'04-'05


Having just returned from his trip back to Pennsylvania Jordan takes a cab to the pub where he's meeting Katherine for a drink and a meal. He spots her in a booth and slides in beside her. "Hey, blue eyes."

Her smile knocks him out. "Hey yourself." She kisses him, hold his face in her hands, and Jordan knows he missed her more than he'd known. The nostalgia that'd struck him while he was home is so distant now. Seems almost silly. Almost. Katherine scooches over. "How was it?"

"Awesome." He kisses her once more for good measure. "Saw Lis an' Benjamin. Saw th' baby. Hung with Shane and caught up with some old friends." She slides over her beer to him. Jordan touches his lips to her temple and slings his arm round her then takes a welcome drink. "Ran into an old girlfriend."

"Just one?"

With the hand on her shoulder he lightly whacks her upside the head. A waitress he knows drops off a second beer and a plate of black bean quesadillas, light on the cheese and with extra pico de gallo without anyone ordering it. "Thanks." When the girl's walked away he grins at Katherine then lifts a slice to his mouth.

She smiles, only partially in spite of herself; there's no point in pursuing all the traces of his past entanglements. That scruffy face, impish smile and those cervine twinkling eyes make him hard to resist. He is a person to miss when he's gone and a man she's chosen to love. "I'm glad you're back."

He looks at her, contemplative, soberly. "Me too." She kisses him. Jordan takes two more bites and pushes the plate over to her. "So, uh, I met up with my buddy Jesse—" He drinks.

"The carpenter?" Kathy eats a forkful of corn and tomato.

"Uh huh." Jordan pivots the pint glass, "Actually…" he hedges.

Katherine stops and looks at him. She doesn't need to hear it, she knows. "You're leaving."

Jordan looks at her. Be blinks. "Thinking of it," he nods, "yeah." He drinks. And swallows. And keeps his eyes on her. He purses his lips, nods earnestly, and speaks. "Yeah," he nods, more decidedly this time, "I think I am." Finishing the beer, Jordan handles the empty glass. "Jess said he'd line up this job. Wood working. His family's got that cabinetry business."

"Carpentry."

"Guess," he gestures emptily, "y'can't be a mountain bum forever."

Katherine moistens her lips, endeavoring not to let her heart break, endeavoring not to break her demeanor. "When are you going?"

Jordan shrugs, "Couple months. Finish the season." He looks at her, "What's your plan? How long you staying?" His lazy eyes drift purposefully to hers. "Cuz, I think you should come with." He nudges her. "Pittsburgh could use some greenhouses I bet." Jordan blinks, and smiles temperately at her. "Think about it."


Weeks later Kathy and Jordan are on a chairlift on the back side of the mountain on the last day it'll be open before the number of runs reduces to the last few that'll run for the remaining few weeks of the season. Jordan lights a cigarette. She wipes a windswept strand of hair from of her lips. She exhales, her breath visibly filling the air. "I've been thinking about it."

Jordan takes a drag, watching the cigarette end burn brighter as he inhales. "'Bout the move?"

"Mm, hm."

"And?" he waits, not hazarding to guess. "What're you thinking?"

"I guess…" she looks at him, through his sunglasses and right at him, "I'm in."

"Yeah?"

"I was never staying here." He inhales again and exhales away from her face as he listens. "I'd rather go home to the coast, but," she brushes at her nose, "I guess I'm not ready to do that." Behind her shades Katherine's long dark lashes flutter down, breaking her gaze. "I think I need…" she leans in and barely kisses his lips, "to see where you take me."

Jordan studies her intently; fixated on her features, her expression, every shift and flutter of her eyes behind her wayfarers. He smiles at her. "Deal."

Katherine's lashes flutter, and, surprised a bit by how right the decision feels, she nestles in against him, watching the crisp early spring snow sparkle in the noon sun, as the lift climbs higher and higher up the mountain. "So how 'bout it," she asks needlessly, "ya'still in? Will you take me with you?"

Jordan, feeling light, and free, despite the weight of his dangling snowboard pulling down on his left leg, tucks her under his arm. "You bet."

She twinkles in the bright sunlight and jiggles her leg to jostle some packed snow from her board, "Y'sure?"

"I'll take you right now," he threatens.

Katherine chuckles warmly. "Go ahead."

"Damn this stupid chair and these forty damn feet off the ground," he curses. Nearing the end of the lift Jordan leans in, brushes hair away from her face, and whispers before he kisses her cheek. "Go fast."


Two months later Katherine and Jordan pack up his truck, her beetle, and a small U-Haul trailer. After three days and 1,600 miles of driving and motels, they're in Pittsburgh, unpacking and move into their new third floor downtown apartment.


Three weeks after moving back to town and settling in with the new gig of doing custom cabinetry, Jordan walks himself into the awfully familiar administration office of Liberty High. Never minding the secretary and office manager minding the front desk, Jordan slips past the swinging gate and wraps on the open door to the principal's office, "Hey."

At his desk the former associate principal Mr. Wilson answers without looking up, "Yeah, come on in."

Jordan doesn't enter but lingers, leaning against the doorframe. "Sill hangin' out in high school?"

Wilson looks up, spots Jordan, and beams. "My God." There may be more lines about his eyes when he smiles, and his hair maybe just a touch thinner, but the man is otherwise unchanged, and thoroughly pleased to be seeing this particular alumnus. He stands to shake hands, "Catalano! How you doin' Jordan."

Handing off one of the two coffees he's carrying, Jordan moves into the room and warmly shakes the hand of his old adversary. "Back in town, thought I'd swing by." He looks around the room, "See ya got th' big office now."

"Yup." Wilson nods, smiling as he follows Jordan's gaze. "Too dumb t' 'just say no.'"

Jordan smirks appreciatively, "Think we've all m'ybe got a case'f that." He moves further into the office. "How's your wife?"

"Excellent." Wilson drinks his coffee and gestures for Jordan to sit. "Our boy's seven." He smiles, looking this young man over. "You look great." Jordan sits opposite him in a leather chair, crossing his ankle at his knee. "So," the administrator begins with interest, "what have you been up to?"

Spying the awards and certificates and photos on display on all four walls, Jordan sips his coffee. "Back from Aspen; working carpentry. Livin' with the girlfriend."

"Big step," Wilson nods paternally. "Still playing music?"

"Some. Sorta b'tween bands right now."

"Talking to your dad any?"

"Some. It's okay though." Wilson nods. Jordan appreciates how casually this can be discuss between now; times was when Wilson was so bent out of shape over it, getting too severe, and threatening to call CPS. This is better – no secrets, no sentiment.

"How's everyone else? Tino? Trudenowski?"

"Ah, Tino was in Italy a couple years. He's out in LA for half a minute, then he was livin' on the North Shore, Hawaii."

"Sounds exciting. Sounds like Tino."

"Keeps me seeing the world," Jordan agrees easily. "Nate's in Chicago; Shane's still here. Don't much talk t' Joey anymore. He's in Texas somewhere. I think."

"And what about the others?"

Jordan glances at him over his paper coffee cup. "Angela? We, uh…" He drinks his coffee. "You don't look much older."

Wilson didn't miss the non sequitur but it's the remark, and just the scenario of him being there again in his office, at which he's chuckling. "You're what, twenty-six?"

"Twenty-seven."

Wilson leans back in his chair, marveling a little at their circumstance, "Almost as old as when I knew you."

Jordan's brow narrows as he sits comfortably in his chair. "... Why'd you do it?"

Wilson knows to what Jordan's referring, he swallows his coffee dispassionately, "You were a good kid. Everybody could see it."

Jordan laughs. "Nobody saw it. If it was even true at all."

"It was true," he affirms without pause. "You'were smart, you had personality, you knew who you were — if," he inserts the caveat, "not what you wanted."

"Wull," Jordan scratches the back of his head, making as though this old habit could somehow make the saying of some things a little easier, "jus' wanted t' say," he gestures, "you know —"

Wilson waves it off; he doesn't want to hear it from this kid. Jordan Catalano — and any kid like him — doesn't come close to owing anybody a thank you. Enough adults in his life let him down, repeatedly; the little he ever did never did anything to make up for that. But now here he is, twenty-seven: grow up, functioning, and happy. "What'cha driving these days?"

Jordan chuckles, "Not an SUV." Suddenly everyone on the road was driving their own yuppie sports utility vehicle.

"I knew that."

"'73 Chevy pickup."

"Nice." In truth he doesn't know too much about cars or engines, but Jordan does, and he doesn't think the kid would choose a car he wasn't proud of.

"Sometimes," Jordan hedges. "We'll see how it does after another winter." He drinks his coffee and looks again around the office.

"So, how 'bout'chu? You like doin' all this?"

"'This'?" The administrator smiles and then also takes in the plaques, the degrees, the files and call logs, and the calendars and schedules — "Yeah."

Jordan looks at him quizzically, "You don't, get tired of everybody else's problems?"

"There's no avoiding other people's problems."

There it is, Jordan thinks. That was Wilson straight up and down. And Jordan remembers sitting in this same arrangement, a decade earlier, one office over, many, many times over. He'd always liked Wilson well enough, but it'd taken Jordan years to figure out how much he'd really affected him. Or'd tried to.

Jordan might have said more in this moment, maybe, but he notices Wilson's attention waiver and thus Jordan instead looks over his shoulder to follow Wilson's eye line to the distractor. Hovering outside the office doorway is a brooding, surly-looking kid, clearly sent there for some infraction. Wilson glances at Jordan, "Hold on—" and calls out to the kid, "Mason? You here to see me?" The kid nods. "Right; hold on." He nods at Jordan, "Gotta get back to it."

Jordan shakes his head, "This is weird..." Wilson laughs. Rising, Jordan asks, "So, listen, drinks? Beers; some pool?"

"Definitely."

Jordan watches as he jots down his cell number on the back of his 'Liberty High, Principal' business card. "Your kid's seven?"

"Seven," Wilson confirms as he hands over the card.

"Crazy." Jordan flaps the business card against his hand. "Tomorrow?"

The forty-something man nods, "Done." They shake hands and Jordan takes up his cup and walks to the door. "Okay, Mason."

Jordan can't help but smile at the world wearied, yet somehow still affable tone with which the kid is greeted. The sullen kid saunters defiantly in as Jordan steps aside, then, after a final look, heads out. Weird.


Wilson and Jordan did go out for beers the following night, and then a few days later, Saturday morning, they met for a game of pickup basketball. Now, two weeks later, they've arranged to meet for dinner with Katherine and Wilson's wife. Katherine, in a navy pleated A-line dress and light trench, enters the restaurant and approaches the hostess desk. Her hair is pulled away from her face in soft tumbling curls and her eyes are done with just the right liquid line. She smiles at the hostess and cocks her head to look at her clipboard, "Hi..."

Wilson, standing by the bar with his wife drinking a scotch and soda and watching the door, takes a shot, "Katherine?"

She turns and smiles warmly, "Hi."

He steps forward. "Matthew Wilson." Katherine reaches out and shakes his hand, he kisses her cheek.

"Jordan's parking." She smiles at his wife, "Hello."

Samia takes her in her arms and kisses her cheek, "It's very good to meet you."

A gust of wind flurries in as Jordan enters from the street. "Hey," Wilson smiles, "I know this guy."

Jordan shakes his hand and grins, "Hey." He greets Samia warmly, "Hey there."

Gracefully, Samia also kisses him on the cheek, as though they are old friends; "Wonderful to see you again, Jordan." As radiant and poised as his faded memory of her renders her, she stands back beside her husband and smiles like a slow August afternoon, "We've met your beautiful girl."

Jordan glances at Katherine with a playfully unimpressed shrug. "She's okay."

Wilson smiles wryly. "Let's get a table." It isn't lost on him as he flags the hostess that maybe this dinner with this grown up Catalano, a friend now in equal parts, and the lovely girlfriend and his own wife of nearly nineteen years, might be the best measure of success in a career filled with working with young people. In his years he's seen students overcome the most troubled home lives, seen kids fight back from cancer and battle addictions; he's sent students off to the Ivies, to the Marines, to state schools and art schools; he's seen so many kids discover or reinvent themselves, subverting the expectations someone'd set out for them, and Jordan was only one of too many countless kids who'd been dealt a raw deal and written off. But still this kid's story's always stuck out. This kid, who'd lived his teen years with some sort of disaffected mythos about him — partially cultivated, partially affixed — who, so entrenched in his patterns of self-preservation never imagined anything for himself beyond a pack of smokes and his next full tank of gas, a kid who was jaded, and aloof, who was convinced trying was just the first step to failing, turned things around. Primarily on his own. Wilson does not take credit for the young man he's so pleased now to know, but being witness to it, the change, he considers it the privilege of his life's work.


Three months in to Jordan and Katherine's move to Pittsburgh, Kathy stands alone in their small mid-century tiled-countered kitchen, thinking on something she has to do. It'd crept slowly into her mind the day before yesterday and since then hasn't left. It's taken hold, there in her head, not to be ignored or pushed away, and the more she thinks it over the more it seems it's likely true. She's been here before — in college once and once more since then — the waiting, the backwards counting of the days, the possibilities quietly usurping every other thought, and the gradual reinterpretation of every change in her body.

She's bought the test. Both times before the results had been negatives, but as much as she'd like to convince herself that it's only anxiety and off-timing and that today these thoughts, as they had already done twice before, will all come to nothing, Katherine intuitively feels this time will be different.

When she can summon herself to, Katherine eventually walks the several steps across the apartment to the bathroom door, carrying with her her arresting suspicion and the cardboard package from the pharmacy.

The testing is easy. And then there's the waiting. ...

And the knowing.

Katherine's eyes shut to the definiteness of her answer. Instinctively her hand goes to her head, covering her face, clutching to he thick roots of her hair. Simultaneously floored and, not, slowly her altered body slides down the wall to the tiled floor, and there she remains, motionless in that cramped apartment bathroom, the cold octagonal tiles doing their part to further numb her.

Her mind slows and dulls. She would have thought it'd be racing: Possibilities. Options. Plans of action. But instead she sits. And stares blankly ahead of her. Everything is still. She's maybe never breathed this slowly.

...

When Jordan comes home from work, pulling out his keys and unlocking the door to his and Katherine's apartment, she hears him enter, but does not move to life. Jordan pushes the door open, pulling off his sunglasses and drops them and his keys on the nearby table as he enters, "Hey." He gets no response. He bends down and unties his work boots, "Kay, you here?" He steps out of his heavy boots and moves into the kitchen —

He finds her there, sitting still and silent on the top rung of a squat step ladder. He's surprised she never answered when he called her name. Jordan stops. "Hey."

Gradually Katherine's eyes lift to his. "Hey." Something about her movement, or lack thereof, gives off the effect of her being under water — slow, and sedate. And far away.

Jordan crosses a step forward into the room and leans against the counter; quietly he looks her over. "What's happening?"

With her hands stuck pressed together between her knees and very little movement from other than her large sedated eyes, she looks at him. And is present. "So, I am," she says. "Pregnant."

Jordan remains fixed against the wall; he looks at her. "You took the test?"

"Mm, hm."

Exhaling a breath he'd never realized he'd been holding, Jordan reaches back rub at his head. "Should we get a blood test? See a doctor?"

"Sure." Katherine's certain within herself the results won't be any different.

"It's just," Jordan's still talking because he's not prepared for the silence that will come after he stops, "I've heard the tests aren't always—" He stops himself, not wanting to be misread, not to be taken for taking a position he doesn't at least mean intentionally to take. He has no stances at the moment, he's floored. "Just to be sure. If it's real." Even with the forewarning this could in fact be happening, he finds himself struck back, and floored. Nothing's ever struck a blow as hard as this.

"Sure." She nods, and then she looks at him, for the first time since she'd spoken the words really holding his gaze. "Just to be clear, are we hoping that it is, or that it isn't?"

Jordan's next breath is deep and audible; he looks at her, and then finally, like maybe he's recovered his balance or command of action, he moves toward her. Now standing there with her, Jordan runs his fingers gently through her hair, then strokes her jaw line tenderly. Though even his breathing'd seemed to stop and the world bottomed out when she'd spoken the words, his affection for her, this woman he'd pursued and longed for, was never stilted. "I think..." he says softly as he takes stock of his own heart, and considers carefully his every spoken word. He looks down at her, listening for his own words as he releases them, "I'm hoping it is."

Her eyes fix to his, actively they look at one another, trying in one moment to see all of the other's heart and mind, and too ever possibility of a future beginning from here. "Are you?"

Jordan takes a second to reconsider. He swallows, and nods slightly. "Think it could be good." He looks at her unchanging face, unreadable as ever, "But if you don't want to—"

Katherine moistens her lips and looks at him, steadily, holding his gaze, "You want that? To raise a child together?"

"Our — child," he amends, and then takes a step back. Jordan had never seen himself saying these things. When she'd brought this up as a possibility the day before, he'd known a conversation like this might be in their future, but until this moment he'd had no idea how he'd react, what he'd feel. He'd been a party to a few scares of this kind in his past, but they'd all been only scares — some kind of fluke compounded by anxiety. He'd never been here. And even if he had, it wouldn't have been at this time, with this partner. He couldn't've known till now what he would feel. Or say.

Katherine speaks once more, reserving her emotion. "Is that what you're saying?" He watches her watching him. "That's huge." Still seated, Katherine's shoulders lift some as she squeezes her knees tighter against her hands; "Are we— I don't want to rush things; it's been—"

"Two years," he coolly finishes for her. "Practically." They stay there, motionless, keeping so still, as though any unconsidered movement could knock their course on an unintended path. "Kath," he speaks evenly. "I love you." It's the strangest thing, watching himself say and think these things. He breathes. "I think we should do this."

Her shoulders dip as she leans forward some on her hands. "Didn't think you'd want this." Kathy is nothing close to self-pitying in this moment, nor is she insecure; Katherine Reed, as ever, is only speaking her truth. Her soft lovely eyes do not stray from his as she continues, "I figured I'd—" Neither she herself nor Jordan require her to finish. The implication is there — her meaning though not taboo, maybe indelicate in name for the moment's conversation.

Undaunted, and unashamed, Jordan holds her gaze. "If that's what you want." He scratches his head and gestures, "I'd get that. But, I'm saying: We don't have to go that direction." He's said the words like it's a small thing, but in truth he's never said anything bigger in his life.

"Is this for real?" She blinks earnestly as she tries to make this new territory out. "We weren't trying. We've never even had this conversation. Not even hypothetically." Katherine moves her feet up from the floor to the lowest step. "Something as consequential as this cannot be rushed." She looks at him stalwartly, "Or forced."

His head shakes. "That's not what this is."

"We don't know what this is."

"Well," he near-smiles, his left eye squinting some as he figures, "we still have..." he estimates, "eight months? We'll wrap our heads around it."

Katherine doesn't budge. ... They sit with this, and they wait. ...

From across the room Jordan watches her silently. "What are you thinking?"

Quietly, Katherine's large blue eyes do not blink. "What are you?"

He shakes his head, not yet ready for more words. Jordan looks at her, "You, been here before?"

Kathy shakes her head. "You?"

Again Jordan shakes his head. He clears his throat. "Least, not that I know of." Only someone who really knows him would detect that small smirk in the corner of his mouth.

Unamused, she means to check him. "Is that how this is going to be?" She trusts he doesn't mean to be glib, but serious as he is, she could do without that glimmer of a snigger behind his eyes.

"We don't know how this is going to be," he counters soberly. Jordan exhales.

Kathy's hand lifts to her forehead, rubbing as though her head aches, though it doesn't. When he jerks his head for her to do so she at last rises and follows him wordlessly into the living room. Jordan slumps back into an armchair and watches as she settles down onto the hardwood floor. Lying there on her back she stares blankly at the ceiling in the moments when her eyes are not shut. She isn't quick to speak, and instead remains mostly motionless on the floor, letting herself feel and navigate the differences of her life.

"Look," he breaks the silence as he props his feet up and settles back further, "this is how we are." He gestures to help his point, "We never made any official declarations. Besides th' move here I don't remember ever sitting down and deciding things — they just happen; and we go with it. This is the same."

"It isn't," she says from the floor. "It isn't the same thing."

Jordan gestures his concession, "I know it isn't. But it can be." He leans forward with new resolve, "So what if it wasn't planned, or talked about? We c'n do this."

"The thing about it though," she says, still looking up into the space above her, "is that with everything else, if it ever stops working, we can always stop; just—" her head turns so she might look at him "—end it."

His voice is steady and assured as he voices needlessly, "This wouldn't be like that."

She blinks soberly. "No." This isn't a thing they can happen into and then quit.

"So," he shrugs, "we do it right." He looks at her. "Are you in?"

Katherine scoffs, "I have never had a conversation that has so concretely and profoundly changed my life." She hasn't actually answered him with this remark and he does not look away as though she has. Jordan waits. At last Katherine pushes herself up till she's sitting upright. There's the trace of a smile on her face. "We're doing this?" Jordan blinks. "We're starting a family?"

Though his expression hasn't overtly changed, a conspiratorial smile somehow's appeared across Jordan's face. Earnestly he clears his throat, "Yeah." Jordan's tongue sticks in the side of his mouth as he nods at her and holds out his hand, "Com'ere."

Katherine's large eyes slowly blink as she looks at him, sober and steady as he is, then reaches her hand out to his. Feet still set upon the table before him, Jordan leans forward and pulls her up and draws her close.

Still so earnest, her face is almost as stoic as it had been when he'd first arrived home, but there in his lap the mood has entirely, if quietly, and softly — and perhaps even unexpectedly — shifted. He kisses the top of her head.

In his arms Katherine looks at him solemnly, and warmly. Jordan only breaks the gaze when he glances first at her lips then momentarily to her abdomen. His soft blue eyes glint. "A baby?"

Her eyes follow his. "Mm, hm."

He smirks at her, brow arced, "In there?"

She relishes the light touch of his hand running over the length of her ponytail. With the slightest tug he pulls back her head and kisses her. When he draws back he's smiling at her, and kisses her once more for good measure. "I like you."

Kathy smiles. "I like you too."

Jordan kisses her forehead. "A lot." Then her ear. Then her lips. His work toned arms hold her close and Kathy holds him, brushing her hands through his hair, holding his neck close to her. They listen to each other's bodies breathe and grow, and become accustomed to this entirely new consideration of the number three...

In time they rise and Jordan gets himself a beer and a shower. As he emerges from their bathroom he spies her in her cotton pajamas, lying on her belly across the width of their unmade bed. He pauses, white bath towel wrapped low about his narrow hips, and eyeing her, rubs his scalp to shake the water out. "Hey."

Katherine lifts her head and halfway smiles. "Hey."

Moving no nearer, he leans there against the door jam; he can't seem to keep his eyes off her. "My head is—" but it doesn't seem worth it to describe his thoughts having gone on overdrive. He knows if anything he's not alone in that. He tilts his head and nods at her, "You see this coming?"

"Oh yeah."

Jordan smirks and crosses to the bed. Lightly he shoves her shoulder to roll her over on her side and then still somewhat wet he sits beside her. Tucking a down pillow beneath his damp head and moves his forehead nearer hers. She smiles and holds him in her wide unblinking eyes. "Hey."

Jordan bites at his lower lip, "Hey." He pushes the long dark bangs away from her face to better see her. They lie quietly. Her hand finds his. Their fingers intertwine and squeeze, and hold, and re-grip one another. His outstretched leg reaches out and finds hers, pulling it under his. And then his hand's on her hip, positioning her toward him then stroking her back. Kathy runs her fingers through his hair and holds his cheek, keeping that much adored face close to hers. Time passes. Each independently considers how shockingly normal, and non thrown they are. They lie there till they fall asleep, the further conversations to come temporarily deferred.

...

At 2 am Jordan wakes. He lies there beside her, watching his girlfriend as she sleeps, softly breathing in and out. Unable to fall back asleep he tucks the covers over her shoulder and climbs out of bed. Jordan pulls on some shorts and moves silently into the dimly lit living room.

He thinks about a cigarette but remembers he's left his only pack in his jacket down in his truck. He thinks about a beer but doesn't want to brush his teeth again. He thinks about calling Tino but doesn't want to bother with figuring out the time change.

Instead he sinks into their sofa, pulls at Kathy's mother's knit throw for cover, props his bare feet up on the coffee table he'd made when they'd moved in, and thinks about the world as it now stands…

It's after four when he returns to bed.

...

In the morning when Jordan rises Katherine is already up and in the shower. He pulls on his faded navy hoodie and treads barefooted into the kitchen. Kathy's made the coffee and he gingerly touches the glass press to see how fresh it is before he pulls down a chipped UCSC mug and pours himself a cup.

Sipping his black coffee, Jordan reaches down and takes out a saucepan from the cabinet beside the oven. He fills the pan with water and sets it to boil. Waiting, he drinks his coffee and stretches his sore back. When he hears the shower shut off and Katherine move into the bedroom he takes down the glass canister of oatmeal from the open shelf above the stove. Jordan refreshes his coffee, turns down the burner, and pours an estimated cup and a half of oats in the bubbling water to start for her when she emerges. Leaving the oatmeal to simmer, Jordan pops his head into the bedroom.

Leaning against the door, he's watching her stand before the upright mirror in a vintage navy and white trimmed nautical inspired baby doll dress. She stands there, studying the fit, the drape of the fabric, her silhouette beneath it, and he lingers in the doorway, undetected by her, taking her in. After a moment, he speaks up, "G'morning." Her gaze doesn't shift. "What'ya doin'?" Without moving her head Katherine meets his eyes in the mirror. "Fits you nice."

Now she turns to look at him, "Will it?" Conceiving of the coming changes in her body, and their lives, is proving difficult for her to wrap her mind around, she's just trying to manage to fathom the changes.

Jordan drinks his coffee, "How you feeling?" She smiles sanguinely in answer and he swallows is morning caffeine. "It feel strange?"

"The decision or the condition?"

"Guess both're a little strange," he conjectures.

"But good," she muses.

"Yeah..." he reflects distantly. When he refocuses he jerks his head toward the kitchen, "Food?" Kathy nods. "Ya'look good," he winks.

Passing by him into the hallway, Katherine lightly presses her index finger against his forehead, "Shush." Jordan in turn swallows a smile and resists the urge to spank her.

Starting to smell the distinct scent of burning oats, Jordan takes quick strides to the stove and grabs the white CorningWare pot off the burner, stirring it quickly with a wooden spoon. Only the very bottom is burned and he scoops the cereal into two robin's egg shaded dishes and hands one out to her. "Mush?"

"Thanks." Kathy takes the bowl, grabs a spoon from the drawer and holding it in her mouth hands another to him. Katherine takes the almond milk from the fridge. "Any blueberries left?"

Jordan refills his coffee mug. "Uh, uh; think they're done. Banana?" She nods and he takes one from the oversized ceramic fruit bowl kept on top of the fridge for lack of counter space in their tiny place and tosses it to her.

Eating his porridge, leaning against the counter, Jordan watches her evenly slice the banana into her bowl. He eats another spoonful. "Ya'think we got some talking to do?"

Katherine half laughs. "Probably." She offers him the second half of the banana but he shakes his head at it and she slices the rest of it into her bowl. "You change your mind?"

Mouth full, Jordan chuckles, "Yeah. Shit." He can't help the grin he flashes at her then. "Seriously though?" he prompts. "Kay." Jordan kicks out a chair for her with his foot. She takes a seat at the tiny kitchen table. She pushes open the rope-pulley window and pushes the oatmeal around in her bowl. Jordan holds his near-empty coffee mug before his mouth, "We need a game plan for this?" He drinks. "What 'd that entail?"

Katherine looks up at him as she blows on the steaming spoonful of cereal she holds over her bowl. "You wanna talk micro or macro?"

He shakes his head, "I don't know where to start. We need a house?"

"We don't need a house."

He looks at her, "We need a ring?"

She shakes her head softly; "We don't need a ring."

Jordan lets it lie. "We need a doctor?"

"Yeah, we probably need one of those. And a midwife."

"Ya'know," Jordan shakes his head with a rueful smile, "I went my whole life not knowing that word; suddenly it's everywhere."

"There's another word coming into your life," but she leaves him to speak it, the three-lettered palindrome descriptor-to-be.

Jordan nods slowly. "Yeah…" He scratches his head in wonder. "I's up all night."

"I know." She looks at him. "You gonna be able to say it?"

"What's that, Mom?"

There's a faint smile before Katherine finally eats some of her breakfast. Once more she lays down her spoon. "Are we ready for this? We're okay?"

"Money-wise?"

"I guess that too." She picks a banana slice from her bowl. "I meant us."

"Yeah," he nods, "I think we're okay. We've got this."


That Sunday, in the apartment building's shaded courtyard, Kathy reclines back in the morning sun with the paper in hand and her bare feet lying in Jordan's lap. She turns the page. "Gary."

"Hank," Jordan counters absently without looking up from his phone.

"Lorraine."

"Shamemus."

"Leonard."

Jordan looks up, "As in Cohen?"

She leans back in the morning sun, "His music speaks to my soul."

Jordan smiles, then returns to his texting. "Trent."

Her head tilts some, "Reznor or Lane?" She sips her tea. "Tennessee."

"Stevie."

"Girl or boy?"

"Girl." Jordan smirks at whatever Shane's just texted him.

"That's—" she pushes her toes against him "—why you're great," loving that his musical tastes extend beyond what a person might first expect or think. "But keep her away from the cocaine."

"And Lindseys," he throws in.

She grunts appreciatively and shakes out her paper to re-stiffen it. "Aiden."

"Please," he groans in disgust. "Might as well say 'Tiffany'. Or 'Ken'." He sets aside his phone and rubs her toes. "Kyrra."

Kathy closes her paper and smiles wryly at him. "Gretel," she says. "Garp."

"Wait—" his brow furrows here, "what game are we playing? 'Name the kid' or 'Think of the strangest names you can'?"

Kathy laughs, "I'm not sure."

"We should prob'ly figure that out. An' cross out anyone with a known addiction."

"Where does that leave Johnny Cash?"

"Nashville; I guess." Jordan scratches at the back of his head, "Maybe we should get off the music thing. A name should be somethin' more than — cool; it should mean something."

"What does yours mean?"

"'Kid who's folks didn't given enough of a shit.'"

"It's from the bible, your name. First and middle."

"Lotta good it did me."

"It's a strong name."

"So, apparently," he inserts, "is Sue. 'This world is rough and if a kid's gonna make it, he's gotta be tough.'"

Idly curious as to what point in his life he was able to quote Johnny Cash — if he could do it before high school or if it came later, when the cool factor was raised with the release of the American recordings — gracefully she steers them back on topic, reflecting on what he'd said, "'Something that means something'. Course," she smiles, "I think we got some time."

Shutting off his messaging when his phone buzzes at him again, Jordan nods at his girl, "Here's what I've learned about women: They like to plan." Absently Jordan wiggles her big toe. "Should be something good. Something nice." Gripping it over the mouth of the cup, Jordan raises his coffee and drinks from it. "No family names. Family's hard 'nough without adding that." His eyes at some point had fallen from hers, and he's looking now at the ground, listening to the words he's just spoken. "Sorry. Shouldn't talk like that." No part of him wants to be shading this thing with the darkness of his family.

Her head shakes softly in appeasement, "You're okay." Jordan's eyes gently find hers, and he nods. This will all take some getting used to.


Monday morning, leaving the lumber yard and heading back to his worksite Jordan pulls out his cell and dials Tino. Tino, who had quickly tired of Oahu, had several months back traded in the lush beauty, high living costs, and depressed local economy of the Sandwich Islands for the eclectic, biker-bohemian life of a decaying Arizonan mining town. Despite the high ratio of bars in the small town of 400, positions to tend said bars were not readily available and so Tino'd taken on the early morning job of baking bread in the local artisan bakery and works part time as a mechanic at a bike shop working on Harleys and American choppers. Though it's still morning in Pittsburgh, Tino, who's three hours earlier has already been up and working for hours. "Hey Buddy."

"Hey," Jordan says, climbing into his truck, "Ya ready for some news?"

Tino wipes flower from his brow with the back of his hand, "Andiamo; give it to me."

"Right; how do you say 'my girlfriend's pregnant, we're having a baby'?"

"No shit? Ho' omaika'i Ana Māhoe!" Tino chuckles with pride. "When did this happen?"

"Yesterday."

"The actual—? Pretty confident," he jests.

Jordan's head shakes as he makes the turn onto the interstate, "Shut up."

Tino chuckles again and pulls several loaves from ovens for the cooling racks. "It déclassé of me to ask, 'You plan this?'"

"Guess you just did. So, 'Nope. Not exactly.'"

"And 'not exactly' translates to 'not at all?" Tino stops his bustling and gives the phone call and his friend his undivided attention. His lips purse in fraternal camaraderie and he asks, "You all in?"

Here the levity stops. "Yeh." It doesn't take much for Tino to detect Catalano's earnestness.

"I love it. Congrats, brother."


Several days into the work week Jordan comes home and finds Katherine immobile in the kitchen. Looking fairly green, she's propped her head up by her hand and sits with eyes half shut, keeping herself upright with the support of the up-cycled butcher block table he'd made her. Jordan pauses when he sees her. "Hey, Kid."

Katherine manages only a grunt, but seeing through the corner of her eye Jordan stifle a snigger, and resentful that she's become a source of amusement for him, she musters the energy necessary to grumble, "Shut up."

At this he does chuckle, and rubs her back as he passes. "Want something?"

Her supporting arm drops to the table, "To get off this boat."

Jordan smiles as he washes his hands, "Sorry land lubber, gotta wait it out." He pulls a glass water bottle from the fridge and drinks more than half of it in one breath offering her the water. "You remember I'm playing tonight?"

"I did not." He'd never really seen a person look actually green before. Jordan looks at her, trying to remember the last time he'd felt that way that wasn't a result of alcohol... Probably Mexico. Jordan never really gets sick. He can't empathize with her and that makes the whole thing a little bit worse.

"You still cool if I go?"

"I'm fine. I can't move my head. Or smell — basically anything, but," she breathes in deeply for focus, "I'm not actually sick."

"Ya sure?" She nods faintly and Jordan reopens the refrigerator, passes her some yogurt and grabs a six-pack of beer for himself. Passing her a spoon he pats his pockets to check for cigarettes and a lighter and grabs a green apple for the road.


Two nights later Katherine wakes, feeling heavy and leaden wrapped within her down comforter. Disoriented, she rubs her eyes; it feels like she's been asleep for ages and she is disconcerted to read the bedside clock telling her it is only a quarter past eight.

Pulling a woven blanket from the foot of the bed Katherine wraps it round herself and walks through the still apartment where she finds Jordan on their minuscule balcony, finishing a cigarette. When he's finished and stubbed it out she taps lightly on the glass, makes eye contact, then slides open the door to join him. He smiles at her and shifts to make room for her, "Hey."

Kathy snugs in beneath his arm and he easily pulls her in to him. "What are we going to do about this?"

Jordan breathes in deeply. "Been thinking," he says into the top of her head, "— I'm done."

Incredulous, she twists her neck to look up at him, "Really?"

Jordan shrugs. "It was a good fifteen years. It'll last me." Katherine reaches out from her blanket and lifts the pack from where it rests on the bannister. She peers into the carton.

"There's still five more."

"It's bad luck t' quit on an empty pack," he answers breezily. Jordan squeezes her shoulder. "How 'ya doin'?" Kathy yawns. "Dinner?" She nods. Jordan rises with her and opens the door for her and lets her pass. "Hey," he starts as she moves into the kitchen and sits herself atop the tiled counter, "I know you said 'no', but, I been thinkin' 'bout this: What do you think about a house?"


A week later, now close to seven weeks into the pregnancy, Jordan stops by the apartment to take a quick shower, change, and pick Katherine up for a date. He's taking her to dinner and then out to hear some bands play. Stepping out from the bathroom in his grey jeans, a white shirt and v-neck knit sweater under his dark wool blazer, he stops when he sees her. She's in that vintage, crimson wool mini dress he likes, the one that makes her look like someone Mick Jagger would have slept with in the 60's. Her long brown hair is swept to the side and her smokey eye makeup is just pronounced enough that he can't look away from her. "Gorgeous."

"Hello," she shimmers.

When she twists whimsically her sterling drop earrings dangle against her cream-toned neck. "Mm, hm," he nods, biting his lower lip, never taking his eyes off her, "yeah."

"You like?" She oscillates in a half-twirl for his benefit.

"I like more than that damn dress," he assures her. Katherine smiles and Jordan takes hold of her fingertips and thinks seriously about skipping dinner, skipping the music, and lifting that dress off that delicious body of hers.

Katherine's head cocks, "You taking me out, Catalano, or not?"

Without a moment's hesitation his answer is one of absolute conviction, "Definitely." Tugging on her hand Jordan pulls her closer, "You got more of that lipstick?" There's little chance for her to answer before he's got his hand in her hair, holding the back of her neck and kissing her, purposefully and with pleasure.

...

In the back of their cab at the night's end Jordan's reached his limit in self-control and slides his hand to take hold of her inner thigh. Her skin is soft and disarmingly warm, and so electrified he moves for a kiss, deep and passionate. Their temperatures and desire climb and heighten. The ride home could not have been short enough.

Pushing up the stairway and through their front door, Jordan, livened by his wanting for her, takes Katherine to bed. In the rush of tugging off her undone dress he stops, and breathing heavily, looks at her in earnest. "I love you."

"I love you."

"No," he tells her. "I really fucking love you."

Katherine's eyes flutter shut as he pushes her slip and bra straps off her shoulders and trails his hand over her chest, down her sternum. Katherine lays back as his lips make their way down her torso, lingering teasingly, just below her navel. Reaching up, his strong calloused hand is full of her, cupping, grasping her soft and swollen breasts. Razing goosebumps on her skin with his touch, he returns to her neck, kissing and nuzzling, all the while stroking her body, tasting her skin, grazing her with his teeth. Under his attention Katherine's breath catches and she shudders; fluttering, her eyes open wide to him, "I lo—"

"Shut. Up," he instructs; playfully, roguishly, Jordan breathes and claps his hand over her mouth and takes charge. Katherine submits to his touch and in short time the room and the world and everything that is not him and her falls away. ...

After, as she lays spent and pliant, cozily entangled in sheets and pillows. Katherine watches him as he crosses their room to the kitchen, returning with a chilled glass of water and dish of organic blackberries. Jordan stops before he reaches the bed again and tosses a berry into her open mouth. "Ya know what," he posits as he stands there admiring her and the vision she's creating, "buildin' that stupid school greenhouse was one of the best things I've done." He returns to their bed and eats several more berries as he watches her throat move upwards ands downwards as she thirstily gulps down the water.

Katherine hands back the glass and settles back into the mattress, resting her tousled head against his upright chest. "Well," she reaches over for a berry then snugs in again, "saddle up, the bar is in the process of being raised."

"Yeh..."


Several days later Jordan walks into the living room finding Katherine in yoga pants and one of his flannels, curled up on the sofa. Though it's before seven he isn't surprised to find her sleeping; still in the early weeks of her pregnancy, it seems as though she's asleep more often than she's awake. Jordan shrugs off his jacket and lifts her feet, setting them in his lap as he sits beside her. Letting her snooze, with one elbow resting on her hip, Jordan flips absently through the latest issue of Spin as he unwinds from his day.

When she stirs he lays down the magazine and watches her stretch, yawn, and eventually open her eyes. "Hey."

Kathy yawns once more. "Hey."

"Y'waking up, or just coming up for air?"

Pulling her feet from his lap as she scooches to sit upright, Katherine rubs her eyes, "No, I'm up." She inhales deeply and widens her eyes to force herself to alertness. "How was work?"

"'S good. You get to the market?"

Katherine nods her head. "But I forgot the spinach. And there weren't any Brussels sprouts." She leans over and bite-kisses his shoulder, "An' they were out of raw almonds."

Jordan strokes down her messy hair. "Think I can go tomorrow. Make me a list."

Resting against him, she shakes her head slowly, "I can go."

"Hmph," Jordan smiles. "Snap outta this narcolepsy thing and we'll talk."

"Mmm," she rubs at her eyes. "I'm tired; I'm not incapacitated. There's cannellini humus, and there's still some shrimp and grits from the other night. And I grilled more vegetables. There's tomato salad too." She yawns.

Jordan rises and crosses to the kitchen, "Sit tight; I'ma piecemeal something together."

"Your sister called."

"Oh yeah?"

"Said she couldn't get through on your cell."

"What'd she want?" Jordan's got his head in the fridge, digging for the glass container of polenta. "Hey, you want some water?" he calls behind him as he cracks open a beer for himself.

"She wants to see you tomorrow, for lunch."

"Huh?"

"Lunch."

Jordan pops his head out from the kitchen, "What're you sayin'?"

"Lisa-wants-to-take-you-to-lunch-tomorrow."

"Gotch'ya." He drinks his beer and she stands and takes the water glass he's poured for her. "Hey, the bid on that chichi pool house job was accepted."

"Fantastic." She holds up her hand for an understated high-five. He reciprocates. "Congratulations."

"Yeah," he jests in light irony as he eats a grilled shrimp, "maybe this kid'll get sum'in t' eat in its lifetime." Putting aside his bottle Jordan pulls down several dishes, "I'm spo'sd to call her?"

"Who? Lisa? Mm, hm." Licking his fingers, Jordan hands her a fork and a cold bowl of mixed heirloom tomatoes with basil, oil, salt and pepper before he reaches for the phone to call his sister.


The next day Jordan walks down the street with one arm slung around his sister's shoulder and holding his young nephew in the other. "So, J—"

"What's up?"

Lisa mock-scowls at him for needlessly cutting her off just to vex her; at age fourteen he used to do this to her constantly. Jordan chuckles and she begins again, "So—"

"Ya said that already," he grins at her, relishing her irritation.

She shoots him a look of warning and continues. "So: we're getting married."

He doesn't stop walking but he looks right at her. "For real?"

"Yup."

"Hell yeah, Lis." He props up young Adam who was starting to slip in is arm, and leans over to kiss her. "We'll be there."

"Listen to you," she beams. "'We.'" Jordan rolls his eyes.

"Wait—" Jordan stops. "You're sayin' you're not already married?"

Now it's her turn to roll her eyes. "Shut up."

"That didn't happen back in, like, '97?"

"You're not as funny as you think you are."

"No, 'cuz," he plays on, "I'm pretty sure there was some ceremony 'r somthin' back in middle school?"

"Shut up."

"Tino's going to cry."


"Hey, Sass." Katherine looks away from her grandmother's trifold floor mirror and smiles at Jordan. "Looking good."

"Thank you." Her hair's swept loosely in a low side ponytail and she's dressed in a below-the-knee jewel-toned cobalt satin cocktail dress. "You ready?"

"No," he scoffs, "I'm wearing a suit. You think I'm showing up in jeans and a hoodie?"

"It's a good look for you," she remarks casually as she fastens her earrings.

Jordan kicks off his sneakers and pulls off his leather jacket and sweatshirt. "Lis wouldn't freak too much."

"Well," she checks her grandfather's mid-century travel clock on the dresser, "we've got ten minutes till we're supposed to leave."

"Easy."

With two minutes to spare Jordan emerges showered, teeth brushed, and dressed in a black dress shirt and suit. "What's th' word?" he deadpans, "'Ta da'."

"Nicely done, sir."

"Ya ready, or what?" he grins.

Kathy smiles, grabs her bag, steps into her three-inch heels and makes her way through the apartment as he follows, admiring the way she moves in that pretty sheath dress.

...

At Lisa and Ben's engagement party Lisa breaks away from Ben to wrap her arms around Kay. "Katherine! Champaign!"

Lisa's reaching for two glasses when Jordan comes behind and holds Kathy's still flattish tum. "I'll have some," he says, and reaches out to take the glass his sister had intended for his girlfriend.

Not one ordinarily to push booze, Lisa, exuberant in her strapless white cocktail dress, looks at Katherine, "None for you?"

"I'll drink for two," Jordan assures her as he winningly salutes his sister with the glass and takes a sip.

"Maybe," a boisterous and lightly sauced Ben ventures, his bright eyes narrowing and following Jordan's one hand still resting on Katherine's abdomen, "enough for three?"

Amidst the celebrating, the music, the laughter, his jesting implication is not lost on Lisa and after a few glances from her brother to his girl and back once more she radiates delight, "Really?" Jordan gets sheepish; he hadn't meant his cover to give them away. He should've just let her take the class. Caught un prepared, he doesn't know where to look as his big sister gushes all over them. "I'm thrilled! J!" And he's caught up fiercely in her loving arms.

"It's very early," Katherine avows. "We didn't want to take away from today."

"Oh please," Lisa dismisses. "Come here!" Lisa grabs both of them and crushes them with love and enthusiasm; once she eventually releases them Ben shakes Jordan's hand, slaps him on the back and kisses Kate's cheek. "This is so exciting." Truly thrilled, she slaps her little brother on the arm, eliciting from him a sort of grin.

"Okaaay," he says, a bit bashful at all the gushing. "Enough." He pats Ben's shoulder, "Let's get this guy drunk."

"It's not that kind of party," Lisa admonishes with a smile.

"It's Ben Shaw," Jordan cajoles with an easy smile. "You're getting married after a million years, and your kid's at home. Yeah," he assures his sister, "it's that kind of party." And Jordan downs his glass and pushes his soon-to-be brother to the bar.

...

In the morning Jordan finds Katherine drinking chamomile tea in the tiny bricked garden courtyard of their building. She's barefoot and dressed in a calf-length cotton nightgown and oversized toggle cardigan. Shuffling over the stones he stretches and pulls back his hair into a tiny ponytail. "Yo."

"Yo." Kathy laughs as she looks up from her book, "Rough night?" Jordan's expression says he'd take offense if he were feeling any better.

"So," he leans back in the other weathered wooden chair out there, propping his feet up in her lap, "word's out."

She nods. "I know."

"Makes it a little more real." He cracks his ring finger with his thumb. "Course, Tino already knew."

"Tino's not going to be sending over birth books every day," she points out.

"I wouldn't put it past him." She hmphs appreciatively. Sipping his coffee he gestures at her with his mug, "Calling your bro and pa soon?"

Katherine swallows her tea, "Guess it's time now."

He looks at her, soberly. "How's that gonna go?"

"Well," she plays, poking fun at his earnestness, "soon 's 'Pa' finds his shotgun it'll go fine."

"Great," he smirks dryly. He pretty much could have called the reaction they'd gotten from his sister, but he doesn't know what to expect from her family. He guesses they'll be glad for her, he guesses too though they might be expecting the ring she said she didn't need, or be regretting this all wasn't happening with some other guy. A better guy. Someone with more qualifications to count himself a father. But it is him; him and her, and this little impending life. Drinking again he prods her gently with his foot then holds up seven fingers. "Seven more months."

"Less than that."

He flicks a leaf off the arm of his chair. "We need stuff, huh? Like, a cradle?"

"We don't need much. People buy babies a lot of stuff, babies don't need a lot of stuff."

Jordan sips. "Still think we need a house."

"Okay, guy," she smiles, "if you think we can swing it, let's find the kid a house."

"'Kid…'" he muses.

"I don't know," she shrugs lightly. "Could be a puppy."

Jordan chuckles and nudges her belly with his toe, "Always wanted a puppy." He grins, as does she.


"You're buying a house?" Shane wipes the beer from his lips and slams his glass to the sticky bar table. Hearing Jordan's girl was close to four months pregnant was a surprise, but somehow him buying a house was a bigger one.

"That's the plan," Jordan drinks. "We're looking."

"You're having a kid," Shane recounts for emphasis. "You're buying a house. You're not even thirty bro," Shane shakes his head and signals for another round. Jordan's the guys who was out there every Halloween with him tearing up the track and football field, the guy who every year trashed and TP'd his father's house with him who partied too hard and who never knew when to say when. This is not the guy who at this age settles down with a family and a mortgage for a house. Shane sparks and extinguishes his Zippo lighter. "Cat, you hate houses."

"I do?" he scoffs.

"You're a renter, Catalano—" His attention strays momentarily when the well-shaped waitress drops off the drinks, "Cheers, baby." Shane winks at her then directs his attention back to his friend. "You're no Tino but, come on, how many places 've you lived in? How many cities?"

Jordan takes a drink. "A kid needs a home."

"Okay," Shane grants him that. "Y'can't do that in an apartment?"

Jordan downs his whiskey. "What're you holdin' against houses?" Shane shrugs and takes a drink. Jordan signals for another round. "House is harder t' walk away from."

Drinking his beer, Shane pretends not to have heard in that more than what he was meant to, but he does steal a glance in his friend'd direction from beneath his arced and hooded brows. Jordan looks away, drinking his beer in silence to clear the air.

When he looks back any mis-implication that he's looking for a way to keep himself obligatorily tied to his child has been looked past. "A kid should feel like his folks aren't going to walk away," he says, before knocking back his second whiskey and clamping the glass back down to the table. "A mortgage is better than a lease for that."


Six months in and on their last day of escrow, Jordan passes by Katherine in the hallway and casually sets his hand on her growing belly, "How's that baby cookin'?"

At his touch Kathy leans back against the hall table, her shoulders arching back against the wall, rendering her developing curves more pronounced. "It's growing," she smiles, never taking her eyes off him. He steps forward and his hand moves round her stomach to her waist. In her position her legs, clothed in forest green tights, are set just slightly apart and he follows the vision to the point they disappear beneath her tufted skirt, belted just below her breast then billowing out at the waistline.

She knows that look. "We're moving tomorrow. I have work."

"But," he fingers the hem of her skirt, "I have plans…"

She feels the slight tug on her fabric and that smolder in his eye. "You're trouble."

"Oh," he chuckles, "you have no idea." ... On his knees Jordan's shoving fabric out of the way and reaching up to pull at the elastic band of her tights. She reaches out and tugs lovingly at his hair; the thrill it sends through him is a rush and soon he's under the skirt and there, among the moving boxes packed with dishes, clothes, and books, she grips the table edge and — lets go.


Katherine, now more than six months into her expectancy, dressed in a three-quarter length sleeved rayon milky-lemon fitted empire-waisted dress that had been her mother's when she'd carried both her and Thomas, returns home to their live-in construction site. Entering the door she is met by blaring Social Distortion and the sounds of an electric sander or power saw. In her sandal wedged-espadrilles she steps over sawdust, plastic sheeting, drop cloths and lumber to get to Jordan who is working sans shirt on framing the new windows he'll be installing in the wall he'd knocked out the day before. There're drops of sweat tracing down his temples and muscled back as he stands in the once-was wall fitting a newly cut king stud in place where eventually there will be a wall of floor length glass windows and door to the back yard. "Jordan." He doesn't hear her. "Jordan!"

He jumps and then laughs at himself. "Hey."

Kathy observes the progress, "How's it going?"

Shooting in two final nails with loud explosions of pressurized air, Jordan wipes his brow with his wrist and steps back with a satisfied grin. "'s coming along." He lays down the nail gun and pulls off his protective glasses and takes a gulp from his glass of iced tea. "You look pretty. Ya'get your work in by deadline?" He pulls a bandana from his back pocket and wipes again at his brow and neck then clinks his remaining ice cubes around in his glass before taking another drink. "It's hot."

"I know." She drops her compact, leather structured shoulder bag on the table and pulls back her thick dark hair to tie up into a messy ponytail. "Okay," she reaches back and pulls at her zipper, the dress falling down her front as she tugs down on the tab, "I'm here to help." She steps out of her dress and throws it too on the table.

In the soft light of their work-in-progress living room he looks at her, hair up, standing round bellied in her undergarments and butter leather sandals. "You're here to distract," he smiles.

"It's too hot for clothes, and I can't work in the dress."

"You can't work in those shoes."

"I know," she smiles and sits down to change into some sneakers. Tying her laces, she rises and salutes, "Put me to work."

"You look like you're going to Bikram," he observes, absently kissing her dampened temple and holding his icy glass to the back of her neck. "Wanna sand?"

"I do," she smiles. "I want to sand. I can't tell the bow of the wood, but I can sand. And you got me over my thing with the power saw. So, give me a task, it'll be 'the house that Katie built.'"

Jordan fake coughs, "'Asterisk, footnote Jordan Catalano.'"

"Watch out," she warns collegially, "or you might lose billing on this little project," by which she means the one growing within her belly.

"Hey now," he cautions, "play fair, kid."

Katherine steps carefully through the room and takes his hand as he helps her step through the demolished wall to the backyard and to the sander and the table saw. "Did ya see?" she asks him smiling. "I finished the framing for the kitchen counters."

"I did see that," Jordan nods. "Nice show of taping and caulking skills." He pulls her head to him and lazily kisses her hair. "Down for pouring the concrete tomorrow?"

"So ready," she claps her hands together, then confesses in a false whisper, "I'm trying to reign myself in, but I'm getting pretty amped about my kitchen."

"Wull," he rubs at his eye, "measure those expectations, I've never done a concrete countertop before."

"Get me my windows, all your pretty pretty wood, my beautiful refurbished bathtub, and a room I can cook in and I'll be happy."

"This from the girl who said she didn't want a house."


Some time past the seventh month mark, Jordan and Katherine, freshly showered and in cool clean clothes, take a break from the remodel and spend an early evening sitting out in the back yard in the mild weather and the quiet. Her belly swollen and rounded where she carries her child, Katherine, in a muslin calf-length nightgown and overly long wrap sweater and those old worn leather Gizeh Birks, stands manning the grill. While she turns the stuffed peppers she's barbecuing, Jordan, to her left, reclines in a hard wood chair strumming his guitar, picking out pieces of tunes and melodies as it pleases him. With his fingers on the six strings, his eyes stay fixed on her, lingering and unfaltering. Near motionless, he nods at her, though he knows she isn't watching him. "Com'ere; sit down."

"Hold on," she smiles, "I gotta turn these."

"But I can't play to th' kid if you're all the way over there." He pauses to drink his coffee. "Gotta be vigilant," he winks, "it's bein' born in the age of Coldplay."

Kathy chuckles and takes her place again in the rustic bench across from him. "Good looking out."

"You bet," he says around the pick between his teeth as he tightens a peg. "Just sayin', sum'in's gotta make th' difference b'tween a Tom Waits and a John Mayer."

"My guess is," she offers, "it's more than one thing." Jordan chuckles his affirmation of that and waits as she closes the grill lid and sets asides the tongs to join him where he sits. "Okay," she settles into the bench, her feet and knees up, her back cozied into a throw pillow, her hands fondly resting atop the swell of her waist, "we're listening."

Jordan looks softly at her through a distant smile and winks. Then adjusts his old instrument, strums, looks down, and plays. "I hear the drizzle of the rain, Like a memory it falls, Soft and warm continuing, Tapping on my roof and walls…"


Posted 8/5/13