Hello readers! I'm back from a short trip I had to take. If any of you live in Oklahoma, there's a play opening in Tulsa this week that you must see: Pryor Rendering. I saw it in OKC last weekend and it's amazing. Check it out at the Tulsa Performing Arts Center.
Carol met Jim at the door of room 5-1-8-4, with tears in her eyes and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn in her hands. "Jim, I just finished. This is the most beautiful book I've ever read," she whispered. "Thank you so much."
Jim stepped forward and embraced her. The doors were still open and he was still the captain and yet, he didn't care who saw him hug Carol Marcus. It felt too right. "Glad you liked it," he said, "But why are you crying?"
"Who knows," Carol said, smiling as she stepped back a bit to look him in the eye. "My guess would be some combination of hormones and this book. I feel like I just rode a rollercoaster, with all the ups and downs in this story."
"Oh, good," Jim said, then quickly corrected, "I don't mean 'good that you're crying,' I mean, 'good that you're not upset about something.' I know the book is an emotional seesaw."
"Yeah, it's hard to read about such ruthless capitalism. Trying to feed the children on stale bread – how did people used to live like that?" Carol asked, shaking her head. "And to survive and love each other even when things are that bad, even though the father is an alcoholic . . . it's so beautiful."
"You're beautiful," Jim said impulsively. He hoped she'd take the compliment, even coming from an ex-boyfriend.
Carol's smile was hard to read. She wiped her eyes and asked, "Are we going to be late?"
Jim checked his watch. "Not if we leave now. It's a short walk," he said, "Are you ready?"
"Born ready," she said with a smile. She reached back to set the book on the desk and said, "Let's go."
They did not hold hands while they walked. People passing in the hallway might still notice that they were together, though, by the way Jim lowered his head slightly to listen to Carol whenever she spoke.
"I started looking at some of the MBL apartment options in Pittsburgh," she said, "I guess they're small compared to where I grew up, but sheesh, after almost two years on a starship they look like palaces. I can get a bedroom to myself, a nursery, a living room, a full kitchen, and I don't even have to share a bathroom!"
"That's good," Jim said, "My brother says that babies and their paraphernalia automatically expand to fill whatever space they're put in, though, so I bet it'll feel tiny once you're there."
"It couldn't," Carol said confidently, "And anyway, baby and I are going to be minimalists. Some people are good at shopping, but I'm not among them."
An image of a minimalist baby sprung to Jim's mind – wearing nothing but a diaper, sleeping in a box in a bare room – and he wasn't sure whether it was funny or not. "Won't your girlfriends want to throw you a shower, anyway?" he asked.
Carol shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe, but most of my close friends live off-planet. I'll set up one of those wishlist things so they can send gifts, but that still puts all the shopping pressure back on my shoulders."
"Oh," Jim said. "Well, maybe that's one thing my mother could help you with, if you decide to reach out to her. And here we are," he finished as they came to the right set of doors. Sickbay's entrance swished open, and they stepped through.
"Morning, Jim, morning, Carol," Dr. McCoy said casually, with only a hint of his usual gruffness. "Hope you all enjoyed breakfast. I skipped mine, personally." He gestured to a biobed towards the back of the bay, in one corner. "I'm all set up for you two back here. Carol, you lie down, Jim, you pull up a chair."
As the trio made their way there, Jim said, "Why'd you skip breakfast, Bones? This doesn't make you squeamish, does it?"
"Lord Jesus, no," Bones muttered. "I had to calibrate this scanner. It's been in its package since we left spacedock. Obstetrical equipment doesn't see much action aboard the Enterprise, unlike my trauma kits, burn wraps, hyposprays, and supportive breathing equipment. All of which we may as well inscribe with J-T-K because you need them on a rotating basis." Jim rolled his eyes, while Bones patted the biobed and said to Carol, "Hop up here, Carol, and get comfy. How have you been feeling?"
"Pretty well, all things considered. I've logged all my vitals for you," she said, handing over the record tape as she settled onto the biobed and hiked up her shirt.
"Good woman," Bones said amiably. With a tap on the button by the bed, Bones raised an opaque forcefield around them for privacy. "Now, this scanner here is brand new, as I said, so if it looks like the kid has two heads, I blame that," the doctor continued. "If it looks like the kid is a seahorse with legs, well, then, I blame Mother Nature's idiotic sense of humor." He grinned at his own joke and placed the scanner on Carol's abdomen. "Jim, will you please pull over a chair? The view is much better from the side, trust me on this," he added.
"Fine, Bones, whatever you say," Jim said, sitting down. He hoped that his nervous energy came across as the normal, Captain-Kirk-in-sickbay levels of anxiety.
"Atta boy," Bones said. "Now, let's see what Carol's cooking up." He switched on the scanner, and a 3D projection of Carol's kidneys hovered over the top. At least, Jim assumed those were her kidneys. They might also be the support structures under the biobed, for all he knew. I don't work on Bones's side of the street, he thought. He watched as Bones fiddled with the scanner dials, zooming up and down through Carol's various body systems – or possibly through decks of the ship, Jim wasn't sure – until he finally stopped zooming and started adjusting the clarity of the image. "Carol, Jim, I'm pleased to present your twelve-week fetus," he announced as it finally snapped into focus.
Jim looked at the holographic image and many things went through his mind. That does look like a seahorse. A cute seahorse. A cute seahorse with little hands and little feet and even littler fingers and toes . . . one, two, three – wait, never mind counting the toes. This seahorse has a face. It's looking at me! Wait no, that's silly, it can't see me. I can see it, though. A surge of emotion went through his heart and he thought, this is like falling in love, but so much stronger. He realized that he'd reflexively reached out towards the hologram, and sheepishly drew his arm back. Carol noticed and reached over to take his hand.
Carol looked at the holographic image and many things went through her mind. That's inside me. That's part of me. We made this little thing and it looks kinda like a seahorse. But it's a baby. Christ, in six months it'll be a regular, squalling infant and I'll be up all night and wondering how I got into this mess. Yet I'll love it, I'll love it forever, because I'm already in love just looking at it. A smile spread across her face, unbidden, and her eyes were suddenly watering. She looked at Jim and whispered, "It's beautiful."
"Yes, it is," Jim whispered back.
"Do you want to know the sex?" Bones said, his tone softer than Jim had heard in a long, long time.
"I do," Carol said, "But Jim, you could step out if . . . "
"No, I'm staying," Jim interrupted. "This is one strange new world I'd like to explore together."
Bones rolled his eyes. Every expectant father thinks he's a poet. He rotated and tilted the image, refocusing it as he went, until he could see between the tiny, barely formed legs. "Looks like it's a boy," he announced. "And, so far, a healthy one. No sign of any abnormalities or red flags. Though we'll have to repeat the scan after . . ."
His voice faded away behind the rushing sound in Jim's ears. A boy. A son. That's my son. He looked over at Carol, who was staring at the image with a goofy, love-struck grin on her face. That's our son, he thought, and he gazed back at the image in wonder. Our son is the most amazing thing I've ever seen.