A/N: Less than a month between updates. Wooooot. I'm getting better :P Thanks to Mike for the fast betaing!
Friday, June 27th
When the clanking noise of the freight elevator welcomes me to the familiar wide office space, my gaze alights for a moment on the grey tag on my left. Florrick, Agos and Associates. I breathe in the rustic smell of bricks, concrete and old wood. With a smile, I realize how much I miss this place and my job. Dashing into courtrooms with that pivotal last minute piece of evidence, the fight or flight rush of adrenaline, parading my arguments in front of the jury. For the last six years I've been using my juggling skills to manage this and two growing teenagers. Now with this baby, it feels like being tossed one more ball to whirl and struggling to keep them all in motion.
With a glance, I scan the room for who's in and who's not. I'm not surprised that the offices are close to deserted. It's just past lunchtime. Those who are not away on their break are probably busy in court. Robyn's green turtleneck captures my attention. Stooped on Anthony's desk, they're both deep into checking something on his laptop screen and don't seem to acknowledge my presence. Only when I walk past them and toward Cary's desk, she widens her eyes in surprise and nears me with a grin. I almost succumb under her downpour of words. Thrown a tad off balance, I realize how I've unconsciously settled back into the calmness of my apartment. I ask her about Cary, and when she tells me he'll be back any minute now I decide to wait for him in his chair. But as I do, my gaze falls on my desk, opposite his. Piles of dossiers which clearly don't belong to me, a photo frame – probably Tara's kid? – and a sweets tray in good sight. I do my best to snub my tangling stomach but it would be a lie to tell it doesn't hurt.
Resting back in Cary's chair, the unmistakable sound of his approaching steps diverts my attention to the owner of the seat I'm occupying, who halts on the other side of the desk with a grin.
"Surprise, surprise," I singsong.
His chuckle tells me that he's definitely happy to see me in the flesh. "Look at you!" he exclaims, as I lift my weight from his chair to hug him.
"I missed you, had to pop in to check how you are surviving without me," I turn the truth around.
He stares at me, then points outside, looking slightly confused. "How did you…"
Oh. "Taxi," I answer his implicit question. "Will would ground me if I drove here myself."
My playful tone doesn't get lost, making Cary laugh, definitely amused. "Hey, you're carrying the heir to the throne of Chicago's law elite there, it's a patrimony to protect."
"Now, thanks for making me feel better," I say ironically.
"It's the least I can do for my partner," he acknowledges, entertained, as he moves to sit in his chair and invites me to take a seat in front of him.
"So, how are things going round here?" I ask, casting glances at the familiar surroundings.
Cary shrugs, then leans back comfortably, fiddles with his phone. "Always the same. The usual bunch of associates stationing in front of your office and marking the territory," he teases me, "but Tara is holding the fort pretty well. She's in court now."
Only when he mentions her, do I realize my stare is still intent on my desk. "Should that worry me?" I snigger, perfectly aware that instead I have nothing to worry about.
"She's pretty good," Cary agrees, "but she's not you."
My head tilts to the left, as I smirk but don't comment anything. Nice attempt to mess with my hormones, though, I give him credit with a nod.
"Jokes aside, we all miss you here." Maybe not really 'all'. "Sweeney, too."
"Suddenly I can't remember why I came here," I thank him with an eye roll for the unsolicited reminder.
A single tone coming from his phone interrupts the conversation. Cary checks the incoming text but doesn't answer. Instead, he lays his phone back down and leans forward, resting his arms on the desk. "How are you feeling by the way? I know it's been a few rough months and, well, we haven't really talked much," he questions me, this time thoughtful.
I look down at my baby bump. The blue sheath dress I'm wearing today, light to fight the unusual heat wave, highlights my still shy roundness. It's impossible not to notice it and the realization brings a proud smile to my lips. With a faint nod I confirm to him that yes, it hasn't really been a bed of roses. "I'm starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel," I say with relief, as my mind is already pondering the myriad of things I might be finally allowed in here. "Cary," I hesitate, "I still can't handle the old pace but… I know the situation is not the rosiest, so if you need me, I could be of some help now."
Cary takes in my offer with a half-smile, then brings his hand to his chin and rubs it, in his own polite way to decline. "You probably could, but you won't."
I can't say his answer is unexpected, still it leaves a shadow of bitterness. "I thought you missed me," I joke, with faux offense.
"And I do," he confirms, "but I don't want to deal with Will if something… happens."
"Cary…" I halt. What am I trying to oppose to? He's right and I won't get easily rid of his protectiveness. "Okay, but no more stupid conference calls. Whenever there is a staff meeting, I want to be here," I draw him the promise of what in the end sounds like a good compromise for both.
He heaves a resigned sigh, surely conscious that he's not going to get out of this conversation with a no. "Okay," he yields, then quickly hastens to add, "but as for the rest, we can handle it. You should be home and do… whatever it is that future moms do."
Even if I don't get the full package, my amused smile hints that this deal is better than nothing.
/ / /
It's just past six when my phone rings and with a beam I greet my daughter. I've been missing her all week and can't wait until she's finally back on Sunday. The clank of pots and china in the background tells me that she and Peter might be about to cook dinner, so I skip every ceremony and jump on the essentials, namely the upcoming celebration for the 4th of July.
"I still don't get why you are so nervous," Grace asks me. Her voice is quivering, probably she's bustling about the table.
"I'm not," I deny, wishing we could just discuss this thing far from Peter's ears.
"What's up?" she insists, not even feigning to believe me.
At this point, there is no other option than to admit what's eating me, though I'm quite sure she'll poke more than just some fun at me. "Will's mother is coming to town," I say, defeated, but at the same time conscious of how this must sound lame to her. And her silence confirms that she might be stuck for words.
"And?" she asks me a while later.
And?
"She's coming to meet me?" I illuminate her.
Her disbelieving chuckle isn't exactly the reaction I was imagining, though I can't expect her either to understand what it means to meet for the first time the mother of the man you're about to marry and give a child too, all at once. It's something that should actually happen only once in life. And for good reasons, I'd say. Women are masters at showing their teeth to guard their motherhood's title. There's always that sense of competition, of possessiveness, that right of way. And given the circumstances in which all of this happened, if I were Will's mother I'd probably distrust me.
I can hear her mumbling something to her father, then rushing away, until the soft slam of a door getting closed establishes the silence.
"And then, what if she wants to? Shouldn't that be normal?" she observes, when we are finally alone. "I mean… maybe normal is not the most fitting word, but…"
"You know, one day, hopefully a very distant one, you will find yourself having to deal with a mother-in-law, too," I warn her.
"Not all mother-in-laws are like grandma," she observes.
That's true. And if I succeeded in surviving twenty years of Jackie, I can pretty much survive everything. But still… "You'll be forever the woman who stole their little son away from them, never forget it."
Grace's uproarious burst of laughter is contagious and I find myself laughing with her, against my own will. As I pace back and forth across the living room, my stare falls on the wall clock. Will should be here any minute now.
"Mom, she lives in another state, you will probably only have to see her at Christmas."
I mentally calculate the distance from Baltimore; it's indeed not exactly around the corner.
Christmas.
Only now that Grace mentions it, do I realize how those days will be festive, in every meaning of the word. If everything goes as it has to go, the baby will be around one month old by then. As hard as I try, I still struggle to visualize how my life is going to change. For me, for Will. For Grace and Zach, too.
"Mom? You still there?" Grace's voice pulls me back from my musings. The thread of our conversation twisted and tangled somewhere, mixing up seasons and celebrations, and now I'm wondering how I ended up with the image of a Christmas tree in the first place, when outside there is as much as 90° of suffocating heat.
"Sure… I was just… thinking," I shrug.
"About what?" she chuckles.
I have no idea, to be honest. I guess I'm just having a moment of panic about this sudden and unexpected family reunion.
"That she'll end up keeping score of every glass of wine I swallow," I joke, aware that this will pick on her.
"Hey, no! That's my task." Her amused protests come along with the ringing of the doorbell.
"Will is here," I tell her, giving away that the conversation is over for now.
"Do you have any idea of how to celebrate, by the way?" she asks me, before we say goodbye.
Uhm. I had plans, but I'm not sure they still stand. "Not really, but I guess that I can rule out a quiet picnic in the park." It doesn't seem befitting the occasion. But very little I know about Will's mother, except her name. Eleanor. So it's hard to guess her notion of appropriateness, but I trust Will to figure this meeting out.
"Maybe not?" Grace suggests. "Okay, gotta go, dad is calling me back downstairs," she says.
As we bid goodbye, I open the door to Will. He's carrying his jacket on one shoulder, his tie loosened, as he grasps for some breathable air.
"Looks like someone had a rough day," I tease him. And still he doesn't miss to bear that soft smile on his lips.
"There's the whole weekend to pull myself back together," he confirms my first impression, then leans forward, waiting for my lips to meet his halfway.
I forget for tonight the impending feast. I give him the time for a reinvigorating shower, then we test ourselves in the still lurching art of preparing dinner together. As he bickers with the spaghetti, fleeing everywhere on the counter and the floor, I find myself wondering how he managed not to starve in all these years. Maybe his mother will end up thanking me? One can always hope.