"It's almost ready," Abbey said cheerfully, as she put her finishing touches on the cake she was making. At least, he thought it was a cake, until she swore it was a giant cookie – though she was covering it with gooey frosting. He might have asked about it, but it wasn't like he'd risk it, he reminded himself as his mouth watered just looking at it, not getting a slice of it at Beth's party, no matter what the girls wanted to call it.
"Did you get it?" April asked, rushing into the kitchen while still fiddling with her necklace.
Alex just rolled his eyes, holding it up for her to see, his neatly tied tie, as if it made any sense at all for them to be so over dressed, just judging from some of the photos Beth took for the new multi-million dollar contract she'd just signed with European Vogue, which were freaking porn when you got right down to it.
"It's just us," April reminded them as she grabbed her purse and coat and started to usher them toward the door, into the blustery November dusk.
"You need help with it?" Alex asked, watching Abbey as she carefully maneuvered the cake, or cookie, or whatever it was into an unwieldy plastic carrier.
"Don't trust him with it," April teased from the doorway, smirking at him. "It'll be eaten before we get to the car."
"I've got it, dad," Abbey assured him, giggling at April's remark as she fastened the lid on it, while Alex just rolled his eyes again, clutching his keys in his hand.
Of course, she didn't need it anymore, his help, he reminded himself, because it had already been arranged, her early graduation, and it was just a month away, her move to the University of California at Irvine for the spring Semester, where she'd be surrounded it – beaches and sunshine and ocean waves and guys with surf boards, guys who looked like the ones she helped Beth take pictures of, guys who only thought about doing it. It was all just too much, too soon, not that he could say a word – even if he didn't grow all tongue tied and sputtering and queasy when he thought about it – just going by how bubbly and excited she was about it.
At least he hadn't been roped into it this time, he reminded himself, as he drove into the setting sun while they chattered about it, her and April, about classes and bed sheets and majors and beach towels and how much fun it was all going to – the inevitable shopping trip, like he'd gone on with Katie – since April was as excited about it as Abbey was, apparently.
It wasn't like they needed him for any of it, since it wasn't like he still didn't hear it from her – about how it was awful, his taste in rugs or blankets or whatever the hell else it was that he was supposed to have better taste in – and he was sure of it, that by "better" she meant more like hers – as if it wasn't a freaking practical thing to want in a rug – for it to be comfortable – not that it mattered, apparently, since he'd just have to see what they picked out when he got the bill for it.
It wasn't a freaking contest, anyway, he reminded himself as he rolled up Beth's long circular driveway, except that it was for April, he reminded himself, stepping into the brightly lit grand entrance hall as Beth greeted them. It wasn't like he couldn't already see it – even as April was shrugging off her coat – the mental inventory she was taking of it, of the spiral staircase that was decorated with pine cones and the massive fireplace mantle that was covered in candles and the polished wood floors that had never seen a muddy footprint – at least, to hear April tell it when she was ranting about it, as if it wasn't one of Nicholas' favorite things to do when he was staying with them, going out with Churchill and hunting for it – the creek monster they'd found a bone from once, not that he could explain it, exactly, even being a doctor and all, how the monster had survived without it.
He could already feel it, too, as he followed her into the kitchen, her eyes tracing over it, the polished marble counter tops and the massive center island and the shiny appliances and the triple oven that even Abbey eyed approvingly, as if it didn't make perfect sense. It wasn't like this was unusual for her, hosting seventy people for a celebratory dinner when she did it again – nailed down another major bucks contract with another magazine publisher – even if it did just mean her house was overrun with it, the noise and the chaos and the models who didn't think anything of it- taking it all off, even the guys, even if Katie or Abbey were in the studio too, trying to get high definition pictures of it.
He was sure it was already starting, too, as he watched April's eyes wandering wistfully over it – the huge spread of lobster and pie and potatoes and cake and some kind of vegan chicken like dish and those little frilly pastries and seven kinds of pasta run together, from the looks of it – and he was sure he'd hear about it, again, about how Beth could eat all of it and not gain an ounce, about how Jenny would eye her seriously and tell her she should cut back on it – on carbs or fat or fruit from the Yucatán, depending on what the hot diet of the week was – about how Dani probably ate so expensively like that every day, in New York with her rich banker Neil and the Knicks, about how Cari was already eating it, her second helping of seven layer chocolate cake, since it wasn't like she had to worry about it, about it going straight to Aunt Edna's hips– as if that was even a biological possibility, he'd often point out her even if it was inevitable, the eye rolling she'd direct back at him for it.
He never had figured out what he was supposed to say about it, though, he grumbled as he grabbed a plate, since it wasn't like she liked it, anyone snarking on her sisters, and it wasn't like that anyway, he insisted to himself as he stabbed a slab of pot roast with his fork, since it wasn't like Beth just served girly food at these things anymore – even if she probably heard it from the models who just lived on lettuce leaves and sugarless chewing gum, when you got right down to it – and it wasn't like Beth wasn't cool with Abbey and Katie and Eric, at least, when she wasn't corrupting the girls and encouraging them to think about it, and it wasn't like Beth was braggy or showy about it – unlike Cari had always been about Mayo – it was just that she liked to do stuff big, he reminded himself, happily piling a large slice of pie on his plate, and it wasn't like he could blame her for it.
It wasn't like that with Dani, either, he reminded himself, rolling his eyes as he sat at it – the table April had snagged, with Amber and Nicholas, since she was part of it, too, and April was still working on it, on patching it all up with him and his sister, even if she didn't understand the half of it. It wasn't like anyone took it seriously, though, Dani's flirting, and it wasn't like it was all that great, working for the Knicks, and it wasn't like it wasn't freaking obvious, that whoever had done it – her boob job – had been a worse hack than Sloan, and it wasn't like she wasn't funny even if it was a little hard to take sometimes, and it wasn't like she wasn't just a freaking drama queen, when you got right down to it.
It wasn't like that with the other two, either, he reminded himself, since it wasn't like anyone gave a crap about it, where you went to med school, after you set up your practice and started publishing – no matter what Cari said about it, and it wasn't like they'd actually hired her once she'd finished it, Mayo's Oncology program – unlike, say, Seattle Grace – and it wasn't like she was the go chick in anything at Seattle Pres, even if she sometimes acted like it, to hear her talk about it.
It wasn't like that with Jenny, either, he reminded himself, eying her from across the room, where she was really getting into it – probably about health care reform or logging in Washington state or recycling those little plastic water bottles, as if it would save the freaking planet if people just did more of it, saving the sea otters or breeding more baboons or harvesting halibut more efficiently – as if it never occurred to her that the guy whose ear she was chewing might even have a shot at not deeming her entirely too annoying if she'd just calm the fuck down about it, all of it.
It was just that he didn't get it – like he didn't get why Amber insisted on it, too, making Nicholas wear a neck tie, since it was just going to end up all covered with it, anyway, the chocolate cake he was happily spooning up – why April was always competing with her sisters.
Sure, it was just how she was, the whole competitive thing. But it wasn't like Beth's house was all super comfortable – except for her den – even if it was bigger than theirs, and it wasn't like Cari was the go to chick in Oncology at Seattle Pres even if she acted like it, and it wasn't like it was doing Jenny any good – her being so outspoken – since it wasn't like anyone else could ever get a word in edgewise when she went off about it, whatever it was that set her off just babbling about it, and it wasn't like April's boobs wouldn't have been better than Dani's even if her sister's didn't look it, so fake, and probably felt it, too – not that he'd tested it.
He'd hear about it anyway, though, he was sure, as he happily accepted it, the slice of Abbey's cake that she handed him, reminding him again that it was a cookie – as if he was going to argue about it, when it was inches below his nose.
He'd hear about it from April, though, about how she shouldn't have eaten it, the fake vegan chicken thing, as if she didn't really fill it out, the brown dress she was wearing, about how she should have pushed it away, the potato dish, as if she thought it was freaking hot or something, for a chick to have stick legs like a giraffe, that she should have pushed it away the strawberry cream pie, as if it wasn't one of her favorite foods in the world, that she shouldn't have even worn it around all those models, her tight brown dress, as if it wasn't hot as hell the way it clung to her boobs, as if she'd never get it, the whole if you've got it, flaunt it thing, as if she'd never get it, that Dani's fake boobs and Beth's gangly legs and Cari's snooty business card and Jenny's big mouth would never top her, when you got right down to it.
"So he's getting really good at it?" Beth asked, raising her eyes curiously as she sliced April a piece of pie.
"He loves it," April agreed, nodding ruefully.
"That's great," Amber added, happily accepting her own slice.
"It's dangerous," April corrected her, shaking her head as she scowled at her plate. It was her favorite pie, and Beth knew it, and it would go straight to her hips – even just the aroma of it – and it wasn't like she'd needed to invite all those models to the party, even if, okay, that was the point of it.
"I always thought it looked like fun," Amber shrugged, nodding seriously.
"She's paranoid," Beth pointed out, rolling her eyes as she poured Amber a drink.
"It's flying down a snow capped mountain on two pieces of glorified fire wood," April insisted, shaking her head, her hand trembling as it poised over the pie, since she was fairly sure it was staring at her, probably with an annoying smirk.
"Didn't you go skiing on your honeymoon?" Beth pointed out, digging into her own pie, whose entire calorie content was probably heading straight to the Alps, since it wasn't like Beth's hips would show it.
"Alex can ski?" Amber asked curiously.
"No," April admitted, almost smirking, since she had the pictures to prove it. Not that she'd ever show anyone the visual proof of it, that he couldn't do it at all, ski - the purple broken ass that he ended up with entirely because he wouldn't admit it, that he couldn't do it.
"They just stayed in the Ski lodge all week and did it," Beth said mischievously, her eyes sparkling. "Anyone want ice cream with it?"
Beth did that often, teased April about it – how April had done it on her honeymoon, since it wasn't like she could've been experienced with it, Beth insisted, judging by how uncomfortable she'd been when her sisters talked about it, when they were doing it in high school, and the library, and the grain silo over at Henderson's Dairy, and even in Mr. Henson's open pasture, at least, to hear Dani tell it.
As if it was a badge of honor or something, April grumbled to herself, to do it where you might get caught, as if she didn't have to be more careful about it anyway, getting caught at it, since she had children in her home, as if she shouldn't even give it a second thought, the photograph portfolios that Beth had Abbey and Katie help her put together for the new contract she was celebrating – the ones of the guys who had no qualms about taking it all off, and letting impressionable teenagers photograph it all, in high definition – as if it shouldn't concern her at all, that the aunt her daughters most idolized was a pornographer, no matter what they called it in Europe.
She never had corrected it, though, Beth's account of her honeymoon, since it wasn't like she wanted to talk about it, about grumpy husbands with broken asses, and it wasn't like she wanted to tell anyone about it – especially after how hard they'd all chortled about her catastrophe with Dr. Stark, the first time she did it. It wasn't like she wanted to hear about it, either, about how it wasn't going to be anything like it was in those romance novels she'd read when she was in college, since it wasn't like she'd ever doubted it, true, but it still made a better story of her honeymoon – Beth's version of it.
"Eric's just a little boy," April insisted, shaking her head as she stuck her fork into the pie – since, to hell with it, he was risking his life in pursuit of some silly trophy, and Abbey was leaving for college soon, and Katie would probably spend the next summer feeding whales in Alaska or swimming with sharks in South Africa and it wasn't like she was prepared to be mocked by a slice of pastry, even if it would cling to her hips – that one little slice – as if she'd eaten three pounds of it.
"He's fourteen," Beth corrected, digging into her second slice.
It was jarring to hear it, too, because she'd noticed it just that past weekend, when he and Alex and Nicholas had returned from the grocery store. Eric had just loped into it, the kitchen, and she could've sworn it, that he was two inches taller than when he'd left just that morning, and he piled the bags on the counter as if he didn't even notice it, their heavy weight, and it startled her all over again, that it was Alex's strong profile and Alex's shy smile and Alex's teasing smirk and Alex's shy hazel eyes that met hers when a voice she barely recognized asked her: "What letter do Brussels sprouts go under, mom?"
"He's just doing it because Alex pushes him," April insisted, shaking her head.
Not that Alex ever said much about it, since it wasn't like either of them was a big talker. But she was sure of it, since it wasn't like he'd built that trophy case with all the little hooks for hanging ski medals just because he had some extra wood lying around the garage from when they redid the attic, no matter what he said about it.
"He's doing it to impress Stacey Spencer," Abbey corrected, laughing and slicing pieces of her own frosted cookie off for a few more eager takers.
"Oohh, a budding romance," Beth teased, her eyes twinkling as a piece of pie lodged in April's throat.
April didn't even want to think about it, about Eric and girls, and she didn't even want to imagine it, whatever Alex had told him about romance – Alex, who apparently seriously thought that nothing said love quite like a thoracic cavity key chain with lighted veins – and she didn't want to hear about it from Beth, Beth - who had surrounded her daughters with guys who were paid to walk around for hours at a time with it all hanging out, Beth, who apparently thought that it was all about how many countries you could do it in within a month's timeframe, as if it was the kind of thing to keep track of like stamps on her passport, at least, to hear her talk about it.
"She's a junior," Abbey added, laughing again, and April didn't want to hear it, either, about how Eric was already a player, since it had been just a matter of time, April had imagined – basically since his birth – since it was all there, the smirk and the profile and the hazel eyes and the shy smile – even if she hadn't noticed it just then, what with the pain and the drugs and the exhaustion and all – whether any of the maternity ward nurses had been eyeing it, Eric's perfect little rosy ass.
"An older woman," Beth teased. "She'll be experienced."
April didn't want to think about it, either, about whether it was better or not – if he did it with someone experienced, the first time he did it. Not that he was doing it anytime soon, she insisted to herself – and she didn't want to think about it, about how her forty three year old sister sized it all up, whenever her twenty something models walked around her studio, as if they couldn't care less who saw it, and she really didn't want to hear it – about how it was better to do it with someone experienced when you did it the first time, not that Eric should be thinking about it at all.
"Like Mrs. DuBois," Abbey giggled, and April didn't want to think it, either, about Eric doing it with an experienced French woman, and it had probably all started there, anyway, April imagined – as if it had ever made sense, to give a young, impressionable girl with a penchant for romantic fantasy, a busty, curvy Frenchwoman with a wardrobe to flaunt it and a figure that just screamed let's do it and a tragic war torn life story that might have suggested to her that life was too short to wait for it.
"Mrs. DuBois?" Amber asked, frowning curiously.
"She's a dress form," Abbey replied, motioning with her hands to outline the general shape, before rinsing off the fork she'd been using and pulling a glass from a nearby cabinet. "Dad got her for me" she explained, "when I was learning how to sew."
"Dad thinks she's hot," April grumbled, motioning with her own hands to out-line a version that was much more busty than Abbey's had been. Not that she was paying any attention it, she reminded herself as she poked idly at her pie, that he was probably at it right then, chatting with some model about it, some model who would even put even it to shame, Mrs. DuBois' figure, not that Mrs. DuBois would ever be caught dead eating it, either, rich strawberry cream pie.
"Dad thinks she talks too much," Abbey said, giggling again as she poured milk into the glass.
"They think that's funny," April added wryly, frowning at Abbey. "Mrs. DuBois doesn't have a head," she added, in response to Amber's curious glance.
"You just don't get it," Abbey corrected, laughing. "I'm bringing this to Nicholas," she added, holding the glass up and motioning to Amber. "He's with my dad in the den," she said as she breezed out of the room.
"I put his dinosaur pillow in there," Beth said, nodding to Amber. "There's a bowl of miniature candy bars in there, too," she added, glancing back at April. "That should hold him for a while."
"It's a bribe," April explained, pushing her pie plate away reluctantly and taking a sip of her sparkling water. "We come to the party, and he wears a tie, he gets candy, and football."
"That sounds fair," Amber agreed, nodding wryly.
"It prevents pouting," April added. "He's not much for crowds."
"Neither is Nicholas," Amber agreed. "The books say he'll grow out of it," she noted hesitantly.
"He's a great kid," April reassured her. "He was adorable in his Halloween costume."
"He loved that," Amber agreed, laughing as Beth pulled a picture of it out of an envelope on her counter. "He had the best time that night," she continued, smiling widely.
"So did Alex," April smirked, "even though he won't admit it."
"It's hard to tell," Amber said quietly, scanning the photo again, of her giggling, gap toothed son, and the mysteriously masked brother she sometimes barely recognized, when she got right down to it.
"Yeah, I know," April admitted finally, since it wasn't like it was easy, knowing what Alex thought, since it wasn't like he'd talk about it, and it wasn't like he came with an instruction manual, and it wasn't like she was expecting it to all just fade away in a week or a month or even a year – whatever it was that had driven them so far apart in the first place, since it wasn't like she hadn't seen it first hand, the little white farm house, and it wasn't like there was much she could say about it, since it wasn't like words would fix it, or make it better, or even make it make sense, when you got right down to it.
"He's a good dad," Beth volunteered finally, after a few minutes of it, the awkward silence that still sometimes settled around them, and April almost breathed a sigh of relief at it.
It wasn't like she'd told Beth all of it – about the little white farm house – but April had told Beth some of it, even if he wouldn't like it, Beth knowing about it, because Beth was his family whether he liked it or not, and Beth would get it, too, about how hard it was when you started from it – from an upended snow globe – and Beth wouldn't blab about it like Jenny, and Beth wouldn't judge him for it like Cari, and Beth wouldn't ask him about it like Dani would, just because she couldn't help it.
"I mean, I snark on him and all," Beth added, shrugging casually, "but he's great with kids."
"He'll deny it," April reminded her, rolling her eyes and reaching for her phone as it buzzed beside her. "It's Eric," she said happily, motioning to them that she was taking the call into the other room.
"Still alive is he?" Beth teased, ignoring April's scowl as she popped through the doorway.
"It's just weird," Amber shrugged, fingering her glass. "I barely know him. It's like you and April have known each other forever."
"We have," Beth pointed out wryly. "And it's not like we all always get along. It takes a lot of… patience," she added carefully.
"I'm trying," Amber shrugged reluctantly. "It's like he's all closed off about it," she added hesitantly.
"That's what April used to say about him when they were having problems," Beth replied, shrugging and pulling another bottle of mineral water from her refrigerator. "She just kept working at it."
That was it, he'd decided, somewhere in the middle of the meal - it was all about just how competitive she was with her sisters. Not that she'd ever listened to him, he reminded himself, as he wandered over to the mini fridge in the den to grab another beer, when he'd told her that they were just jealous of it –of her job or her kids or the way she could fill out a Wonder Woman costume, no matter how much she denied it – and he just shook his head about it as he settled down into it, possibly the most plush and comfortable couch on the planet, and turned it on, the mammoth flat screen television mounted on the wall, just in time for it, the game of the week, to hear the football announcers go on it about it.
He checked it quickly, too, his phone, just to confirm it, that Eric and his classmates had gotten to the ski resort safely. It was apparently "wicked cool," the ski conditions, and he just smirked as he read it, since it had worried him for a while there, that Eric would never find it, a sport he could be good at.
Not that it was football or wrestling, but it was pretty exciting – ski racing – and Eric was really into, like Katie, and he'd already won some medals for it, and he'd already made it – his school's team, as if it had even occurred to Alex at the time, that the Math and Science Academy might have sports teams.
It wasn't like he cared too much about it or anything – no matter what April said about it - about the three meets Eric had already won as a freshman, or the trophy he might take home this weekend if he could just shave 4.23 more seconds off of it, his speed on the back slalom. It was just good that he was into it – something that didn't involve sitting in front of a computer screen or a calculator and mastering advanced Thermodynamics and Differential Equations just to make heads or tails of it.
It was good for him, Alex insisted, and it wouldn't be karate all over again no matter what April said about it – as if his wrist hadn't healed perfectly, as if he couldn't do it now, defend himself if he needed it. It wasn't like she didn't see more of it in her ER, anyway, injuries from football or wrestling or even skate boarding, then she ever did for skiing – and it wasn't like he was pressuring the kid just by building a special case for it, his growing collection of ski trophies and medals, since it wasn't like she'd want them spread all over the house, or just left out getting dusty, and it was just a way of organizing them, when you got right down to it.
He reviewed the latest message from Katie, too, about how she was changing it again, her major, about how it might not be sea life rescue in Costa Rica this summer after all – it might be monitoring the health of shark populations in Australia again, since it wanted her back, the program she'd attend for just two weeks that past spring.
He just smirked at it, since it was all coming back to him – Atlantis 2.0 and all the time she'd spent with it, with fish tanks and aquarium books and her fantasies about running it someday, a sea life rescue place of her own, and he could already imagine it – her hapless college roommates getting lectures about dolphin safe Tuna and penguin migration and the plight of red sea plankton, and he remembered almost believing it – back before she'd thrown it all away – that she might actually do it.
He stuffed it back in his pocket, his phone, a few minutes before kickoff, and he just watched it absently, the wind blowing the tree line across the darkened back yard, and he just smirked when he saw it, the photos of Nicholas beside all the photos of Katie and Abbey and Eric lining Beth's hulking book cases, and it was all there all over again, Katie's first trip to Sea World and Abbey's first sewing machine and Eric's first Lego set, Katie smiling on her snow board and Abbey happily arranging fabric around Mrs. DuBois' shoulders and Eric karate chopping a loaf of bread – as if he couldn't have avoided the whole broken wrist thing entirely, if he'd just stuck with fighting sandwich food – Katie's high school graduation and Eric's gap toothed smile at his fifth birthday party and Abbey with the expensive camera Beth had given her for Christmas nearly three years before.
It was a cool camera, too, Alex acknowledged – at least, before Beth had Abbey using it to take pictures of guys who thought nothing of taking it all off in front of little girls, even if their mother's inexplicably approved it, for reasons he couldn't fathom. It had been awesome, too, that Medieval Lego set with the knights and the horses and the working draw bridge and the moat he and Eric and Katie had added to it – which they'd actually filled with some of Katie's cat fish - which was still set up in their family room – since Nicholas played with it – and Katie had loved it, Alex recalled, the snow board he'd had made for her, with the crashing waves and the tooth baring Great White shark on it.
It had all been pretty cool, he thought with a smirk – even if he still hadn't gotten it right, those stupid jumbo candy canes he was supposed to hang from the rafters every year, since it wouldn't be Christmas without them, at least to hear April tell it.
It still wasn't spoiling them, either, no matter what she said about it, since it wasn't like they'd ever have to feel it, what it was like to have none of it, and he smirked again as he glanced over the pictures until he felt it, the familiar dip on the couch beside him as Nicholas burrowed into it.
It was still too much for Nicholas, Alex imagined, the crowds and the noise – even if he did get a couple of choice slabs of cake out of it, and it had probably tired him out, and it was probably past his nap time, and he just reached over wordlessly and snapped it off again with a frown, the chocolate covered neck tie, rolling his eyes at him and watching him giggle as he stuffed it into the little boy's jacket pocket.
"Seahawks," Nicholas noted happily, pointing sleepily to the screen.
"You got it," Alex smirked, nodding approvingly, since they'd been working on it, recognizing all the team colors.
It settled into a comfortable silence as the game kicked off, and he just smirked again as he grabbed it, the little dinosaur blanket Beth had draped across it, the impossibly cushy couch, and he just placed it loosely around Nicholas as he dozed off into it, the Prehistoric Adventures throw pillow tucked into the corner of it – a Triceratops shaped pillow, Alex noted, impressed, judging by the shape of it.
"Hey," Amber said quietly, nearly a half hour later, entering the room and sitting across from him on the other side of the couch as she peeked over it, the spot where Nicholas slept beside him.
"It's in his pocket," Alex said defensively, sure it was the first thing she would say about it.
"It's okay," she smirked, rolling her eyes. "He hates it, anyway."
"So why make him wear it?" Alex retorted. It came out more sharply than he intended, but it wasn't like he'd ever said anything about it, about her, or the kid's father – whoever the hell that was – or the years of stony silence after she'd assured him of it, that it was all his fucking fault, too, whatever had gone wrong with it.
"I want to do it right," she snapped, folding her arms over her chest and sitting back defiantly.
"Huh?" Alex asked, glancing at her with a scowl.
"This," she said, motioning vaguely around the room. "Him," she added, lowering her voice as she motioned toward her son with her eyes. "Did you ever think we'd be at a party at a place like this?" she asked, wide eyed and serious.
"It's a house," Alex shrugged, though it wasn't at all. It was a mansion, really, and it was full of it – of food and music and dinosaur shaped pillows bought just for him and whatever else it was that made a building into a home for a kid who wouldn't have to worry about it, where his next meal was coming from, or if he'd have a bed, or if the screaming would keep him up all night, or if he'd ever see any of it again – as bad as it was – if the Social Services morons came back and decided that it'd be fucking safer to drag them all away from it, and away from each other, even if they had nowhere else to take them that was better, when you got right down to it.
"Not to me," Amber corrected sharply.
He just couldn't read it – if it was a dig at him for not fixing it, all of it, or if she was jealous or if – of Beth's exotic life – or if she resented it, having a kid she obviously hadn't planned on, or if it was a reminder, that they'd never had it – any of it – because he just couldn't control it, his own temper or his mother's pills or his father's boozing or Aaron's crazy of whatever the hell else it was that tore it apart, the crappy little farm house in Iowa, as if a tornado had leveled it.
"I don't want it to be like that for him," she added quietly, motioning to Nicholas again after another stony silence, almost as if she could see it all churning in his mind, though he hadn't said a word about it.
"Was it?" he grumbled finally, his eyes narrowing as he motioned toward Nicholas.
"No," she snapped, glaring angrily at him. "I'm not that stupid, no matter what you think."
"I never said that," he retorted, staring back at the television, his face reddening.
"You never say anything," she snorted. "You already know it all, anyway, right? About your stupid sister who got knocked up and ruined her life?"
"He's a great kid," Alex hissed, glaring back at her furiously again. "Whether you think it or not-"
"I know that," she snapped, cutting him off abruptly, her eyes blazing. "Don't you think I know that?" she added, lowering her voice to a whisper as she glanced back down at him again, running her fingers over his hair.
"I made a mistake," she added, struggling to control her voice. "His father, he didn't want… this," she whispered, glancing around the room again, "he didn't want.. us," she added sadly.
Alex stared back at the television, his heart racing and his stomach churning and his lungs clenching and the blood rushing in his ears and his voice catching in his throat as he groped for it, whatever it was she was expecting him to say or to do at the moment, since it wasn't like he ever got it right.
"I want it to be different for him," she announced defiantly a moment later. "So I took the great job, even if the move upset him a little. And I let April's sisters spoil him because he's never had that before," she added determinedly. And I-"
"It wasn't my fault," he snapped, vehemently cutting her off.
"I never said it was," she retorted, scowling at him. And she hadn't, exactly, at least not more than once, and not for years after that – when he hadn't heard from her at all – and not since she'd returned to Seattle, where she was suddenly friends with April and running around with her sisters and maybe even sending Nicholas' school photos to April's parents in Ohio, at least from the looks of it.
"Like hell you didn't," he hissed, narrowing his eyes at her. She could deny it all she wanted to, too, and she might have only said it once, but it was there a thousand times over – no matter what she or April or anyone else said about it.
"I was 16," she retorted defensively, "and confused, and terrified."
"And I was just your loser brother who ran off to med school and left you there," he filled in furiously, as if he'd heard it a thousand times before. "You think it was easy?"
"I was a kid," she retorted, rolling her eyes at him. "We were broke, Aaron was working two jobs, mom was barely holding it together-"
"I was living in my freaking car," Alex retorted, his face reddening again. "I was working shifts in a freaking bar just to eat. "I was-"
"Trying to get away from it-" she filled in pointedly. "So am I," she added glumly, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest as she glanced back at Alex.
"He's the best thing that ever happened to me," she added quietly, glancing back down at Nicholas. "I'm a damn good mother," she added, her eyes flashing at him again.
"I know," Alex agreed, sighing and wiping his hands over his face as he leaned back into the couch.
"You do?" she asked, almost hesitantly, after an awkward silence.
"He's a great kid," Alex said quietly. "April loves having him over."
"She says you need someone to play Legos with," Amber pointed out smugly.
"She talks too much," he grumbled, looking back at the television again.
"You're good, you know," Amber added quietly as she rose from the couch, "with him, I mean," she added, motioning to Nicholas again as he still snored softly beside Alex.
"It's my job," Alex shrugged, his face reddening again as he glanced back down toward him.
"April said you say that, too," Amber snickered, smirking at him as she walked out of the room.
"Did you get it working?" April asked, giggling as she crouched down beside Alex, who was still sprawled across the seaweed rug fiddling with the train set that now ringed the Christmas tree. It had been Eric's, she remembered, once upon a time. But he'd lost interest in – about the time he and Alex had taken to blowing up model volcanoes instead, she recalled with a frown – and they hadn't set it up in years.
"It was just one of the track switches," Alex said casually, as he straightened three of the box cars and rearranged a few of the little train village people who milled around the station, apparently also waiting for the announcement that it was up and running again.
"So Eric fixed it?" she teased, since it had been the Barbie Deluxe Dream House all over again over the past week or so, at least as far as she saw it, not that they'd needed it this time, exactly, the emergency toy hot line, since Eric could fix anything with wires or capacitors or a motor in it.
"He helped," Alex muttered, rolling his eyes as he piled more fake snow beside the base of the village mountain. "They're having a weather delay," he smirked, holding the fake snow up for her, as if that was her only hope of getting it, his bad joke.
"Just don't make them late for tree trimming," she retorted, setting the miniature fir tree down in their little town square. It was almost a replica of their full size tree, she thought, studying it closely, with snow covered bushes and glittery ornaments and a pile of tiny gift wrapped boxes underneath it.
She had no idea how Abbey had found the time to make it, since it wasn't like she wasn't already almost packed for it, her first semester at UC Irvine. It was just always like that with her, though, April reminded herself, fluffing its branches as she surveyed their larger tree – which was basically covered with a whole history of it – Abbey's first Barbie Christmas ornament, the little camera ornament Beth had gotten her from Senegal, the Sewing Machine ornament her Aunt Edna had sent from Cincinnati when she'd seen it – the photos of the first summer dress Abbey had made for Mrs. DuBois, the delicate antique Victorian phonograph ornament Alex had picked up for her years before at that shop on 7th and Spruce – and she didn't even want to know it, how badly he'd been ripped off for it.
She had added to it this year, too, her collection – with a little silver Jeep ornament, and a UC Irvine ant eater ornament, and the tooth ornament that Alex had picked up for her at the Museum of Medical Oddities, as if it was actually funny, since ant eaters didn't actually have teeth, as if he'd ever cared about biological accuracy or scientific fact, when you got right down to it.
It was all there, though, she noted, as her eyes ran over it, and she giggled again as she noticed it – the Thomas train ornament with Nicholas' name on it, which Alex had apparently snagged when he picked up the new miniature people he still hadn't admitted buying– as if they were doing it among themselves and over populating it - and the dangling Tyrannosaurs from Beth, which actually lit up when it roared she reminded herself, startling and jumping back abruptly after she'd delicately fingered it.
At least she'd finally gotten it together this Christmas, though, at least somewhat she reminded herself. Maybe not as well as Beth, who was hosting it again this year – and would be flawless at it, of course – or as Abbey, who had always been starry eyed about all of it, the Christmas carols and the sappy movies and the cookie baking and the holiday family photos and everything about it, really. But at least she'd finally gotten it done this year, the stockings hung neatly along the mantle – and she wasn't going to think about it, either, about all the beautiful holiday photos Abbey had to show her biological parents, if the latest envelope from the adoption agency had anything to do with it.
It was thicker than usual, not that she'd noticed, and it was addressed only to Abbey this time, which only made sense – since she was an adult and all. Of course she was, April thought wryly, since she was taking her fuzzy moose slippers to the dorm with her, along with the stuffed tiger Alex had gotten for her when she was four, the tiger that looked just like the one on the animal cracker boxes that April used to buy by the case for them, back before she'd happily signed it – Abbey Elizabeth Karev.
Not that Abbey had mentioned anything about it, the envelope from the adoption agency. But at least she couldn't say it, even if this was technically her last Christmas as her daughter – that she'd never had it, a neatly hung stocking with her name on it.
She wasn't going to think about it at all, though, she reminded herself again as she peered over Alex's shoulder again – about Katie's grades or Abbey's going off to college or Eric swooping down those slick ski slopes with his friends even if she'd never get it, why her family seemed so intent on it, on hurtling down snow covered slopes as if gravity was just a theory and ER doctors could fix anything – she was just going to enjoy it, all of it.
She was, too, she reminded herself, as she straightened a little bench and one of the lamp posts along the miniature village – since apparently Eric had seen to it, that they all light brilliantly – because she had the next two weeks off, and Nicholas was still all gapped toothed and giggly and wide eyed and believed all of it, about Santa and Reindeers and Elves and the giddy excitement of it, and Abbey would always love it, Christmas, and Katie would be home for it in a few days, and Eric had already won it, the district tournament, and would be home with it in two days, the trophy that Alex had already set up a display case for, no matter how much he denied it, and it would be the perfect Christmas no matter what the freaking forms said about it, any of it.
"Aren't there a lot more people waiting for it this year," she noted, motioning toward the train station and eying him with a smirk as she lay down beside him, determined to get him to admit it.
Its rush hour," he grumbled, sliding another store front into place. "Kill the lights," he added, surveying it happily, as the entire little village sprang to life, with shining store front windows and moving elves in Santa's workshop and motorized carolers in the town square and twirling ice skaters on the little pond and it all made her wonder, really, just how much time he and Abbey and Eric had spent on it.
"Apparently," she nodded wryly, holding up another miniature piece, a cross country skier incongruously perched near the bustling post office. "This guy decided it'd be faster to ski home."
"That's Eric's," he noted defensively, peering closely at the lighted bakery he'd just set beside the little toy shop.
"I figured," she replied, struggling to sound serious as she put the little skier back in its place. "You weren't very good at it," she teased, slipping her hand under his loosely tied sweatpants and sliding them down over his hips.
"I wasn't bad," he grumbled, almost gasping as a shiver ran through his body.
"You broke it," she reminded him, almost giggling as she ran her hand slowly over it.
"I didn't break it," he insisted, almost gasping again as she slid the soft, faded grey fabric completely off of him before running her hand leisurely back over it.
"It was purple," she smirked, tracing her fingers up along his sides as she untangled him from his sweatshirt.
"I have pictures of it," she added, almost gasping herself as he undid it, the clasp of her robe.
"You still liked it," he smirked smugly, running his hands over her body as the robe pooled around them on the floor.
"I felt sorry for it," she teased, trailing her fingers along it again as he curled around her.
"You couldn't keep your hands off of it," he insisted, smirking smugly again as a soft groan escaped her.
It was the last vaguely coherent thought that flitted through her mind – that he sort of was right about that, not that she'd ever admit it – before it all erupted again, and she had no idea how long it'd been before she noticed it again, the snowflakes teeming past the wide windows and the tree glistening in the background and the fire place flickering beside them – with the neatly hung stockings, she reminded herself – as he nuzzled sleepily into it, the curve of her body – and it just made her giggle all over again, as she ran her fingers over it again, how it had looked in her honeymoon photos of it.
She'd never admitted it to anyone, she reminded herself, as she traced her fingers lazily over it, that she hadn't actually done it on her honeymoon, either, since she didn't want to hear it again, especially from her sisters, that she'd been too scared to do it –as if she hadn't gotten over it by then, any fear she'd had about doing it, as if she hadn't planned to do it – at least, until he'd broken it – as if she wanted to hear about it, when it was his ass that was broken, as if she wanted them picturing it anyway, she added with a wry smirk, since it wasn't like it wasn't a nice ass, even when it was purple, and it wasn't like she didn't hear enough about it – from the giggly young nurses – and it wasn't like it didn't photograph well, especially when it was bathed in flickering amber fire light, she smirked, still running her eyes and her fingers over it, it was just that it was still pornography, she imagined, even if it was her husband.
Not that it bothered her anymore, either though, she reminded herself, no matter what Beth said about her being prudish about it, since it wasn't like she was even grabbing for it now – her robe or the blanket on the couch pillows to cover it, and it wasn't like it was being unreasonable, to hide it from the children, since it wasn't like she wanted them scared of it. It was just that it was beside the point, anyway, since Katie was away at college, and Eric was away at a ski competition, and Abbey was in her room planning her bright future, and had already done it, anyway, not that April didn't try to forget it.
It didn't even make her uncomfortable, she added with a giggle, that all of the new little people had just watched them do it, and it wasn't like she didn't enjoy it – the texture of the seaweed rug brushing her skin as she stretched lazily along it, and it wasn't like she needed it, anyway, her warm, thick robe – since it was basically like having a silky, purring hot water bottle wrapped around her, the way Alex tangled around her after doing it – and it wasn't like it wasn't making her drowsy, anyway, the dimly lit room and the rhythm of his breathing and the quivering of his smooth skin as she stroked it.
It didn't make her uncomfortable at all, she smirked sleepily, no matter what Beth said about it – the pictures of all those male models that she had Abbey and Katie photo shopping and refinishing and arranging when they helped her with it, her magazine portfolio – as if it shouldn't bother her at all, that they thought nothing about taking it all off in front of impressionable teenaged girls, and letting them photograph it all, in high definition –since it wasn't like it made her prudish to question Beth about it, about whether it was actually pornography in Seattle, even if it wasn't in Europe, since it wasn't like she could remember seeing it – at least, not in high definition – even when he sisters smuggled it into their parents' house, staring at it and speculating about it and debating it and studying it and preparing for it, for when they'd finally get to see it and to handle it and to feel it up close.
She could barely even remember it, though, she'd insist when they pressed her on it – the time when she was afraid of it – since it wasn't all that intimidating once you got used to it, she smirked, curling her fingers gently into his groin, and it wasn't all the scary, when it quivered sleepily in her hands, and it wasn't some great mystery, she giggled, burrowing her fingers deeper into it in response to his soft moan, once she'd figured out what it liked, and it wasn't like it took fancy equipment or costumes no matter what Beth said – just judging from it, the contented smile that spread across his sleeping face as her fingers lingered over it – even if he was still hung up on it, too, doing it with Wonder Woman – and it wasn't like she couldn't make it all melt into her hands, even though she hadn't on her honeymoon, since she really had felt sorry for it, the aching purple ass he'd broken even though he denied it.