"You made these?" Alex asked, his eyes lighting up as Katie placed the plate on the coffee table, along with a fresh glass of milk.
"No," she snorted, grabbing two perfect snowmen and dropping down onto the couch beside him.
"Martha Stewart did it," she snickered, motioning toward the stairs with her eyes. "You know that's not possible, right?" she grumbled, waving one of her cookies at the television screen.
"You making edible cookies?" Alex retorted, raising his eyebrows at her.
"A snakehead growing arms," she corrected, rolling her eyes at him. "I've almost got a Masters in it, you know," she added smugly.
"It's a holiday classic," Alex insisted, shaking his head as he looked back at the movie.
"Jurassic Park is a holiday classic," she retorted, grabbing another cookie.
"You know that's not possible, right?" he countered. "And I'm a doctor."
"You're the stork," she giggled.
He almost groaned at it, because it was like she was Cristina's long list little sister, and she was fierce and passionate and brilliant and impossible and infuriating and even Meredith had pointed the similarities out to him more than once, even if he didn't want to admit it.
"So, three more classes?" he muttered awkwardly, a moment later.
He was hesitant to bring it up at all, since then he'd hear it all over again, about how he was nagging her about it, or not being sufficiently supportive of it – which made no sense no matter how often April said it since, really, it wasn't like she was asking them to pay for it.
It wasn't like she hadn't moved across the country for it, either, and it wasn't like she hadn't made it plain to him, that she didn't need a thing from him in order to do it, and she'd said it all pretty bluntly more times than he could count, that it wasn't like she even wanted them to have anything to do with it, when you got right down to it.
"Yeah," she said, fingering it reluctantly, her own milk glass.
He remembered it vividly, too, the day it started – with the fish tanks and the little bubbling aquarium toys and the colorful books about how to keep it all at the right temperature and how to get the water weeds to grow in it and how to light it so it wouldn't freak out the tetras of the gobies or the catfish or whatever else she put into it.
"So it really worked out, huh?" he asked finally.
Not that he'd doubted it, he reminded himself, that she could do it if she wanted to – anything, really - since she was smart and opinionated and tough and determined when she cared about it, whatever it was she was doing.
It was just that he could never get a sense of it, really, if she wanted it bad enough or not – and he'd been burned over it more than once – and he really hadn't wanted to hear about if from April again, that he was doing too much to push her at it, as if she didn't need it, or doing too little to encourage her at it, as if April couldn't even make up her own freaking mind about it – if they were supposed to be pressing Katie on it or not, whatever it was.
It all just left him bewildered and befuddled, since it wasn't like he wouldn't have paid for it, if she'd really wanted it, and it wasn't like he hadn't helped her float Atlantis 2.0 – even when April swore he was spoiling her with it – and it wasn't like he wouldn't have given her any opportunity she wanted, if she'd just take and do something with it.
"You don't have to sound so surprised about it," she snickered, scowling at him.
It was there all over again, the defiance, and he remembered it vividly, and he could hear it all over again – that she was happy about it, that they weren't really her parents – and it wasn't like April deserved it, and it pissed him off royally, since April was as a great mother, and she deserved to hear it, even if Katie was still too stubborn and angry to admit it.
"I'm not," he snapped. "I just-"
"You're mad I did it on my own," she snorted.
"We would've helped you," he retorted.
"You just-" he started, and it almost had him stammering.
It wasn't like they hadn't paid for it, the special school and the summer sailing camps and the first few years of college, and it wasn't like they hadn't tried as hard as they could to give her a better life, and she wouldn't have been better off with her biological parents no matter what she said about it.
"I didn't want it," she insisted, shaking her head and frowning again. "I wanted to do it myself."
It was a bizarrely warm and sunny afternoon for February, and it wasn't going to last more than a day or two, and it made her vaguely uneasy when he announced it, that he'd arranged for them to have the rest of the day off. It was probably one of those Valentine's Days plots – plans, she reminded herself immediately to call them plans, no matter how they turned out.
It certainly wasn't what she'd planned lunch, that they'd grab it while walking through the city park, and it still wasn't candles and tablecloths – it was hot dogs and jumbo pretzels from a street vendor's cart – and she resigned herself to it, dinner at the Museum of Medical Oddities, though she could already taste it – the decadent triple fudge ripple cake – which would always be the best thing about her Valentine's Days, at least, as far as she could tell it.
She wasn't expecting it at all though, that he'd already arranged it – to rent bikes for a ride through the park – and she giggled as she recalled it, that'd she'd mentioned it to him casually the month before, that she'd loved it, the fire engine red bike she'd had when she was eight.
It was true, too, apparently – that once you'd learned how to ride one, you never forgot how to do it – and it was a laughing and giggling and a warm breeze whistling through hair and sun dappling through the tree branches and birds chirping happily until she suggested it, that they race to it, the fountain at the other end of the park.
She just couldn't help it, she reminded herself later, since he'd scoffed at it initially – as if he couldn't even imagine it, the idea that she might beat him to it – and it was all his fault, since he'd ridden it along the edge of a pedestrian path, his own bike, and it had been his idea to begin with, the whole bike renting thing.
She had it, too, she did – the victory in her grasp, and she could taste it as she peddled furiously, and she was already chanting it breathlessly as she tried to speed past him– "I beat you, I beat you, I beat you," and she totally had it - until his bike swerved into it, her direct line to the fountain, which it did no matter what he said about it.
He was still going to lose the race to her, she'd snickered, hollering at him as she tried to race past him on it, and it was all his fault, she'd sputtered a moment later, dripping and gasping breathlessly after it – the collision which had landed them both in it – the cheerfully spewing public fountain.
It was all his fault, she insisted, as some curious, startled birds looked on - chirping animatedly, as if they were taking sides - and it was all his fault, she insisted, as the park cop ran over and asked them about it, and it was all his fault, she repeated, no matter what the nosy, busy body passers-by said about it, and she would too have beaten him, if he hadn't cheated at it – deliberately knocking her off balance, no matter what he said about it - and it was almost a citation for disorderly conduct until the cop burst out laughing hysterically about it – Alex's heated explanation that it was her freaking Valentine's Day present.
The cop finally gave up on it, though, writing the citation for causing a public disturbance, after agreeing that the commotion wasn't a mugging or a bike theft or even a domestic dispute – though it was starting to sound like it, the cop pointed out – and she just smirked smugly at Alex when the cop finally put it away, his citation book, while mentioning to Alex that he might want to try something simpler next year, like red roses and a fancy dinner at a nice candle lit restaurant , since the cop had done it that way himself and his wife had seemed to appreciate it.
It was a long explanation to the bike rental company, too, and she really didn't blame them for it – not refunding Alex's deposit money – and it was a frustrating and damp ride home as she was still picking coins from the fountain out of it, her tangled and matted hair.
It was on the way home, though, the Museum of Medical Oddities, and she just waited in the car as he went into the Museum of Medical Oddities for it, and she just watched as he returned, still dripping along the side walk as he carried it, a huge slab of triple fudge ripple cake, and she could already imagine trying to explain it all to her sisters, about how she'd almost been arrested for doing it in a public fountain, celebrating Valentine's Day.
At least she'd won it, she reminded herself, as they pulled into their drive way, and there'd be cake after it, she reminded herself, as she climbed into the shower in the family room's small bathroom – since she wasn't dripping it through the house – and she would've teased him about, his aching back, judging just from how he was moving it as he struggled to get the shampoo out of his hair. But she could already feel it even as she dug her hot soapy fingers into the base of his spine – the cramping in her legs from it, all that peddling from the race – not that it hadn't been worth it, just to beat him at it.
It took her another five solid minutes just to work the knots out of it, as the steamy water poured over the smooth curve of his back, and she just snickered as she bundled a huge warm towel around it, before pulling her own thick robe on, and she just smirked as she reminded him of it while he limped into the family room and sprawled awkwardly on the radioactive sea weed carpet – that she'd beat him at it.
She just smiled smugly as she dug into it, her triple fudge ripple cake, and she just rolled her eyes as he noticed it, that it was a struggle for her just to walk their plates back across to the coffee table, and she just shook her head as he smirked and worked his fingers into it, the throbbing cramp almost seizing her left calf, and she almost laughed as she noticed it, the fireplace flickering across the room, since it wasn't like either of them was in any shape to do it, even if it was Valentine's Day.
"Roses and dinner next year?" she teased, giggling as she watched him struggling awkwardly to settle down beside her after he'd finished it.
"It'd be safer for you," she pointed out, giggling again as he tried not to groan, still trying to hesitantly stretch out and gingerly straighten it, his stiff back.
"I hit the water first," he insisted smugly.
"That's not all you hit," she teased, smirking as she peeled it lightly away, the thick brown towel, and ran her fingers delicately over it, the purple bruise spreading along his left hip.
"And I still beat you to it," she added, smiling proudly as she continued to gently stroke his warm skin.
"Any trauma from it," he smirked tiredly, slipping her own robe slowly away from her body as he ran his eyes and his hands over it.
"Another Valentine's Day with no roses or candles?" she teased, giggling and tugging him closer as he nuzzled sleepily into her.
He'd always been defenseless against it, she reminded herself with a smirk, her warm fingers burrowing into the base of his spine, and it always made him comically drowsy, even if he denied it, and it was probably cheating she imagined, tracing her hand slowly along his silky back, but she'd get him to admit it eventually – even if it killed both of them - that she'd beat him at it fair and square.
"You loved it," he mumbled sleepily.
She almost giggled at it, the deep sighs that rippled through him as she ran her fingers over it, and she almost smirked at the soft murmurs that followed as she tugged it all closer, and she almost rolled her eyes as she noticed it again – the radioactive sea weed carpet, which really was comfortable, even though she'd never admit it.
She just smiled as she reminded herself of it, while she ran her eyes over it all again, that sometimes it was nice not to have to worry about it – about the kids walking in on it, or covering it all up – since it wasn't like she minded i t anymore, really, if the cats saw it, since they were pretty indifferent to it, and it wasn't like the dogs would say anything about it, and it wasn't like she didn't enjoy the view of it, she reminded herself, even if it was a little bruised.
"I did, actually," she whispered, brushing her lips to his hair as she listened to it, his deep, steady breathing.
It wasn't like it wouldn't make a great story for her sisters, that she'd almost been arrested for doing it in a public fountain, and it wasn't like she'd have to specify what the it was, exactly, since it was Valentine's Day, and it wasn't like it wasn't part of doing it, she reminded herself as she tugged him closer, listening to him breathe as he dozed in her arms, no matter what Beth said about it.
"I got it!"
It came on a late afternoon in March, Abbey's exuberant text announcing that she'd gotten her first choice job in LA.
It would be for her last year of school, technically, and she would get full academic credit for it, just like her internship, and it would be expensive – living in LA to do it – and she'd need help paying for it, but it was the opportunity of a life time, she'd told him, and even Mrs. DuBois was excited about it for her, at least to hear Abbey tell it.
It filtered through his mind as he worked through his long late night shift, and it was quiet in the cafeteria when he finally got around to dinner, after 9 p.m., and it was dark and cool in the NICU when he finally went up to check on it, the bowel obstruction surgery he'd performed the day before, and he just rolled his eyes at it – the green balloon attached to two month old Erin Murphy's crib as he scooped her out of it, and it was just a matter of time, he imagined, before she'd be done with school and out over at Joe's hoisting a beer just to celebrate it – her 21st St. Patrick's Day.
It all went that fast, he reminded himself, and he mentioned it to Erin, too, as she stretched and yawned and squirmed closer to him, and he wondered if her first time parents could fathom it, that however much of a roller coaster ride it had already been for them with a sick infant, it would all just move faster from there.
It would be bikes and cameras and antique French dress forms before they knew it, and it would be cars and crafts and college in another state before they realized it, and they could read that whole freaking parenting book they'd been carrying with them for the past two months, but they'd never be prepared for it, and it wouldn't matter, anyway, since she'd be gone before they'd even finished reading it.
It was a great school, though, he whispered to the baby, UC Irvine, and you got used to it eventually, the anteater mascot, and it had the best weather in the world, at least to hear Abbey tell it, and it had "really cute guys" – not that he wanted to hear about it, since, If it was anything like the University of Iowa, they were doing it everywhere, the cute guys, and she really should wait for it.
At least they wouldn't have to worry about it, though, he reminded himself, Erin's parents, since it wasn't like they'd be getting it, the fucking envelop that came every year announcing it – that she was someone else's daughter, at least, as far as the fucking agency saw it.
At least they didn't have to think about it, about how to deal with it – if she wanted to do something with it, the contact information leading her to it, her birth family – and at least they'd never have to wonder about it, if she'd just up and leave them behind someday for it, some new people who she'd never be able to trust – no matter what they told her about it, why they left her in it, the fucking system – when you got right down to it.
"It sucks," he grumbled, scowling and nodding his head as he held the baby tighter.
It wasn't like they'd have to worry about it, either, some stranger answering to it – mom or dad – as if that wouldn't be who they were once it started, the whole wild swirl of animal crackers and stray dogs and fluffy pink blankets and little mermaid lamps and stuffed tigers – just like the one on the animal cracker box - and glitter and red Super Spinning Racer sleds and Barbie dream houses – which were a whole lot freaking harder to build than they looked, when you got right down to it.
"It's smog-ey, too," he muttered, and it was – LA.
It was too big and too bright and too loud and too busy and he could already imagine it, Abbey being all swept up in it, the glitz and the glamor and the excitement of it.
She'd never want to come back from it, either – not even for Christmas – and it would kill April, he imagined, since she'd still put up the kids' stockings for it, and Eric would miss it, Abbey's pecan pancakes – not that he'd be back from it, either, he imagined, Cal Tech, since he talked about it as if he couldn't wait to start at it – and Katie would be lost without Abbey's advice on marine photography, even if it wasn't technically part of Katie's job – to risk life and limb filming horny sharks doing it.
Nicholas would definitely miss it, too, the batch of chocolate chip cookies she always made him for Santa, since he'd read it in a book with Amber once, that they were Santa's favorites – and Amber and Beth would miss it, too, Abbey showing it off every year – her portfolio – and it just wouldn't be the same, no matter what she said about it, since it would all be about her new life in LA once she got to it.
"It's not fair," he grumbled, nodding again, and he might as well break it to Erin early, since it wasn't – life in general, when you got right down to it.
It wasn't fair at all – not that he'd ever thought it was – since you could knock yourself out for it, giving them every opportunity, and you could try your hardest at it, being a good dad, and it could still get shoved into your mailbox between the water bill and the ads for upgraded satellite television, fucking reminders of it – that it just wasn't yours, no matter how much you wanted it.
"Checking vitals again?" April teased, peeking over his shoulder and peering down at the infant still curled happily in his arms.
"Yes," he insisted smugly, grabbing abruptly for his stethoscope as Emily continued gurgling and cooing as if she didn't even notice the strange monitors or the spooky lights or the odd noises that must have made it a pretty creepy place for the kids, at least, as far as he saw it.
"So you got it?" April asked, sighing as she sat in the rocking chair beside his.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"She sounds really excited about it," April added, peeking over the blanket again and playing with the little girl's fingers.
"Yeah," Alex agreed, frowning again.
Of course Abbey was excited, he reminded himself, because she was Abbey, and it was all a great adventure to her.
It was always like that with her, it was all blue skies and butterflies and rainbows, and it was all she ever expected from it – her whole life - exciting work days and awesome beaches and fabulous parties and cute guys – not that he wanted her to be imagining it – that it could be earth quakes and speeding drivers and long, dark hallways and snakes in the desert and worse stuff he couldn't ward off with a big box of animal crackers, since she'd be too far away for it.
"We're paying for it, right?" April prodded, eying him closely, as if reminding him that they'd already technically agreed upon it.
He remembered it vaguely, agreeing to it – when it had been three kids out of hundreds applying from her school that got it, the opportunity of a life time, in a crowded, dangerous city.
He remembered it, too, when it had been two scared little girls who just needed to get away from it – the fucking foster care system – when it had been April and Alex and hastily bought bunk beds, before it became mom and dad and home, no matter what the fucking system said about it.
"Alex?" she asked, looking at him more quizzically.
Of course he remembered it, because it was always the same – the fucking system – and it was always just temporary. It was always just stuff your crap in garbage bags and be ready to move on to it in ten minutes, wherever it was that was next – and it was a churning stomach and empty lungs and trembling hands, not that you'd ever show it – and it was always about being dumped whether you were coming or going, and it was all about being left behind no matter what they said, when you got right down to it.
"Alex?" April asked again.
Of course he remembered it, since it wasn't like they hadn't heard it from the counselors from day one, that the girls would probably wonder about it, their biological family.
It wasn't like he hadn't warned April about it – that it would just blow up in their faces. It always fucking did, when the system was involved in it – and it wasn't like she should be upset by it, since it wasn't like he hadn't freaking said it to her a million times.
It wasn't like he wouldn't say it again, either – that he'd freaking told her so – if he could just catch his breath, long enough to utter it.
"We're paying for it, right?" she prodded again, this time more sternly.
He almost laughed about it, too. Of course they were paying for it – they were paying for the whole fucking system, and that was how it fucking worked – that some people screwed up, and some other people paid for it, and he'd known it since he was seven years old – that it was all his fucking fault, no matter who did it, and that it was always him paying for it.
"Yeah," he sighed finally, rolling his eyes as he leaned back in the rocking chair.
"I'm glad we talked about it," April giggled, smiling as she pried the infant from his arms.
"I'll totally do it," Beth insisted, nodding seriously as she sipped her coffee.
"We know," April smirked. "That's why I'm worried about it."
It was coming faster than she'd planned, Amber's wedding, and she'd forgotten completely about it – a bachelorette party – until Beth reminded her of it, and April could already imagine it, just from the mischievous way Beth's face lit up about it.
"It's just supposed to be a simple ceremony," Amber reminded them hesitantly as she picked at her salad.
"It will be," Beth agreed, nodding as she reviewed the guest list.
"Just the family, I know," Beth repeated, rolling her eyes at it.
April almost laughed at it, too, because Beth always snarked on it – romance novels and lacy white wedding dresses and tossed rice and stretch limos and candles and any vow that promised it, that you'd only ever do it with one other person from then on.
But she just couldn't resist it, a party, and it just grew from there once Cari got in on it, and Dani would be there the moment it turned up – the first male name on the guest list – and Jenny was already e-mailing Amber a legal primer on, the pitfalls of marriage, and it could all be a bit too much, the whole sister thing, if you weren't used to it.
"Don't forget to seat Meredith and Cristina at the same table," April reminded Beth.
"It's a long story," she said, shrugging casually at Amber as she stirred her tea, since she'd already invited them, and they were Alex's family even if he wouldn't admit it – at least, as far as Cristina was concerned – and it wasn't like Cristina wouldn't be in town that week for it anyway, the Cardiothoracic conference at Seattle Presbyterian, and it wasn't like Burke couldn't help them with it, the post wedding barbecue.
It wasn't like she hadn't warned them all already, not to talk about it – Cristina's first non-wedding or Alex's disastrous first marriage or Meredith's post-it vows before she'd done it for real – since it wasn't like Amber wasn't looking a little over whelmed about it all, already, when you got right down to it.
"Have you picked a ring?" Beth asked, flipping her phone shut and signaling to the nearby waiter for a coffee refill.
"I did," Amber smiled happily, pulling out her own cell phone and calling up a picture of it.
"Don't let Andrew drop it in a tub of buttered popcorn," Beth said, giggling. "It'll take weeks to get the smell out."
"What?" Amber asked, looking up, puzzled.
"Ignore her," April insisted, scowling back at Beth. "It only took two days," she corrected smugly.
"Alex proposed to me at a basketball game," April filled in, in response to Amber's curious expression.
"He was a little nervous," she giggled, smiling as she remembered it.
She hadn't thought about it in ages. But she could still picture it vividly, the space vampire costume and the shy hazel smile and the shaking hands and the trembling voice as he asked her for it – her promise that she'd only ever do it with him – right before he dropped it into the popcorn tub.
Not that it would've fit on her hand, anyway, she recalled, at least - over the big foam Sonics Basketball fuzzy finger she was wearing.
"Very romantic," Beth agreed, nodding and rolling her eyes.
"It was," April protested, giggling again.
It wasn't candles and dinner and roses – it wasn't even the Museum of Medical Oddities. It was the last thing she'd expected that Halloween evening, and it would never appear in any romance novel, ever, that she'd eagerly said yes to it – after they'd fished it out of the popcorn tub, and that they'd gone to a costume party after it, and that they'd done it after the party even though he hadn't even completely removed it – his space vampire makeup – and that she'd spent the rest of the night awake just listening to it, his deep, steady breathing, as he dozed peacefully in her arms with it still clutched in his fingers - a half melted mini Snickers bar – since nothing said romance quite like it.
"Andrew proposed to me on the Ferry at sunset," Amber said, smiling shyly. "He knows I love it."
"Alex gets sea sick," Beth smirked. "He would've thrown up on it."
"He would not," April insisted, struggling not to giggle again.
It wasn't like it wasn't true, and it wasn't like Beth hadn't seen it first hand when she and Alex had tried it out together, the Raging Rapids ride at the water park, and it wasn't like it hadn't turned Alex three shades of green no matter how much he denied it – and really, Beth had the pictures to prove it.
It was just that he wouldn't have done it, anyway, proposed on a Ferry boat at sunset, since it would've been ordinary, at least to hear him tell it, or – like how a normal person might do it, when you got right down to it.
"Nicholas does, too," Amber said, adding another sugar to her coffee. "It must be genetic."
"Didn't Neil do it at the Statue of Liberty torch?" April asked Beth suddenly, trying to remember it, since she swore it changed regularly, Dani's whole story about how it happened, depending on whether they were even talking – Neil and Dani – much less willing to admit that they'd agreed to it.
"Many times," Beth snorted. "But I don't know if it was ever with Dani."
"That's why you're still single," April grumbled, rolling her eyes at her again.
It was, too, because it was still mostly about entertainment to her – and about doing it in unusual places – and it made April's stomach churn just thinking about it again, what Beth would plan for Amber's bachelorette party, since she could already picture it – in vivid high definition.
She could already imagine trying to explain it to their mother, too, why they'd gotten arrested for it, and she could already imagine hearing it from Aunt Edna – that she hoped they'd all enjoyed it – and she could already see Alex smirking about it, and asking if she'd do it with him while wearing her Wonder Woman costume.
"I'm single because I like it," Beth insisted, shaking her head and smiling enthusiastically.
"It's just not for me," she added, shrugging as April glared at her, motioning with her eyes toward Amber.
It was the last thing Amber needed, April imagined, to hear Beth going on about it – about doing it on long international flights, and doing it on the London Tube, and doing it at a bull fight in Spain, and doing it at a World Cup soccer match – which the U.S. actually scored in, too, at least, to hear her tell it.
"I wasn't sure it was for me, either," Amber admitted. "I thought maybe I was just doing it for Nicholas at first. But I'm not," she added, smiling happily. "I'm looking forward to it."
"It's… different," April said quietly, almost hesitantly as Beth glanced at her curiously.
It was, too, after she'd gotten married, everything between them, really, not just doing it, not that she could explain it, exactly, since it wasn't like she'd ever expected it – to be doing it with Spider Man – and it wasn't like she'd ever dreamed of it - doing it on hideous radioactive seaweed carpet, even if it was comfortable, not that she'd ever admit it – and it wasn't like she'd ever anticipated it – that she'd be photographed by one of her own children after she'd done it – and it wasn't like it had ever been mentioned in any of those magazines that floated around the Nurses' station, that you should keep a supply of miniature Snickers Bars in your bedside table for them, since it helped them sleep better after they did it.
"I just hope I'm ready for it," Amber said quietly, shrugging reluctantly.
April almost wanted to break it to her, too, that she wouldn't be, really – even if she hadn't done it as a young girl, read about it in romance novels – since they would just ignore it, anyway, any system of home organization. It would make perfect sense to them, too, to stuff you with triple fudge ripple cake even if it was a little tight around the hips – your Wonder Woman costume.
It would mount up all around you if you didn't speak up about it, too, that you didn't actually need an entire herd of giraffes, and it would never occur to them that an ordinary candle lit dinner might be fine for Valentine's Day, not that she didn't appreciate it, beating the pants off him during the bike race, no matter what he said about it. But it wasn't like anyone could ever be ready for it, April imagined, no matter what anyone said about it.
"You will be," Beth assured her, nodding confidently. "If April could adapt to it-" she teased, laughing again as April rolled her eyes at it.
She'd hear it forever, she was sure, from Beth about how long she'd waited for it, from Dani about how prudish she'd been about it, back when she was still afraid of it, from Cari about how she should've just done it with the first willing senior attending – as if that had worked out for either of them, when she thought about it – from Jenny, about how it was never coming along – a knight in shining armor, even if Jenny did seem to be waiting for one herself – not that she wasn't doing it plenty in the meantime.
It wasn't like any of it mattered, though, she reminded herself, since it wasn't like it hadn't made it onto the Seattle Grace grapevine, about her doing it in a public fountain on Valentine's Day.
It wasn't like it hadn't revived the old stories, either, about how badly Alex had been limping after it – their honeymoon – and it wasn't like she still didn't get it, admiring glances about it from the pretty young nurses in the NICU.
It wasn't like Alex didn't swear to it often, either, that it was freaking hot – her Wonder Woman costume – and it wasn't like she was afraid of it anymore, and it wasn't like she wasn't considering it, actually, doing it in the gazebo – even if Mrs. Hensen could see into their yard from her back window,
It wasn't like she wasn't good at it, either, great even, she insisted smugly, just judging from how many of those miniature Snickers bars they went through, and how peacefully he slept after it.
"You'll love it," April agreed, smirking again, and she would, really, April suspected, since it wasn't like she could imagine it, doing it with just anybody – even if she wasn't scared of it.
It wasn't like she even could imagine it, even then, doing it in an on call room, even if she wasn't afraid of it, since it wasn't like she could imagine it no matter what Beth said about it – it not curling sleepily around her afterwards, even if it got a little melted chocolate on the pillowcase – or purring contentedly as she stroked it, even if it insisted on leaving the bedroom windows cracked open in twenty degree weather – or still being there the next morning, even if it wouldn't file the Fruit Loops box under "F" in the pantry no matter how clearly she labeled it.
"You'll love the bachelorette party, too," Beth promised, wiggling her eyebrows.
"Will it involve strippers?" Amber asked, almost a tad too eagerly, at least as far as April saw it.
"Count on it," Beth and April said simultaneously, Beth wiggling her eyebrows enthusiastically again, while April just rolled her eyes at it.
He'd started packing for it in May – Cal Tech – even if it was another month until his graduation.
Not that it mattered, since Eric would be starting it early – the Architecture Program – during the school's July summer session.
It was all he talked about, and it came and went before any of them knew it – his last week of high school – and they just smiled and clapped through the awards dinner in mid June, where Eric got a plaque for his high grade point average, and a trophy for his performance on the ski team, and a public announcement about it– the scholarship he'd won for it, the school of his dreams – and it wasn't like he needed it any more than Katie had, Alex noticed, their help with any of it.
It wasn't like Alex wasn't proud of it, though, and he'd already plastered it on the back of April's van, the bumper sticker for it, and it wasn't like he wasn't happy that Eric had already figured out what he wanted to do with his love of math and science, and it wasn't like he hadn't called it – back when Eric was building the motorized Lego Ferris Wheel, that he'd be an engineer or an architect someday– and he'd been right all along, no matter what April said about it.
He'd already heard it from her, though, about how he needed to talk with Eric about it – about doing it in college, or not doing it in college, to hear her talk about it – as if it wasn't totally different with guys, as if it wasn't more about just being ready for it, and not doing it without a freaking condom – no matter what the chick said about it, about how she couldn't get knocked up by it, since he'd seen it plenty of times in the NICU, chicks who had "no idea" how it happened, even after it was screaming and spitting up on them while they still swore they never thought it would happen to them just because they did it.
"Yeah, I got it, dad," Eric insisted, too, the following week, as he tossed two more batteries into it, his computer bag, along with another campus map.
Not that Eric hadn't already memorized it – and it had been Eric snarking and snickering at his sisters that whole week, since they'd both come home for it – Amber's wedding – and it had been taunting from them about it, about how no girl in her right mind would be doing it with him, anyway, and he'd seen it all before – how Eric got when he was nervous and uncertain and rattled – even if he'd never admit it.
It just wasn't Eric, Alex reminded himself – the snickering and the snarking - since it had always been like that with him, every first day of school and every first day of the season and every first meeting with someone new, it just all made him jittery and uncomfortable, no matter how much he tried to hide it.
It wasn't Eric, either, Alex reminded himself as he watched him pack – the forced enthusiasm about moving on - because it had always unsettled him, packing and traveling and moving, even when they'd just gone to Disney, or Ohio.
It was all about engineering with him, about planning and organizing and having everything in its place – and he got it from April, Alex was sure of it – and he just didn't adapt well to it, to changes in routine or new schedules, no matter how often he said he was looking forward to it – his first year at Cal Tech – where he was going to get straight A's and captain the ski team, at least, to hear him tell it.
"You need money?" Alex mumbled, reaching for his wallet.
He'd hear it again from April, about how he went over-board with it, not that she'd ever get it, what it was like to be the only kid in the freaking school who couldn't afford it, whatever it was all the other kids took for granted.
He'd probably hear it from Eric, too, about how he didn't need it, his help – since he already had his full ride scholarship and he'd get his grades and win his medals without it.
"Nah, I'm good," Eric insisted, shaking his head as he zipped it closed, the computer bag.
It figured, too, that he wouldn't look up from it, since it wasn't like there was anything else to say about it, when you got right down to it.
"You know, it's-" Alex stammered, groping for words for it.
It wasn't like he hadn't done it plenty in college, and it wasn't like he'd tell Eric not to, since really, it wasn't like he was Abbey or Katie – who should both freaking wait for it, since really, it wasn't worth it for chicks, doing it in college, at least, as far as he remembered it, except maybe to hear Mere and Yang chortle about it, not that he'd go by them since really, they were an entirely different story, no matter how you looked at it.
"Huh?" Eric said absently.
Alex's eyes just shot away from it the moment Eric looked up, the neat pile of duffle bags Eric had dropped it on, his computer gear, since it wasn't like he even wanted to think about it, even if it was entirely different with boys, since it wasn't like it was a big deal or anything if they did, as long as they used a freaking condom, no matter what April said about it.
"Your mother," Alex muttered, still grasping for it.
"She wanted me to…to.. talk to you about it," he finished, almost scowling.
"About what?" Eric frowned, still rooting through some papers on his desk.
It still looked like it always did, Alex noticed, covered with drawings and blue prints and electronic stuff he couldn't name, and he almost smirked as he caught a glimpse of it on the shelf across the room – the motorized dinosaur model Eric had built when he was eight.
It was only recommended for kids age 13 and up, he remembered, and April had chortled at him that Eric was entirely too young for it, and he'd been sure he'd hear it back then, too – when it turned out that the instruction booklet was written in Danish – until he'd gotten it working two days later.
"Uh-" Alex mumbled, still trying to put it into words.
It wasn't like April had even said it, exactly, what it was she wanted him to tell Eric about it.
It wasn't like she'd know what to tell a seventeen year old guy about it, though, and it wasn't like he could tell him to wait for it until he was thirty – though April still probably thought he was too young for it, just like the freaking dinosaur.
It wasn't like he hadn't been half that age when he'd started doing it himself, either– with that hot school nurse – and it wasn't like he wasn't half hoping that Eric had already gotten it over with on one of those high school team over-night ski trips, his first time, not that he really wanted to know about it.
"You mean sex?" Eric snickered, suddenly getting it.
Alex could already feel it, too, his face reddening. Not that it was even a big deal, doing it, especially not in college, where people did it everywhere, all the time, even in the chemistry lab while they were waiting for their solutions to precipitate, well, at least, as long as they could track the rates of change while doing it, too, since otherwise they wouldn't get full course credit for it.
"Dad?" Eric prodded, smirking again.
It was a knowing smirk, Alex noticed, at least – it looked like it.
It had to be, Alex imagined, since it wasn't like Eric wasn't a jock – even if it was just skiing and not football or wrestling.
It wasn't like Eric was a nerd, either, even if it was engineering or architecture, and it wasn't like Eric didn't get invited to the cool parties – at least, to hear him tell it – and it wasn't like Abbey and Katie weren't always teasing him about some girl who'd called for him, at least, to hear them giggling and snarking and chortling about it.
"I just-" Alex sputtered.
He still didn't have it, exactly, anything to say about it, since it wasn't like guys even thought about it in college- they just sort of did it.
It wasn't like Eric didn't already know it, either, that the chick had to agree to it – not that he couldn't warn Eric about it, really, that doing it with a chick who was doing it for the first time was just a whole different animal – not that Eric couldn't handle it, since it was a lot about mechanics and positioning and angles and it was sort of like engineering or architecture at that point – pretty much how things went together – when you got right down to it.
"Dad," Eric smirked again.
He was rolling his eyes at it, Alex noticed, and it was crazy, really, since it wasn't like there was anything to say about it. It was all April's fault, too, he reminded himself, since she was the one who was into it – all that stuff in her romance novels – and it wasn't like it was like that at all.
"I got it," Eric insisted, holding it up sarcastically, the neatly wrapped condom he'd pulled from his back pocket.
"Every time," Alex muttered, nodding seriously.
It wasn't like it couldn't happen at any time, and it wasn't like he didn't need to be careful about it, and it wasn't like Eric was ready for it – for it to end up with a screaming infant spitting up on him, while he insisted it had just been that once – not that anyone was ever ready for it, really, the whole kid thing, at least, from what he'd seen of it.
"Every time," Eric nodded, snickering again as he stuffed it back into his pocket.
"Same with seat belts," Alex muttered.
It wasn't like he'd mentioned it lately, and it wasn't like it didn't take just one accident when driving, too, and it wasn't like you could remind them of that too often, either, no matter what gagging noises the eye rolling kids made when you repeated it.
"Uh-huh," Eric nodded, sighing like he'd heard it all a million times.
Alex just nodded as he walked out of Eric's room, and he just exhaled as he walked down the steps.
He just grabbed Churchill's bowl as the dog heard the freezer open and came running for it – his frozen yogurt – and he just exhaled again as he dropped down onto the couch with his own big bowl of it, and he just nodded again as he told Churchill about it – just in case April asked – that he had talked to Eric about it.
"It's beautiful," April said, fingering the delicate material as she admired it.
"Mrs. DuBois loves it," Katie snickered from the bed across the room, where she was sprawled with her lap top writing her last paper for her summer class for her Master's degree.
"At least she could find a date," Abbey retorted, checking the length of the dress draped over Mrs. DuBois as April surveyed it more closely.
"It's just a freaking wedding," Katie snorted, rolling her eyes at it.
"It's so romantic," Abbey corrected, gazing at it as she examined the seams. "Amber can't wait to see it," she added proudly. "I promised I'd do my best for it."
"I'm sure she'll love it," April agreed, nodding happily as she imagined it.
It would be the following weekend, in the gazebo in their back yard, and it would be just the family, just like Amber and Andrew wanted. It would be a simple dress and a garden of flowers and a casual barbecue afterwards, since it wasn't like Amber was into it – anything fancy.
It wasn't like she was all starry eyed about it, since she'd seen it all before – how wrong it could all go – and April recognized it in Amber's eyes immediately, the vaguely bewildered terror that sometimes darkened her shy hazel eyed smile, since she'd seen it before, too, in Alex, and she really hoped Amber could see past it – the little white farm house to Iowa.
"Is Mrs. DuBois coming down for it?" Katie teased, and April just rolled her eyes at it again.
"She has a nice sun dress she could wear to it," Abbey insisted.
The remark was directed at Katie – April was sure – because Katie would probably wear shorts and flip flops to it, and Katie could dress nicely when she wanted to but she just wasn't into it.
It had a certain logic to it, though, April granted as she watched it – Katie seriously working on her research paper – that her dream involved wet suits and sun glasses and baseball caps, since it wasn't like she had to be well dressed in the world to go out and save it.
"I haven't even thought about it," April confessed absently.
She hadn't thought about her own dress at all, because she'd been so focused on it, on preventing Beth from hiring fancy caterers, and discouraging Cari from lining up a band, and threatening Dani not to fight with Neil through the ceremony - as if Amber wasn't nervous enough about the whole marriage thing – and insisting that Jenny stop lecturing Amber about pre-nuptial agreements and custody arrangements and divorce planning, and offering free legal assistance as a potential wedding gift, as if it was all just a matter of time when you got right down to it.
"I can help you pick out something," Abbey agreed happily.
April just nodded absently and watched as Abbey expertly finished the trim on the dress, and she marveled at it, really, how much Abbey enjoyed working on it, and how talented she was at it.
It didn't surprise her at all that she'd won it, one of the prized internships in LA, and she could already imagine it, Abbey designing elegant gowns for movie stars and elaborate costumes for television series and casual five thousand dollar pant suits for the rich and famous and it all reminded her of it, how much she'd envied it - once upon a time – Beth's career.
"I might need to go get something," April added, and she almost smiled at it.
She would've dreaded it, once upon a time, going to a party or a wedding with her sisters, since it just would've been her fading into the background of it – Beth's sweeping hair and long dancer's legs, Dani's bubbly stories and bouncing boobs, Jenny's narrow waist and infectious laugh, Cari's innocent, wide eyed charm and ability to wear absolutely anything – and it just would've reminded her all over again that whatever it was she was supposed to have, only her sisters had actually gotten it.
"How about that green dress?" Abbey asked, brushing her fingers over it again, the fabric she was working on. "Dad always says it's hot," she reminded her, with a mischievous giggle.
He did, too, April thought, and she almost rolled her eyes at it, Abbey teasing her about it, and she almost blushed as she remembered it, that Abbey might be thinking about it, the pictured she'd taken of them after they'd done it under the Christmas tree.
It wasn't like Alex should be talking about it when the kids could hear him, either– about whatever it was that made her look hot, at least to hear him tell it – and she could already imagine it, anyway, him recommending that she wear the Wonder Woman costume to the wedding, since really, that was the one that really turned him on, when you got right down to it.
"That one's pretty," Katie piped up, nodding absently as she typed.
April still wasn't used to it, though, the occasional compliment, since it had been up and down and largely unpredictable with it for years – Hurricane Katie.
It was different now, though, she'd noticed, now that Katie had it – her own little beach house in Florida and her dream job saving the planet and her surf board with the shark on it – as if that wasn't asking for trouble, if you asked April about it.
Alex might even have been right about it, not that she'd ever admit it, that it would always be about Katie needing more space, and that even the huge refurbished attic hadn't been enough of it, and that it was just her thing - needing a lot of it – and that it really wasn't about April or adoption or the freaking forms or the whole mother daughter thing when you got right down to it.
"Does it need any alterations?" Abbey asked absently, still studying her work closely.
April almost giggled at it, the question, since it was tight in every place that Alex liked it, the dress, and she could just imagine it – the pout that would follow if she altered it – and she didn't even want to think about it, squeezing him into a choking tie or pinchy shoes, not that the wedding required it, even if she would have to put a stop it, Alex and Nicholas joking about wearing their Super Hero costumes to it.
"No, it's fine," April said happily.
It was, too, since it was beautiful, Amber's dress, and it was already in full bloom, the flower garden in the yard, and she already had the food arranged for the barbecue, and Abbey and Beth and Katie would be handling the photography, and Eric's friends would be supplying the music, and she'd already reined her sisters in as much as she could – even if she didn't even want to think about it, Beth's idea of a great bachelorette party, since it was certain to be pornographic and probably illegal both in Ohio and Iowa, no matter what she said about it.
It was fine, she reminded herself, as she walked over to Abbey's window seat still lined with it, the small herd of stuffed animals she'd kept on it, for as long as April could remember.
It still reminded her of it – the view out the window over the backyard, the first time she'd seen it – the house – and she wasn't going to think about it, she promised it, the envelop that came like clockwork around Abbey's birthday, even if it would be the last one, technically, since Abbey would have to make her decision about it by the end of the year, whether to submit the forms to the agency for it, the contact information for her birth parents, not that she'd even mentioned it.
She probably wasn't even paying any attention to it, April imagined, as she surveyed Abbey's work tables again, covered with it – drawings and designs and photos and fashion magazines – since she was so focused on it, her up-coming internship in LA.
April couldn't help but notice it, either, the archive that still covered it, the wall of built in shelves lining her huge window, and which told the whole story of it, of the hard scrabble Russian immigrants who built Iowa, and went on to win wrestling trophies, and save babies, and design fancy wedding dresses, at least, in Abbey Karev's version of it.
April almost smiled at it, Abbey's love of history, but it should've worried her right from the start, she imagined – since it would make her prone to it, to seeking them out – and she just sighed as she watched it, Katie grab for her phone and leave the room to take it, a call from who knew who, since she'd always thought it would be Katie, really, who would do it – seek them out – just because she'd always seemed so angry about it, being left behind, even if she never said a word about it.
It hadn't been like she'd expected at all, though, April reminded herself, since Katie had never had any interest it, tracking them down, and Katie was already off on it, her great new adventure, and Katie ran away from it as fast as she could, any hint of her past – even if she had insisted on keeping it, her name, and even if she mentioned it often, that they weren't her real parents, when you got right down to it.
It pissed her off, too, April admitted to herself, frowning seriously as she ran her finger over it, one of Alex's old trophies, and she smiled as she noticed it, how carefully Abbey had polished it.
It just drove her crazy, since it wasn't like she hadn't expected it – Katie's frustration – but it wasn't like Alex deserved it, since it wasn't like he hadn't given her everything – even if he spoiled her with it – and it wasn't like he hadn't tried to make it all easier for her – even if he had gone over-board with it – and it wasn't like it wasn't the last thing he needed, to hear that he wasn't wanted for it, the whole dad thing, since it wasn't like he hadn't been terrified about it, being good enough at it, even if he'd never admit it.
"It's perfect," Abbey called, beaming at her across the room as she showed it off.
It was, April agreed, smiling happily at it, and it would be lovely, she was sure – the wedding – and she'd look great in it, she reminded herself, the green dress.
She'd keep her sisters from getting arrested at it, too, she insisted with a smirk – Beth's bachelorette party – and she just wouldn't think about it, the brown envelop, as she beamed back at it, Abbey's proud smile, and she'd enjoy it while she had it, since it would just be the family – Amber's wedding – and that was all April wanted, too, she reminded herself, when she got right down to it.
"You ready?" Alex asked, watching impatiently as Amber fiddled with it, the sleeve of her dress.
"It's beautiful," she repeated, staring at it as if she didn't quite believe it. "Abbey did an amazing job on it."
"Yeah," Alex agreed, nodding at it. "She's really good at it."
"Any advice for it?" she asked, surveying the small crowd as they took their seats.
"Never let him win," Alex smirked. "It kills the romance."
"Is that how you became Evil stork?" she asked, giggling at his surprised expression. "I met Cristina with Meredith," she added. "I thought this was just supposed to be family."
"They're family," he grumbled, sighing and rolling his eyes. "It's a long story," he added quickly.
"It's too bad mom can't be here for it," Amber said quietly, fiddling with her sleeve again.
It wasn't, really, Alex imagined, since it would've been a disaster. But she probably meant it different, anyway, like maybe that it might have been nice, if it had all been different.
"She'd like Andrew," he mumbled gruffly.
It wasn't like he knew that, exactly. But it was just what you said – at least, to hear April tell it – and it wasn't like he was an abusive drunk, and it wasn't like Nicholas didn't like him, even if Andrew was kind of nerdy, and it wasn't like he didn't make good money, and it wasn't like Amber didn't love the guy, at least, to hear her tell it.
"I promise," she reminded Alex, playfully straightening his tie. "I'll bring Nicholas over to play with you."
"He loves Halloween," Alex insisted, frowning defensively.
"I know," she giggled, looking over across the yard at him. "You think mom would have liked him?"
"She'd love him," Alex insisted, nodding seriously.
She would have, too, he was sure, because it sucked, it did, the voices in her head and the meds that made her confused, and it sucked that nothing could fix it, but it wasn't like she hadn't loved her kids, and it wasn't like she wouldn't love Nicholas, since he was smart and curious and athletic and funny and could spin a spider web without even thinking about it.
"Andrew's so good with him," she sighed, glancing over to where they were standing again. "It won't be like it was for us," she insisted.
It probably came out a little less certain than she wanted it to, Alex imagined. But he got it – that it just couldn't be like it had been for them, and it wouldn't, not as long as he had any say in it.
"If he ever-" Alex muttered.
He caught it just in time, because it wasn't like he hadn't heard it from her before, about how he'd handled it with their dad, and it wasn't like he'd even meant to do it, or at least, it wasn't like he hadn't regretted it, exactly, or at least, it wasn't as if he wouldn't have wanted it to be different, not that it could've been, since it would've sucked no matter what he'd done about it.
"He won't," Amber insisted, shaking her head more determinedly. "He's not like that," she added, more quietly a moment later, smiling shyly.
"He's Prince Charming?" Alex smirked.
It was lame, but it was all he could think of, to make it less awkward.
He'd heard April's sisters teasing her about it, too, as they raved about her dress, and he'd heard Katie snarking on Abbey about it – about how she could save the dress for when she met hers, and it wasn't like Amber seemed like it – the type of chick who believed in it all, since she seemed more like Yang or like Mere, who just chortled about it.
But it wasn't like they all didn't have it, some kind of dream about it, even if they denied it, at least, as far as he could tell, just hearing all the nurses and the chicks in the NICU debating and gossiping about it.
"He is," she smirked smugly, almost giggling about it. "You're just jealous."
"Not into princes," Alex insisted, grimacing and shaking his head.
"Neither is April, apparently," she teased, watching as the guests began taking their seats.
"She loves it," he insisted smugly, shaking his head and exhaling as he watched April happily chatting with Abbey.
She did love it, too, they both did – the colorful flowers and the fancy champagne glasses and the girly dresses and the pink frosted cake with the over-dressed couple on top of it – and it was good, he reminded himself, that Abbey would want it, since at least then she'd wait for it, even if Katie just snarked at it, the whole romance novel thing, while Eric just lusted after it – the cake, judging from how he was looking at it.
"Yes, I've heard," she smirked, listening as the music started. "Heard you're very romantic," she giggled.
"It was a tie," he muttered, awkwardly fiddling with his shirt button again.
It had become a running joke, between April and her sisters, and Amber of course, since she was always in on it, and he wasn't clear what she told them about it, exactly, their last Valentine's Day, except that they mentioned it often – something about them almost getting arrested in a the city park - and it always involved smirking and snickering, and whispers about where else they'd ever done it, as if they could ever do it in a public fountain, even just considering how loud April was during it.
"He's not like that," she repeated, more to herself than to Alex, as he moved into place beside her.
It was probably just nerves, he reminded himself, because they'd seen it all before, how wrong it could all go, and it was worse when you dragged kids into it – if it all fell apart.
It was hard to imagine it, too, once you'd grown up in it, the fucking system, that it could be any other way, and it was hard to trust it, any of it, beyond what you'd seen of it with your own freaking eyes, and it was just like walking off a plank – like one of Katie's little Lego pirates – when you got right down to it.
"He's not like that, right," she repeated, and it was more and assertion than a question, despite her tone, and it was like she was trying to convince herself of it again.
It was like she was searching for it – whatever it was that made people willing to do it, even when they knew it could all blow up in their faces in a heartbeat – and it was like she was waiting for it, some sign that it was right – as if it was ever something you could know before you did it – not that it still didn't piss him off, that she had to be so afraid about it – just because the fucking system couldn't do anything about it, any more than he could.
"If he is, I'll-" he'll grumbled, stopping himself before it came out, since he was sure he'd hear about it.
"You're not either," she whispered, nervously slipping her arm through his.
"Huh?" Alex stammered, eying her cautiously.
"You're not either," she repeated, nudging him to fall into step with her as they walked to the gazebo.
"I'm a prince?" he smirked.
"No," she giggled, "definitely not. But April seems to like you," she teased, motioning with her eyes to where April stood near the minister, waving eagerly toward them.
"April talks too much," he grumbled, rolling his eyes as the wedding began.