A/N: Thanks as usual to all the readers, old and new, and a big shout-out to my beta, Mike, for having the patience of a saint, you're unique!
Tuesday 29th July
There is one simple notion that my body seems unable to grasp; nights were made to sleep. Even more so with the prospect of a sleepless newborn in only a few months from now. Yet, my eyes are fixed on the ceiling and refuse to shut. The fact that the baby seems to be mistaking my bladder for a baseball and that my stomach is rumbling noisily don't help either. Whenever my lids dare to fall, all my mind projects is a grilled-cheese sandwich. It's a safe guess that Will would kill me if I woke him up for that. Or at least, that might be considered good grounds for a divorce before we even got married. For a brief moment, I consider getting to my feet and preparing it on my own, until the images of the last time I had a solitary midnight snack make me rethink it at the speed of light. But the heavy-bodied taste of stringy cheese is impossible to snub and it makes my mouth water. Before I can really think it, my fingertips are poking his arm, softly.
"Will?" Lying prone, his body doesn't seem to react, but a vague grumble confirms that he's enough conscious to hear me. "Are you hungry?" I whisper in his ear. It sounds like a good tactic in my head, though probably bound to fail anyway. When he doesn't answer anything, I think he might have fallen back asleep – or never really woken up.
"You are kidding, right?" he mumbles, moments later, his face still sunk deep in his pillow.
My eyes look up at the ceiling, pondering his simple question. No. I'm actually serious. "You told me to wake you up when I'm hungry." With a smile, I tease him about his own request.
He turns his head idly to one side, enough to stare at me. "That's because you caused me a heart attack," he responds.
Touché.
"I need a grilled-cheese sandwich," I state, with imploring eyes. Given the hour, the baby-is-hungry card is better saved as fallback in case my coaxing fails.
When he stares at me, pensive in the appearance, then growls, I can already taste the victory. And my craved-for sandwich. At least that's my conviction, until he shifts closer and places a soft, yet very eloquent kiss on my lips.
"You need a distraction from that grilled-cheese sandwich," he suggests, leaning in for another kiss. Impassioned this time, definitely more persuasive, but not yet enough.
I suffocate a laughter and offer a compromise. "Okay, that will be your reward if you make me a grilled-cheese sandwich."
"Slave-driver," he protests, as he's already standing up.
I feel horribly tough leaving him to cook alone in the middle of the night, so I follow him in a heartbeat.
Sitting at the island, I watch as he rubs his eyes, gathers all the ingredients, then turns to stare at me, inquisitively.
"It's not like… now I prepare the sandwich and then you tell me you want an ice-cream you don't have…" He points an intimidating slice of bread at me and it's a hard job not to burst into laughter.
I smile and shake my head at his amusing threat. Still he doesn't move, his eyes are fixed on me, waiting for an official statement. "I won't. Want me to swear it on the bible?" I joke.
And thank the Lord he's fine with my answer.
As silence shrouds the room again, my gaze falls on the infamous leaflet Will brought home a few days ago. It's still haunting me, although we haven't tackled the topic ever since.
"You're strange," Will whispers.
Only when he speaks, do I realize he's been staring at me. "No." I perfectly know it's a lie and that, at some point, we will have to talk about it. I'm just not sure that 3 a.m. is the right moment to discuss anything to begin with.
As the bread starts sizzling in the pan, Will turns around, giving me his full attention. It definitely looks like I can't escape this. "Yes, you are, and you've been for a few days now. Everything alright?" he asks me, not even trying to hide the mild worry.
"Everything alright," I reassure him with a sweet smile.
"It's about the house, isn't it?" he hints, casting a glance at the leaflet.
"No. I mean, yes. No. Well, not precisely." When my stammering meets his puzzled look, I inhale deeply and make up my mind. "Last Saturday, with my mother… besides all the shopping, we visited our old neighborhood."
"It sounds like a nice thing," he observes with a faint smile, then turns back to the cooker to flip the bread over.
"Oh, it was, indeed," I agree. "She… she would want me, us, to have our old home."
"What?"
Will's astonished reaction as he stares back at me is exactly how I pictured it to be.
For some reason though, it feels good to finally have this off my chest. "I told her no," I go on, "but then, I couldn't stop thinking about it, and once back home you showed me that leaflet and… well… I haven't been able to talk to you about it."
"Wait… she never sold it?" he asks, outright confused by an action that, admittedly, is unlike my mother.
I shake my head in confirmation. "She doesn't want to."
His brows knit, as he probably tries to work in an aspect of my mother that he barely knows, then turns to finish his perfect sandwich. "I never thought of her as the sentimental type."
"You? Go figure me…" I laugh mildly, reviving my own reaction when she tossed the offer out only a few days ago.
Will remains quiet for a while, thinking maybe? Or concentrating on his chef duties? When he walks up to the island, plate in hand, I exult like a child, then attack the sandwich, finally satiating my cravings. And judging by the twirls, the baby seems to be enjoying it, too. "You've just made two people very happy, by the way."
Resigned to the lack of sleep, Will pours himself some juice, and takes a seat next to me. When he looks down at my belly, I move my arm away, enough to free the way for his hand to rest there. The baby is apparently having a pajama party tonight and it's entirely probable for Will to catch some resolute kick.
"I think we should at least consider the offer," he suddenly suggests, almost out of thin air.
I nearly choke on my bite. The midnight snack is taking its revenge. I gaze at Will, broodingly, while weighing the meaning behind his words. "Are you sure?"
He sips his juice, then shrugs and looks away for a moment. "I see nothing wrong in it," he says, "but, why did you say no? Honestly." His eyes are back on me, a bit inquisitively.
Why did I say no? "Because… because I hate it when she acts like that." Thinking out plans and making them work in her head, reckoning without her host; expecting everyone to follow her script and taking umbrage when someone doesn't. This is not how it works.
"Trying to do something nice for her daughter?" Will butts into my imaginary list.
My lips pout and I stare down at my plate. He doesn't know her, not like I do. And sometimes I wonder if that's a good thing or a bad one. He's unbiased, that's sure, which probably gives him the impartiality of reading her gestures without prejudice, but he hasn't been there to watch her come and go, and most of the times with perfect timing for her.
"She's trying to reconnect with you."
Reconnect. I lost track of the times she did it. "For how long, Will? She reconnects, hangs around for a few months, then she gets a new boyfriend, marries him, and I become invisible again. I've been there too many times. That's not reconnecting, that's relieving her conscience," I raise my voice a bit in a fit of frustration and when I hear the sound of a door getting opened, it hits me that we definitely succeeded in waking up Grace. I officially feel both a horrible daughter and mother now. Payback for being incapable to give up a damn sandwich.
"Mom?" Grace's voice reaches me from the sleeping area.
"In the kitchen," I beckon her.
When she walks in and sees me and Will both eating and drinking, she halts and stares at us as if she's missed some party. "What happened?"
"Your mother happened." Will's speed in clearing himself from any blame is stunning and I have no choice but to blame the only person in this room who can't object.
"Your brother or sister happened," I attempt, getting a judgmental glare from Grace.
"Mom!" she reproaches me, then shakes her head and starts to walk away. "I'll go back to sleep."
I barely have the time to go back to my snack when I hear her undecided steps approaching again. I look up at Will, then we both stare at her, confused.
"What are you even eating?" It's hard to tell if she's disgusted or just curious.
"Grilled-cheese sandwich," I confess, suddenly feeling a bit ashamed.
For a moment she just looks at my dish, without saying a word. I brace myself for any parental speech about how this is unhealthy both for me and the baby, instead…
"Can I have one too?"
I burst out in loud laughter and glance at Will, raising a brow and pointing at the pan.
He doesn't have the courage to attempt even the weakest complaint. He just stands up and prepares everything for another sandwich.
/ / /
More than one hour passes until we all get back to our rooms. I feel for Will, especially knowing he has to be up very early in the morning. Actually, it's already morning, and I have good reasons to suspect that we are done sleeping for the night. As I cuddle against him, a quiet 'thank you' leaves my mouth. When he answers with a soft, lingering kiss on my forehead, it's clear that he knows I'm not just talking about the sandwich. I appreciate what he did tonight, I really do, even with the belief that time might end up proving me right, once again. I guess I've been burnt too many times.
I close my eyes briefly, then open them again and stare at him. His gaze is fixed on the ceiling and even in the dark I can tell he's smiling, likely at the unexpected twist this night took.
I'm about to shut my eyes again when I remember the promise I made to him. The least I can do is to keep my promise. Even though, more than some sort of obligation, it sounds like a real pleasure. Before he can say anything about it – does he even remember? – my mouth starts placing gentle kisses, from his neck, down his chest and further till my lips encounter the cotton of the sheets and I can feel him holding his breath for a long moment. I pause, waiting for any reaction that he's still up for it. And the response is not long in coming.
"So, does that mean I'm gonna get my prize now for cooking two grilled-cheese sandwiches in the middle of the night?" he jokes.
I suffocate a chuckle, then hum a yes. Unhurriedly, I slide back up to meet his lips with mine. "I think you really earned it," I grant him. "Unless of course you prefer to sleep," I say teasingly, while my right hand is telling a whole different story. The groan that escapes his mouth is all the answer I need. I was right, we are definitely done sleeping for the night.
