Ch 19 – Working Girls (3)

'Name three factors that contributed to the fall of the Western Roman Empire and provide arguments to support your answer.'

The question echoed in Tony's mind all the way home. He knew more than three factors. He could rattle off a whole laundry list of them:

Wars, Barbarian invasions, reliance on slave labor, financial and economic crises, overexpansion, excessive spending on the military, the division of the empire into Eastern and Western Rome, corruption and political instability, the arrival of the Huns in Europe, the spread of Christianity, et cetera, et cetera.

But that was now, in the car.

An hour ago, in the classroom, he had choked. Kids half his age were madly scribbling away all around him while he sat there, chewing the end of his pen, staring at the empty piece of paper in front of him. The whole situation was straight out of a nightmare. (At least he had pants on.) A couple of times, Tony caught the TA looking over at him, and he had never felt more embarrassed in his life.

Digging his teeth into hard plastic, he thought back to how he had introduced himself on the first day of class: Tony Micelli from Brooklyn, former pro ballplayer for the Cardinals, with a bad shoulder and a not-so-little girl, now a housekeeper over in Fairfield, going to school to better himself.

Well, he was doing a mighty fine job of that, wasn't he? Flunking his very first final, and in his favorite subject on top of that.

Or at least he assumed that he would flunk it. In the end, he hadn't handed in a blank page, but what he did write he formulated in a panicked frenzy about ten minutes before time was up, and he had no recollection of what factors he might have named, or how he had argued his choice.

Tony felt pathetic. What had possessed him to assume he could to this? Or rather, who?

This answer was easy. Angela. Always Angela. Angela, who loved him and who put so much faith in him. Angela, who was three days late and who had looked so pale and tired this morning. Angela, who would ask about the exam tonight.

She was the last person on Earth he ever wanted to disappoint. Especially now. What was he supposed to tell her?

'Hey, listen, sweetheart. Turns out I can't do this college thing. Sorry about that. Looks like I'll be mooching off of you for the rest of our lives. Thank God you rake in all that money every month, huh? At least one of us.'

He remembered their picnic lunch on his first day of school. When Angela had delivered a huge, strangely helpful blow to his ego.

No, she would not hire him. At least not for a job at the Bower Agency. (Because obviously she had hired him once before, to clean her toilets and wash Jonathan's socks.)

Back then, her honesty had stung – but it had also spurred him on. He wanted to become the best possible version of himself. For her.

Right now, all he felt was defeat.

Everybody knew that Tony Micelli had the gift of gab. He could talk himself out of almost any situation. And his nerves had never once gotten the better of him out on the baseball field.

What if this was his weakness – what if he had just found out he wasn't a test taker? What if blackouts like this kept happening to him? He could probably forget about graduating within a reasonable timeframe, and with grades good enough to launch him into an acceptable career.

Oh, what kind of career, anyway. He still had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. Aside from spending it with Angela. That he knew. But that wasn't enough! Maybe for her – she had said as much. But not for him. He needed to be Angela's partner, not her dependent.

Waiting at a traffic light, Tony stared glumly out into the rainy darkness. Following a sudden impulse, he slapped the steering wheel, hard, and it felt good.

"Fuck!"

ooooooooo

By the time Tony made it home, he had managed to talk (more like curse) himself off the proverbial ledge and into keeping it together for now. For Angela's sake.

He had three more finals coming up and would simply try to do his best. Speech was tomorrow, Statistics on Wednesday, and French on Friday. History was actually his strongest subject because it interested him the most. Speech was alright, but Statistics and French would be tough nuts to crack. Then again, during his baseball days, suicide squeezes had been his specialty. Nothing to lose, everything to gain.

After going over his Speech notes for about an hour, Tony got started on dinner. When he left the house, everything was prepared. The casserole could go into the oven as soon as they came home, and dinner would be on the table by eight-thirty.

On his way to the station, Tony went by Todd's house and picked up Jonathan. Together they sat in the parked car, waiting for the rest of the family.

"So, how was your test today?" Jonathan asked, leaning forward between the front seats.

"Ah, you know," Tony hedged, not wanting to lie, but also hesitant to discuss the details of his academic performance anxiety with a precocious eleven-year-old. "I was a little nervous. At first, I forgot some stuff that I know I know. And I kind of had to rush in the end."

Jonathan nodded. "It helps if you put your textbook under your pillow at night."

"It does?"

"Yup. Look at me. I do it every time and I got so skip a grade."

"True. Thanks for the tip, buddy."

"Any time." Jonathan patted Tony's shoulder before flopping back into his seat.

"Hey, Jonathan?" he asked after a while. "We haven't really talked about this because things have been so busy. And I know you didn't have the greatest Thanksgiving weekend. But … I wanted to say congratulations. I think it's kind of neat that you're going to be a big brother. I mean, I don't have any siblings, and neither does your mom. Or Sam. And here you are, getting a brother or sister out in California. That's pretty special, if you ask me."

He was going out on a limb by talking to Jonathan about this, but from looking at Angela these past few days, he was increasingly sure of the kind of news they would get by the end of the week. It seemed smart to test the waters a little.

Jonathan huffed. "I don't know. My Dad says Heather thinks the baby is a girl."

"How about you? Would you rather have a brother or a sister?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I don't care. I mean, the baby is far away, right? And Dad and Heather are going to take it with them to the jungle when they work."

"But you're going to visit."

"Maybe. When it's older and doesn't scream all the time."

Before Tony could say anything else, the car doors opened, and Angela and Sam climbed in.

"Hey! My working girls! What'd you do to Mona?"

"Hi, Dad. What do you think? She's out on a date."

"Hi, darling."

Tony's heart jumped. Darling? In front of the kids? But then he realized that Angela had spoken to Jonathan.

"Hey, Mom."

"Did you have a good time?" Tony asked as he put the car into gear and they set off towards home.

"I learned a lot," Sam said, sounding a little less enthusiastic than he had hoped.

"We had a couple of surprises to deal with," Angela added, failing to hide the strain in her voice.

"Oh yeah?"

"Did Sam make a lot of mistakes?" Jonathan asked.

"No, she did not," Angela said firmly. "Jack is out sick, and we had to improvise a little."

"You little twerp," Sam retorted, and Tony heard her slap Jonathan's parka.

"Ow!"

"Hey! No fighting." Tony glared in the rearview mirror.

Sam quickly changed the subject. "How was your final, Dad?"

"It was alright," he said after a moment's hesitation and immediately felt Angela's gaze on him.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one listening for undertones these days.

ooooooooo

All during dinner, Sam and Jonathan kept squabbling. Over the din of their relentless back and forth, Tony thought of Mona's little speech that morning. Maybe she was right, maybe the secrets that he and Angela were keeping did have a negative effect on the kids.

As for Angela herself – Tony had a hard time keeping his eyes off her. But not for the usual reasons. She admonished the kids a couple of times, but soon gave up. Her face looked drawn, and she was pushing food around her plate instead of eating it. As soon as dinner was over, she excused herself to her study.

When he had finished cleaning up the kitchen, Tony didn't waste any time and – after making sure both kids were upstairs – knocked on her door.

"Come in."

"Hey," he slipped into the room with a quick, practiced move, expecting to find Angela behind her desk. But her chair was empty.

He turned around and there she was, sitting cross-legged on the little sofa, an open book in her lap. "What are you reading?"

Her fingers were fiddling with the book jacket, and he recognized what it was. The Family Health Book.

"Are you sick?"

"I-" Angela started, but nothing else came out. She looked off to the side, her chest heaving with unsteady breaths. Then she gestured with one of her hands, her chin started to tremble, and suddenly she was crying.

"Hey, hey," Tony rushed to her side, alarmed. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She shrugged helplessly and took off her glasses. In his head, Tony ran through a list of possibilities.

"Did you get your period?" he asked carefully.

"No," she choked out.

"Are you sick?" he asked again, looking at the book.

Angela sniffed. "No."

"Then what is it? You're starting to scare me here, Ange." He scooted closer to her on the sofa and picked the book up off her lap. Turning it over, he saw what she must have been reading when he came in.

Mumps

"What's this about?"

She cleared her throat noisily and ran a hand over her face, smudging the mascara on her right eye. "Jack has mumps."

"And that's got you so upset?" Tony reached out and stroked her cheek. If an employee's childhood illness brought her to tears, she was definitely pregnant.

But Angela shook her head. "You don't understand. He came to the office."

"Even though he's sick?"

"He thought he could tough it out."

"I still don't get it," he said, confused.

"Tony, mumps is highly contagious. And I don't know if I had it as a child. If I didn't, and I'm- if I'm pregnant, and I get it …" She looked at him, teary-eyed, and finally he understood. It was like a kick to the stomach.

"If you are, and if you get it … it could be dangerous for the baby?"

Angela blinked, and more tears spilled onto her cheeks. "I don't remember from when I had Jonathan. Maybe I'm wrong, and it's measles or chickenpox that are bad. I don't know."

"Have you been thinking about this all day? At work?"

She nodded. "I lashed out at Sam over some little thing."

"I'm sure she'll get over it," Tony said and gently tucked a strand of hair behind Angela's ear. "I'm more worried about you right now. What do you say we find out what's going on?" He gave a little tug on the front of her sweater. "And then we take it from there?"

Angela sat up straighter and blew out a shaky breath. "I already bought two tests. But it says to take them in the morning."

"Okay. So, tomorrow. That's not that long." Tony wiped a tear off her cheek with his thumb and felt her leaning into his hand.

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess. We haven't even talked about your final."

"Hey, you're not. And that's not important right now." In fact, he was almost glad the topic would take a backseat for the moment. "Come here," he said, and pulled her onto his lap.

With a sigh, Angela wrapped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

Running his hands up and down her back in soothing motions, he spoke softly into her ear, "You know I love you, right? And whatever happens, I'm here."

"I know."

"Good."

He continued to stroke her back, and little by little, she began to relax into him.

ooooooooo

It felt more wrong than ever to say good night in the study and then head upstairs to bed separately. As usual, Tony went first, and Angela followed a couple of minutes later.

But instead of trying to go to sleep, he sat on the edge of his bed, waiting to hear her footsteps on the stairs. After the door to her bedroom opened and closed again, Tony held out a while longer, then he got up and stuck his head outside.

The doors to the kids' rooms were closed and the house was completely silent. He tiptoed across the hallway, avoiding the spots on the carpet that he knew had creaky floorboards underneath.

Quietly, he rapped on Angela's door. Nothing. He tried again. Finally, he heard movement.

"What is it?" Angela whispered as she opened the door, already in her nightgown.

Tony inclined his head, asking to come in. She stepped aside and let him pass, then closed the door.

"I'm not gonna let you sleep alone tonight," he said in a low voice. "I don't care if one of the kids finds us or if Mona flies by the window on a broomstick and sees me in your bed."

Angela bit back a small smile at this last part, and he smiled back. "Angela, I just wanna be with you. I think we've been going at this all wrong, keeping secrets. I'm really sorry this has been so stressful for you."

Wordlessly, she closed the distance between them and kissed him on the lips. Then she led him to the bed. "Let's just go to sleep, okay?"

At first, neither of them could. They lay awake in silence, big spoon and little spoon, a perfect fit. But there was nothing sexual about it tonight, even when Tony's hand began to wander. Featherlight touches, along her ribcage, the dip of her waist, her hip and thigh, over and over again. He just wanted to be there for her in any way he could.

Before sleep finally came, Angela took his hand and drew it to the front of her body, then down to her abdomen. Their joined hands rested there, an implicit understanding.

ooooooooo

Early the next morning, four dark-blue lines on two different tests confirmed what they both already knew.