A/N: Couldn't resist a brief time-jump back to Adam's party; apologies for any timeline confusion.

(Elle)

Noah's ex is giving me child rearing advice and there is no part of that sentence that would have made sense a year ago. I'm not actually sure it makes any sense today either, and yet here we are. Megan's really nice, and her stories about the summer she was a nanny for twins are hilarious and terrifying, but it's still just a little... weird. I know Noah said she'd seemed fine about everything when they talked at the last party, and I know they were long over before he reappeared in my life, but still. Weird.

Maybe part of the reason it's weird is that I've never had to do this before, to talk to someone Noah's been in an actual relationship with. Girls he's made out with? Sure. I've personally witnessed him kissing more of my high school classmates than I care to count, and I long ago blocked from memory which ones he did more than kiss. But that was different. The running joke then was that he'd never been on a second date, and while that might have been an exaggeration, it wasn't too far off. June claims he was trying to distract himself from his feelings for me, but I prefer to just... not think about it.

From what Abbi told me and comments Lee made, it sounds like Noah went back to those habits his last semester at Harvard, but he still never had an actual girlfriend then. Finding that out would have hurt more. A lot more, and that's why I'm glad I didn't know about Megan while it was going on. Even if Lee and Adam have both told me it never seemed serious, even if Noah himself has told me I'm why it never got serious, it was still clearly a lot more than a hookup. More than my own occasional forays into dating at UCLA. For some short while, Noah was a little bit hers and that is not a pleasant thought at all.

And maybe that's the problem. Maybe I should admit that the very idea of Noah not being entirely mine, the idea that he was ever anyone else's, drives me crazy. Maybe that's why a very small but very loud part of my brain keeps looking for excuses to dislike Megan. Which is ridiculous, because she seems cool and she's been nothing but friendly to me. I tell myself to get over it, and after a few minutes it starts to work and I relax. I discover she rowed crew in college, and that she's got a little sister about Brad's age, and those are both safer topics, topics that don't force me to acknowledge that I absolutely cannot think of Noah as anything but mine. Now, then, and all the times in between, even when we weren't speaking. Because if I admit that, then I have to ask myself why I'm so reluctant to say so formally. And that is not a question I feel like addressing tonight.

I've got a message from Dad waiting when my flight home to LA lands, cryptically telling me to look out for balloons. It's too cryptic, because I write it off as some incomprehensible Dad joke and head off to grab a cab before hearing my name yelled. There he is, holding a clutch of birthday balloons and a sign I'm pretty sure Brad made.

"Dad? What are you doing here?"

"Did you not get my message?"

"Yeah, but... I thought it was one of your weird dad jokes." I admit.

"You didn't think look out for balloons meant you should look out for balloons?"

"Not really, no. That's not a thing people say. If you'd said Don't get in a cab, I'm here to pick you up, that would have been, you know, clearer."

"You used to enjoy surprises. Did you turn boring the minute you turned twenty-three?"

"Yes. Is this what getting old feels like? Is this how you got so stodgy?"

"No, it's parenthood that does that, and I can't wait until you've got your own smart-mouthed daughter to deal with."

"Don't kids rebel by being the opposite of their parents? So we should be good. She'll be super reasonable and always respectful of authority."

"Just so you know, I'm writing all these predictions of yours down to read back to you in a decade."

"So why are you picking me up?"

"I'm taking you out for a birthday lunch. Brad's at school, and it's been forever since you and I had time to ourselves."

Dad has gotten us a reservation at one of our old favorite restaurants and I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not terribly hungry, but I think he notices when I only order an appetizer.

"Has Dinah finally gotten so big there's no room left for your stomach?"

"Not quite, but... Noah took me to dinner for my birthday and I may have overdone it. And there might have been leftover cake for breakfast. And on the plane." I admit.

"Hence the uncharacteristic small salad?" Dad laughs as I nod sheepishly. "Where did you go, last night?"

"Oh, it was amazing. It was right on the beach, an hour out of the city, and when I told them I couldn't decide what to order they made me small plates of everything I wanted. Including dessert. And Noah somehow got us the outdoor deck to ourselves, so no one was bothering us, and he borrowed his friend's ridiculous convertible for the drive."

"Mmmhmmm. Sounds very... romantic."

The way Dad says it makes me a little suspicious.

"You say that like it's a bad thing?" I ask.

"Oh, no. Not at all. I was just curious what you might have talked about, at this romantic and carefully planned-out dinner."

Of course. Dad may keep telling me he doesn't expect us to have it all figured out or to make any decisions yet, except... he clearly would like it if we did.

"Yes, Dad. Elaborately planned out for my birthday. Which is also what we talked about."

"Mmmhmmm. Anything else?"

"Nope. Nothing else. Why, was there something else we should have been talking about?" I ask him with my best innocent expression.

"Let's not pretend we don't both know what we're talking about."

"What happened to you just needing to know we're talking and figuring this out together?"

"Nothing's changed with that, Elle. But from what I've seen over the past few months, you have figured this out. And I'm glad for it. Thrilled."

Noah's joined us for Sunday lunches several times this spring, and don't think I didn't notice Dad always watching us, always listening even while pretending to be busy with something else.

"When did you become Noah's biggest fan?" I joke.

"Well, once I realized I'd be dealing with him forever, I had to find the silver linings to the situation."

His tone isn't serious, but something about the phrasing stings.

"You don't have to like him just because of this baby."

Dad's burst of laughter is sharp and surprised. "Elle, honey, I wasn't talking about this year. I meant years ago. I thought you knew that."

"Oh. I guess I did know that, back then at least. But then we made a mess of things."

Dad stares at me for a long time before speaking again.

"You never told me what happened after my accident. Why you and Noah broke up. I never understood it, and you never wanted to talk about it. And I'm sorry if I wasn't thinking straight enough back then to notice what was going on until it was too late."

"It's ancient history, Dad. Noah wanted to stay, to drop out too. I didn't want him to. He was mad I didn't want him to. We didn't listen, we overreacted, and it was all so stupid. So, so stupid. I see that now. But I don't really want to dig it all up again."

"But you've talked about it? The two of you?"

"Yeah. I promise. Noah and I have talked about it, a lot, and I've talked to Joyce about it." Joyce is my therapist. I haven't told Dad all the reasons why I first went to her, but he knows most of it.

"Then I don't need to know more. All I was trying to say was that you two convinced me a while ago. Long before this year, and even long before my accident. And this year has only confirmed that for me, so I was hoping it might have convinced you two as well."

"I know what you were asking about, earlier. But marriage just isn't something we've talked about. You were right when you said not to worry about having a plan for everything. We're figuring this out as we go, and what we have is working. Everything else... I'll worry about later. After we survive this whole baby thing."

"Elle... you know it's not just about you two, right? I hate to be the one nagging about unromantic things like custody and finances and insurance, but it's my job as a parent. Soon it will be your job, too. There's a lot of planning to be done, especially if you aren't going to be married when she's born."

"Dad—I know. We know. Figuring all that out is my entire plan for the next few weeks. I didn't mean we'd never talk about it. We will, I promise. Just... not this minute. Noah isn't even in LA yet. This whole week is going to be crazy. Right now we just need to breathe."

"Alright, I've said my piece. And I trust you, both of you. But don't overthink it, either."

We move on from there. We talk about the schedule for graduation, and when I need to be out of my campus housing; we talk about the work I'll be doing for my advisor, about Noah managing to push his start date to late August, about what Mickey will be doing next year. It's while Dad is telling me about some trouble Brad got himself into at school that it hits me, not for the first time, that I'm not moving home, and I can't hold back a sudden rush of tears.

"Elle? I know it's not Brad getting detention that has you this upset." Dad looks mildly concerned.

I laugh despite the tears. "No, it's just hitting me all over again how much I'm going to miss him. And you. And living with you guys."

"Now I know this is pregnancy crying and not real sadness. Elle, you already weren't living with us, and your new apartment is even closer to the house than your dorm was. And please don't make me remind you how fond you are of your new roommate. Because don't think I haven't noticed how conveniently this baby thing has given you the perfect excuse to move in together without your parents being able to object."

Now I'm really laughing. "Yeah, that was our whole secret scheme. To have a baby to distract you guys from our shacking up." Our extremely intentional, not at all accidental, genius plan.

Dad's right, though. Not that he and the Flynns harbor any illusions about the likelihood we'd ever spend a night apart when in the same city, but if not for Dinah, I'm pretty sure we'd have been sat down for conversations about not rushing to move in, not rushing to make big decisions after only a few months back together. But now, instead, I'm getting nagged to hurry up and make this official. It would be funnier if it weren't exactly why this whole topic makes me crazy. Why should having stumbled into this surprise make rushing a good idea when it wouldn't have been otherwise? What we have now is great, and it's more than enough.

It takes me a minute to remember where I am when I wake up. Noah's here, one arm loosely draped across me, and yet there's plenty of room in the bed for me to stretch my legs, so we must not be on campus. Even with my eyes still closed, I can feel warm sunlight pouring in through the windows, so it can't be our new apartment, which faces west. Slowly my brain wakes up and the puzzle comes together—it's the morning after Lee's and my graduation and birthday party and I'm in Noah's room, at his house. Or, I guess, just his parents' house now. I manage to slip out of bed without waking Noah, and on my way back from the bathroom I draw the curtains to keep the light from waking him. I don't know how much later he stayed up after I called it quits on the party, but knowing him he was the last one standing, making sure everyone had a safe ride home and starting the clean-up. His old desk chair is still here, and I'm delighted to find it still spins as smoothly as ever, although less delighted to discover I can't handle that much spinning any more. Five more weeks until I reclaim my body from this whole crazy pregnancy experience. For now I lay off the spinning and just watch Noah sleep, and I can't help but think of all the other mornings I've woken up in this room.

Lee has a running joke about going back in time to tell his old self some fact about the present day that he'd never have imagined back then, like which terrible bands or cheesy fashions are suddenly cool. Lately a lot of his time traveler jokes have involved going back to terrify his former self with warnings about me and Noah and how this whole situation is going to play out, and I have to admit it's fun to contemplate. I'm not sure which past incarnation of Elle my time-traveling self should visit, though.

As tempting as it would be to drop in on the first morning I woke up in this room, I think that Elle would have had a heart attack to see me show up like this. Hey, that crush you keep saying you're over? You're not. The good news is, it's not unrequited, and it's not just a crush. The bad news is... it's going to be a while before you get your acts together. Oh, and yes, your 2021 self is very pregnant, and I shouldn't have to tell you whose it is. But definitely try not to think about that a minute from now when he walks into the room. Sixteen-year old Elle had enough to deal with without that alarming news. Although, if I were going to time-travel to then... I'd drop in on Lee, too. Because he's right, that would be fun, and who knows, maybe I could convince him not to be such a jerk once he finds out.

But no, the more I think about it, the more I realize the Elle that most needs a visit from her future self is the one who woke up in this room to discover Noah already on his way back to Boston after that inexplicable fight. First I'd tell her Dad's going to be okay, really and truly okay. Then I'd tell her to sleep another twelve hours and regain her ability to think straight before she starts calling Noah's phone and leaving increasingly angry messages while waiting for his flight to land. Next, I'd call him and tell him that maybe he should tell me that the reason he'd flown out so early was to go ahead and pack our stuff so he could get back here as soon as possible despite my objections, rather than let that detail get lost in the fighting that was about to escalate disastrously.

Of course, the problem with Lee's time traveler game is what happens if the visit changes the past. It's one thing to go back in time and stun your previous self with the fact that cargo pants will be back in 2021, it's another to go back and actually head off an imminent catastrophe. Because... then what?

And it's way, way too early to be thinking about the metaphysics of time travel, especially on an empty stomach. So, I leave those past Elles and all the others undisturbed, blithely unaware of all that's coming their way, and I head down to the kitchen. Noah has barely stirred the whole time I've been up, so I'm guessing it's going to be a while before he's ready to wake up.

I walk into the kitchen to find Lee digging through the refrigerator, and before I can warn him he's taken a long swig straight from an open pitcher of juice.

"Gross, Lee. Twenty-three and a master's degree and yet still unable to drink from a cup like a civilized human."

"Ugh, not so loud. And I'm planning to drink this whole pitcher, so stop nagging. God, I'm so thirsty and my head is going to explode." Lee whines, looking rather green.

"Yeah, no, I'm not letting you drink that whole thing."

"But it has my cooties in it now. You just saw."

"Lee, stop and sniff that pitcher and see if enough of your brain cells have sobered up to realize that's not just OJ. That's the leftover punch, and there's enough vodka in there to get you all the way drunk again. Go, sit, I'll get you something safer to drink. Did you sleep at all?"

"I think... a little? It was dark when I went to bed. And it's not dark now. It's painfully not dark now. So I must have slept."

Lee's got his head buried in his folded arms as he slumps over the breakfast bar, and it's been a while since I've seen him this hungover.

"You're going to drink this entire glass of water and take this aspirin. And then I'm making you toast. Do you think you can handle toast without puking all over me?"

"Yeeeeees, mom." Lee suddenly giggles, raising his head to look at me. "Wait. It's funny because you are. A mom, I mean. God, that's hilarious. Elle, you're someone's mom."

Great. Apparently Lee had enough of that spiked OJ to get him back to tipsy.

"Yes, it's hilarious. As are you. Please tell me your brother wasn't also this drunk because I cannot deal with two of you in this state."

"Oh, no. Noah's no fun. Noah's the one who made me go to bed. I told him he was no fun, you know. Noooooo fun Nooooooah. It rhymes."

"So at least one of you has some sense."

"You used to be fun. Didn't this use to be my job? Fixing your hangovers? Why are you so damn chipper this morning?"

"Seriously, Lee? Why am I not hungover? Maybe because I went to bed at midnight. And didn't drink. Or did you already forget how hilarious you think it is to call me mom?"

"Oh, right. Next year you'll party with me on our birthday, right? Please? I missed you."

Just-slightly-drunk Lee would be annoying if he weren't also endearing. I think he's done, but then he keeps rambling.

"Except you'll probably be all pregnant again. Ugh, you're never going to be fun again."

"What?" I can't help yelping it rather loudly.

"Oh, yeah. Come on, we all know it. You're going to marry Noah, and you're going to have a million babies, and we're never going to get drunk on our birthday again. But it's okay, Elle. I'm happy for you. I'm really happy for you."

"Yeah, you're also drunk. Here, eat your toast. See if you can soak up enough alcohol to stop spouting terrifying nonsense. I have absolutely no plans to be in this situation again next year, or any time soon. One is plenty."

Lee takes a bite, then winces. "It's too loud."

"Lee's, there's no music on. Just you and your babbling."

"No, the toast. It's too crunchy. It's too loud when I chew it."

"Oh, god. I'd forgotten how ridiculous you are when you're hungover. Here, plain bread. Just eat plain bread and I'll go eat my toast on the other side of the kitchen, away from your delicate ears. Because I'm not giving up my breakfast just because you can't hold your liquor."

"I love you. You know that, right? Not, like, that way. Because that would be gross. For so many reasons. Not that you're gross. But that would be. You know what I mean."

"I know you're drunk, yes. And I do know you love me. And I love you too, most of the time. But more so when I'm not worried about you puking on me."

"I was wrong, Elle. So wrong."

"About? Your drinking choices last night?"

"Noah. You and Noah. I mean, I had good reason to be wrong. And you could have told me, that would have helped. But I was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"You've apologized before. We're good."

"No, but I still have to tell you. I apologized for being an ass, and I said I wouldn't stand in your way, but I was wrong."

"You were wrong to apologize?"

"No. Yes. Wait. I'm not saying this right. I apologized wrong. For the wrong thing. Or not all the things. This isn't something I'm putting up with because I love you, Elle. I'm actually thrilled about it. Because I love you both, and I love how you are together. Even if, god, seven billion people. Seven billion people and you had to pick him. But I'm over that. That's what I'm saying. That I'm happy about this. Not just happy for you. Happy it's happening. I mean, seven billion people. What were the odds he'd be your one in seven billion? Billion is a really big number, you know? And we might be up to eight billion now. I have to check. But you've convinced me. He's your lobster, and I'm okay with that. I'm happy about it. Thrilled."

"Okay, Lee, enough. The point when you start quoting ancient sitcoms is the point when I tell you to go back to bed and sleep this off. I'm very glad you're happy about this, and I'm writing this down for us to talk about once you're sober. But for now? Back to bed, drunky."

Lee lets himself be led up the stairs and back to his room, and he's asleep sprawled perpendicularly across his bed before I can get back from pouring him another giant glass of water.

Noah is finally starting to wake up when I return from wrangling Lee, and I can't resist climbing back into bed to curl up with him. Sleepy Noah is a rare treat.

"How late were you up? I heard you were busy rescuing the drunk again last night. Lee is still drunk, by the way. I didn't get to him before he found the leftover punch."

"Awesome. Three a.m., I think? It was really just Lee that needed rescuing. No damsels in distress or threatening to skinny dip this time." I can feel the rumble of his chuckling against my cheek, and I'd happily stay right here forever.

"Shut up. And look where all that got us. I'm not so sure it counts as rescuing, in retrospect."

"This seems like a better outcome than you drunkenly drowning. Pretty sure it counts as rescuing."

"Whatever. Did I miss anything fun after I went to bed, other than whatever spectacle Lee made of himself?"

"Not really. Everyone kept asking where you'd gone, and I kept having to explain how boring you are these days." Noah manages to block the swift jab of my elbow. "Yikes. Yes, fine, how not at all boring you are, merely justifiably exhausted for reasons that you have informed me are entirely my fault, even if I swear you once said something about this having been a joint endeavor."

"I changed my mind." God, I really do want to just lie here forever listening to Noah's laugh.

"So Lee's still drunk? How bad?"

"Not so bad that we need to worry about him. Just enough to wax poetically about his love for me, you, us, and this situation he claims to have fully embraced as a good thing rather than our plan to torture him."

"Do you think he'll remember all that once he sobers up?"

"I told him I was taking notes. I figured I'd want the evidence. Anyway, I was coming up here to see if you were awake and ready to get going. I want to go home. Our home. With no drunken or hungover Lee. He's not going to be pleasant when he wakes up again."

"Shower first, then breakfast, then home."

"Fine. I had toast with Lee, but I'm still hungry. I'll make us coffee and improvise some breakfast from the party leftovers while you shower."

Noah affects a disappointed look. "You aren't going to join me?"

"Your parents are home. Do you remember that conversation with your mom about how thick the bathroom walls aren't? Because I do, and I never want to have that conversation again."

"I'm offended you would think I was suggesting anything other than you smelling a little ripe and needing a shower."

"Liar. I showered last night. I smell great. And you have never, ever suggested a shower without ulterior motives."

"Fine. But in that case I might need another shower when we get home."

"At our place? Far, far away from your mom? Sure. Any other plans for the day, or just showering?"

"We should probably unpack my stuff. Which is likely to get us sweaty, so yeah, there might be more showering needed. And I might have something planned for tonight."

"Oh yeah? Another birthday surprise?"

"Something like that. You'll see."

He's got that sly grin of his, and I'm really enjoying this year's extended birthday celebrations. Maybe next year I'll demand three weekends' worth of birthday adventures.

We sit out on Noah's balcony with leftover desserts and our coffee, trading stories from the party, and it's about as great a way to start a day as any I can think of.

"So last night worked out? Combining the graduation and birthday parties wasn't too overwhelming?" Noah asks.

"No, it was perfect. Just enough of the old people crowd early on to keep our friends from going wild right away, and then a classic Lee party once the old people cleared out."

"The old people crowd?" Noah laughs.

"You know what I mean. Our parents' friends. God, if one more person looks at me fake-sympathetically while asking if I'm sure I've got five more weeks to go, I'm going to clock them. All that confirmation of how enormous I look just never gets old. But at least no one's joking about shotgun weddings anymore or fishing for details about our plans. I guess with my due date so close they've finally accepted that's not happening. So that's a relief."

Noah looks at me strangely. "Yeah, a real relief," he says finally. He drinks the last of his coffee and I can't tell if there's something more he wants to say or if he's just distracted. Eventually he gets up, extending a hand to help me up. "Come on, we should get going. We've got a lot of unpacking to do."

There's something off about his expression that I can't quite pinpoint, a change to his mood, and I wonder if it was my comment about shotgun weddings and everyone finally dropping the subject. We've carefully avoided that whole topic lately, and maybe I shouldn't have joked about it. But he knows what I mean. He knows why I'm relieved. I hope, at least.

Noah is already downstairs by the time I finish getting dressed, and as I'm gathering my things I notice his blazer from last night still lying discarded on top of his dresser. I grab it, and as I do I hear something fall to the floor. I crouch down to hunt for whatever it was, and that's when I see it. That's when everything falls into place. Noah's mystery plans for this evening. His reaction to my comments and the tension afterward. There, peeking out from under the desk, is a small box carrying the name of a San Francisco jeweler and I suddenly know exactly what's inside. Exactly what Noah's plans for this evening were. And I have absolutely no idea what to do next.