item, and Huck is bouncing up and down excitedly. But before I can attempt open the crate, the door opens and Josh, Sam and Ainsley, and my parents and Ruth all spill into our tiny hallway. I hug my parents tightly. My dad plants a shy kiss on my cheek, and Mom whispers: "How do you feel?"
"Good," I answer her, truthfully. "Being busy probably helps." Ruth smiles in the background and gives my hand an indulgent squeeze. Before she can ask how I'm eating, the door rings, again, and Ishmael, Ronna, Will, Annabeth, CJ, Danny and Nellie all walk in. I perform a quick headcount and, seeing as that's everyone, herd them all into the living room. We invited the Santos', of course, but because of Secret Service regulations we decided that maybe it was okay if they only come to the actual wedding tomorrow, and skip tonight. Once everyone has found a place on the sofa, chairs, dining table or simply the floor, and has been supplied with soda, beer or champagne, Josh hits his beer bottle with a fork a few times. The chattering throng falls silent at once. Nellie's sitting in Abbey's lap, completely relaxed; Laura's playing with CJ's pearl necklace; Zoey and Charlie are cuddled on the sofa. Molly is examining her Dad's tie with interest while Huck is looking up expectantly from where he's sitting on the table. Will and Ishmael are sitting together on the floor, heads together, Ellie's legs are dangling as she sits on our table, Ainsley's playing with her engagement ring and laughing with Andi, Sam, on the floor, listening to Will and Ishmael talk and leaning his head against her knees happily. My parents are beaming at me from the dining room chairs, while Ruth is happily answering Gus and Huck's questions about what Josh was like when he was a little boy, and I'm in the middle of it all, heart aching from too much happiness.
Josh looks around. His eyes find me, and the look he gives me, the love he's giving me, makes me feel like I'm about to explode. He clears his throat, and says, to room at large: "We just wanted to say, thank you all so much for coming. We're truly honored to have you all in our lives, and to see how happy you all are for us, that's a really great feeling. Donna's been making me read these baby books," -at this, general laughter breaks out and I feel compelled to point out that I haven't been making him do anything, just strongly urging- "and one of the things I read was the whole thing about it taking a village to raise a child. And we… I just wanted to say, we kind of see you all as our village. We can't wait for Guppy to be here and get to know all of you. And we hope you'll continue to help us out. Thank you so much for being here. And enjoy the chili."
There's a general murmur of applause and "hear, hear". I catch Josh's eyes and mouth an "I love you," which he answers with a huge, dimpled grin The rest of the evening passes amicably, with laughter, food and catching-up. We unwrap some of our gifts, and each of them is stunning, and honestly humbling. CJ and Danny bought a beautiful, plush baby blanket, a rich cream color with little silver fish embroidered at the edges- guppies. It's wonderfully soft and the kind of thing you pass on through the generations. My eyes sting as I thank them, thank CJ for so much more than this blanket.
But the best present of them all comes form the Bartlets and Toby and Andi, the giant crate they were lugging inside. Josh and I peel off the wrapping paper to reveal a wooden chest, and when we open it, we see… books. At least fifty of them, all kinds of children's books, from one of those plushy ones babies use as chew toys to a hardcover of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone that looks just like the one Gus was reading at Christmas. There's a beautifully illustrated version of Winnie-the-Pooh, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, a book of Grimm's fairy tales, there's Beverly Cleary and Enid Blyton, Richard Scary's ABC, the Narnia Books and When Hitler Stole The Pink Rabbit, The Cat In The Hat, Goodnight, Moon… I look at Josh, and we're both speechless.
"Wow," he says, and I nod furiously, tears running down my cheeks. "Thank you all so much."
"Yes," I say, "this is such an amazing present, so generous I don't even know…" I wipe my eyes. "Thank you."
"We were trying to come up with something Jed would have approved of," Abbey says, quietly. "There's a Shakespeare for Children somewhere in there, I think."
"Every book in there has been read and approved by one of us," Andi explains. "It's kind of in the spirit of the whole village-thing, give Guppy a solid collection of bedtime stories. And we only put stuff in we liked, right, guys?"
"Uh-huh," Gus says. He points at Green Eggs and Ham: "That one's my favorite. That, and Harry Potter."
Not to be outdone, Molly and Huck scramble over. "I like that one," Molly says, pointing at Charlotte's Web. Huck considers, then pulls out a Shel Silverstein collection: "I like this one. I like Guess How Much I Love You, too, but Daddy always complains when we read that." Everyone laughs.
"Laura's nuts about Pooh, aren't you?" Ellie encourages. Laura stuffs her fingers into her mouth and nods, shyly.
"Thank you all, so much," I repeat, amazed. Everyone gathers around, recognizes books, reminisces, and laughter and talking fills our living room once more.
Later, much later, I kick them out of the house, all of them, even Josh, who's staying with Sam because he has suddenly decided he's a man of tradition and can't sleep in our bed tonight.
"We don't want to tempt faith, do we?" He asks me, seeing my pout. "Oh, come on, we need all the help we can get with the weather tomorrow, right? It can't hurt." He leans in and kisses me, once on the mouth and, when he's sure nobody's looking, once on the stomach, and then on the mouth again and this is going to be our last unmarried kiss. I feel the giddiness rise in me. I wave everyone goodbye and give hugs and kiss sleeping children goodnight, and before I know it, I'm alone in our house, the rooms that were so full of happy noise just moments before ringing with silence. I clear away some of the plates, change and crawl into bed.
I stare into the familiar darkness of our bedroom, cradling my Guppy-bump in my arms as my eyes fall shut. This time tomorrow, I'll be Mrs. Josh Lyman.
It feels as good as I always knew it would.