"Self-preservation
is a full time occupation.
I'm determined
to survive on this shore.
You know I don't
avert my eyes anymore."

- Ani DiFranco, "Talk to Me Now"

UCLA, Fall 1990

Public Service Announcement to the Undergraduates of University of California, Los Angeles:

Pregnancy is not contagious. That means you can interact with pregnant people beyond pitied half-smiles, glances at and then away, and even sit NEXT to them, and you, in fact, will not catch this terrifying condition.

Repeat: If you interact with a pregnant person, it does NOT mean that you, too, will have to squeeze out another human being in a few months.

Sign here if you understand: _

(Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?)

The day Juliet changes her major from biochemistry to plain old biology... Well, Juliet's had better days, is all. She oversleeps (horrible cliche of every bad day ever), comes back in from the rain (see: horrible cliche above) to discover she's missed an extremely rare phone call from Gemma, who's abroad this semester. The loneliness wouldn't be so bad if Gemma were here, considering Gemma had been the one more or less maintaining Juliet's tenuous connection to the other friends she'd so stupidly blown off last year, for Jack.

(It's her own fault, anyway. Too caught up in the magic of someone wanting her, and the way his hands felt in her hair. See, again: stupid horrible cliches.)

Juliet sits there on the edge of her little twin-sized dorm bed, staring at her answering machine, willing Gemma to call back RIGHT NOW, but instead the phone is, of course, silent. She wrings the rain out of her hair, looking up at Allie's old Phish poster she'd swiped from the house in Mountainaire. Juliet doesn't even like Phish, but the weird 1970s-style lettering on the poster is sort of calming. Sort of like home, somehow, which doesn't make sense even in the slightest.

At least her little pitstop back home means she brings an umbrella to the bio department. Hiding her face from everyone she sees? Doesn't sound so bad today, and she's going to blame hormones and mood swings and the weather, everything except for what she has to do.

She just doesn't have the time she'd need to dedicate to Inorganic Chemistry this semester what with her work schedule. And next semester, and the one after that, and the one after that?

Juliet had never worked during the school year before, but she'd cut her credits from 16 to 12 and applied for a work-study grant. They'd stuck her at the reference desk in the library, which is painfully frustrating, but it pays $5.15 an hour and she deals with the grumpy, confused students as best she can.

It's not like changing her major is going to keep her from getting into med school, she tells herself over and over all day. Probably half - at least - of med students any given year had been bio majors. But that Md/PhD program she'd been idly contemplating? Medical research? Yeah, that's not going to happen when she needs to finish her education as quickly as possible.

"As quickly as possible"? Ha. Finishing one's education as quickly as possible usually doesn't entail med school, but there's no way she's giving that up all together. And medical research was only a blip on her radar at this point, anyway, and she's sure she'll find something else that piques her interest.

Right?

Right.

So say bye-bye to Inorganic Chem. Say bye-bye to majoring in biochem. And hi to fewer credits and a work study job and who knows how ever many lame jobs until she's got her own white coat and a kindergartener holding her hand. It'll be worth it, she reminds herself, squeezing her left hand into a fist and hoping that's all going to be true.

As Juliet signs the forms to change her major, though, a strange little shiver runs up her spine. This isn't what happened, she thinks. But of COURSE this isn't what happened, it's what's happening now.

It doesn't matter who we were, it only matters who we are.

That thought doesn't even make any sense.

(What does, though?)

Maybe she's thinking this isn't what's supposed to be happening? Except more and more it all seems to make sense, her loneliness and her work conspiring into one single thing, that she's going to have some kind of family, just the two of them, and maybe Rachel on an odd holiday here and there. And she's doing this for the swell of her middle that's going to become her child. At this point it's hard to believe that a couple of months ago she was telling some doctor she couldn't have a baby, when these days the baby is what's holding her together.

Medical research? It was just something she'd tossed around at one point. Joint MD/PhD? Years and years and years of school. Forget it. She'll find some other specialty when the time is right, and so Juliet thinks of green flickering lights, yellow houses, and signs the forms.

Astronomy lab (she'd switched in anyway, screw Latin composition), lunch alone, library work, and then she's finally halfway home when she remembers her doctor's appointment. And dammit, it's still raining and she's half-soaked despite the umbrella and she really really needs a fucking car one of these days.

Bus it is. Her 16-week appointment, she'd just gone to the Westwood Planned Parenthood ("planned," great concept there) - too scared to tell her father what might be showing up on his insurance if she'd gone to a private doctor.

God, Juliet had been furious with Rachel when her sister had spilled the beans. Her father had called her out of the blue one night; they hadn't even spoken since Juliet had called him to give him her phone number in her new dorm.

"Your sister says you're pregnant. Is that true? Why didn't you tell me?" her father had demanded as soon as she'd answered, her knees going weak.

"I thought - I thought - " And whatever newfound strength she'd discovered snarking at the diner assholes seemed to fly right out the window. "I didn't - I was waiting until the time was right." Which was a pointless lie, but it's... sort of embarrassing, after all. Hey, Dad, you know what? I had a lot of sex and THEN guess what happened?

"Oh, Julie," he'd finally said, a little mournfully, a little angrily. "You know, I always figured you were gonna be the one who turned out OK."

What the fuck was he implying about Rachel? Something about her health, or the way she lives? Because Juliet was thinking he doesn't know the first thing about Rachel's life, not really. Was Juliet supposed to get into that with him, though? She'd tried to defend her sister to Jack, and... and what? "I'm gonna be OK, Dad," she'd said, and there was an edge in her voice, but for the first time she'd actually believed it.

More or less they'd sorted things out, and of course he wanted to know about "the young man" or something horribly awkward, and Juliet reminded him about Jack's existence and ended the conversation as quickly as possible after that.

And they haven't talked since, which isn't all that unusual for them, anyway. He'd always liked Rachel better, she doesn't care what he says. Probably she's OK to use her health insurance now, at least. Of course, if she gets denied or if doesn't go through or however that works (how does all that work? she should probably try to figure that out soon, and Planned Parenthood thought the baby would go on Medi-Cal and Jesus that's depressing, and anyway does her mind ever ever ever stop?), that'll probably be the cherry on top of the Crap Sundae otherwise known as today. But Juliet finds the correct bus, and she's only got a half-hour to be on time, so off she goes.

...And leaves the umbrella on the bus. Fan-freaking-tastic. The rain's tapered off into a drizzle, and she keeps her head down anyway, and how much does this day suck already? Juliet promises herself after this is all over and she's home and has that goop wiped off her belly, she can have an actual bubble bath in her decrepit but gloriously private bathroom (god, that's been a long time coming) and eat ice cream - not the Crap Sundae kind - and forget about homework for the rest of the day.

Juliet's wrapped up enough in her solitary little fantasy that she practically slams right into someone as she rounds the corner. He must have sharper reflexes than her, though, or at least he was paying attention, because he jumps back, drags his eyes over her. "Watch yourself, mamacita," he smirks at her, running a hand through his hair.

She blinks a couple of times, suddenly thinking again of those forms she'd signed this afternoon, for no real reason at all. "Sorry," she mumbles, starts to move around him.

"Hey. You OK?" He's got his hands half-up, like he wants to touch her but isn't going to. He's probably around her age, dressed grungy in ripped jeans and a button-down over a dark red T-shirt, and he's staring at her, looking a little lost, a little confused, the rain dripping off the ends of his straight blond hair.

"Hey. You usually talk to strangers?" she asks, tilting her head. At that he breaks into a little grin. Dimples. Hmm. Juliet feels a curious little tug in her heart. Then again, it's been ages (i.e., five months) since she's even so much as been kissed, much less anything else, and now, what? She's just standing here in a drizzle staring at this stranger? Pathetic. He's about to speak, but she cuts him off. "I - have to go. Sorry." This time, Juliet does move around him, and he steps back to let her go, but he swivels with her.

"Well, I'm probably the kind of stranger your mama warned you about, so..." Except he doesn't look like he's halfway to laughing anymore, his eyes moving over her face instead of her body this time.

Juliet wipes the drizzle out of her eyes. Why is she getting scared, why does she feel like she's dangling over an abyss, why does she want to grab his hand, this stranger's hand, and hang on forever? "I really have to go. Sorry."

He nods at her, standing where he is on the corner, and when she's at the opposite corner, she dares herself to look over her shoulder, and he's still standing there in the rain.

The doctor's office is at the next block, on the second floor of a small, white Spanish-style building. She's ten minutes late, that... that guy with the dimples had made her even later on an already ridiculously strange and annoying day, and the receptionist makes her displeasure clear, considering Juliet's on the schedule as the last appointment of the day, and she's supposed to have an exam and an ultrasound.

She's finally going to get to see the baby, and now that she's here, she's actually starting to get excited. Screw this grumpy receptionist. It was rainy, Juliet had to take the bus, whatever, she's here now, sorry, but she's not sorry, she's sick of being sorry all the time for everything ever and it's pointless and so Juliet just meets this woman's gaze like it's of no concern whatsoever.

Eventually the receptionist heaves an enormous sigh, leads her down the hall. "Right in there. The ultrasound tech will see you first and then Dr. Burke will be in."

There's that strange, haunted feeling again. Test tubes in a refrigerator, sitting on the floor under a counter, a ring thrown into the trash. Juliet manages a fake-polite smile.