AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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"See? This is the one I want," Andrea said.
Carol laughed to herself. It was nice to see things, sometimes, through other people's eyes—especially when that person seemed less jaded by the world than Carol sometimes felt that she'd become.
Andrea was a first-time expectant mother. It was something she'd imagined being, as she told it, someday and when the right man came along and it was the right time, since she'd been a young girl. Maybe she'd never imagined that the right man would be Merle Dixon or that the right time would be when they were trying to build a life in a world that had practically shattered and, arguably, was quite literally in a cycle of decay, but life held surprises.
She was enjoying every second of her surprise. She'd told Carol as much while Carol had helped her with some light work at the greenhouses and then, when they left the job to the others, when they were walking toward the storage cabin. Andrea was trying to get Carol to share, so she was sharing as a way of pressing her.
Andrea ran her hand down the side of the crib that was made of a rich, dark-colored wood.
"It's beautiful," Carol offered.
"I mean—if you really wanted it," Andrea said, "technically…I mean it's more urgent for you and we could find some other things…"
"I don't want it," Carol offered quickly. She saw the flash of relief on Andrea's features. She would have given her the crib if it had been Carol's choice of the few that were stored there in the hope that they would have new additions to their community, but she really wanted it for her own nursery. Carol looked around at the others. "Any crib would do for me," she admitted. "I don't even think…I'm not sure I've completely accepted that…well…that it's real. That the baby's real. That she's real. When we were at the motel and Daryl was kind of…kind of pushing me to start gathering the necessary things? We found a pack and play in the back of a vehicle and I thought that would be enough. If it was too cumbersome to move, a box would have done just as well."
"She's real, though," Andrea said. She was practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. She was entirely different than the woman she'd been after Amy had died. She reminded Carol more of the person that she'd first met at the rock quarry—the woman who had some hope for the future and even some hope that things simply weren't as bad as they had seemed in the beginning. "Alice confirmed it. And I still want to go by your house and see your picture. You know it's real. Not that I really think you could have doubted it too much at this point. I mean—it's kind of obvious."
Carol laughed to herself. She brushed her hand over her belly. The baby in question was real, no matter how much Carol had tried to ignore her during the months. She could feel her movements even now as she protested, more than likely, a lull in activity after Carol had been rocking her with her earlier activity.
"She's real," Carol said.
"I'm happy for you. That you get to start again," Andrea said. "I mean I know that she'd never replace Sophia, and that's not what I mean…"
"She could never replace my Sophia," Carol said. "And I wouldn't want her to. Sophia was Sophia. She was my baby. My first baby and…nobody could ever replace her. But—this baby will be her own person."
"I just mean—I'm glad you get a second chance," Andrea said.
"Me too," Carol admitted. "Even if I didn't realize that it would make me happy." She gestured toward the crib. "Why don't you take it home? Get someone to move it?"
Andrea shrugged her shoulders slightly.
"Alice is all about—if it makes you happy, do it. If you enjoy it, just enjoy it. You know the whole idea of drink deep the marrow of life or whatever."
"Not a bad philosophy," Carol said.
"The other doctors are a bit more cautious," Andrea said. "They remind me that this baby is barely big enough to count. There's no need in getting ahead of myself."
"But Alice doesn't agree?"
"She's cautious," Andrea said. "She'll be the very first to tell you that—doctors are only human, and there are no promises, and the world is cruel. But people leave on runs nearly every day, and sometimes they don't come back. We have assholes that show up and they want to demand things go their way and, when they don't, they want to do things that sometimes cost our people their lives. Death has always been a part of life, but now? It just seems like it's more front and center. If the happiness is there to be had…enjoy it. For tomorrow we die."
The sentiment struck something deep within Carol. It was a philosophy she believed, but she knew she wasn't good at actually living it.
"Tell Merle you want the crib," Carol said. "That one. Tell him you want it now. Fix your nursery. Enjoy—enjoy it. All of it. Enjoy looking at the little clothes and blankets. Enjoy talking about names with Merle and…and imagining if it'll be a boy or a girl. It doesn't matter how big your baby is—ever. Believe me. Your baby is your baby. Even now. Enjoy it if you want to."
Andrea smiled to herself.
"Jellybean," Andrea said. "That's Merle's pet name for the baby right now. He's…I would have never thought he'd be so…I don't even have the word for it. But he makes me sure that if I'd waited my whole life and even if I were back in the world before all of this? I would have never found anyone I was more certain that I wanted to have a baby with."
Carol swallowed against a tightness in her throat. It came from talking about Sophia, and from thinking about how much she missed Sophia, but it only increased when she saw how genuinely happy Andrea was. Merle had breathed new life into Andrea and, perhaps, she had done the same for him. They credited his change to having a purpose and being without drugs, but maybe he'd simply found something better to which he could become addicted.
"Even if something happens to the baby," Carol said, "that doesn't mean that it wasn't your baby and it doesn't matter. It also doesn't mean that you'll never have a baby."
"Second chances," Andrea said, her voice not giving away entirely if she meant it as a statement or a question.
"Second chances," Carol confirmed.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Andrea asked. "And if you don't want to answer…"
"Go ahead," Carol said.
"Merle said that Daryl didn't know that you were pregnant until recently," Andrea said.
"I hid it," Carol said. "I didn't want anyone to worry. I didn't want Daryl to worry, and I knew that he would."
As soon as she said it, Carol realized it was really the truth. She hadn't wanted Daryl to worry, and he would have worried. That was the kind of man that he was. He would have wanted to take care of her, especially after Sophia's death, and that would have just caused him stress out on the road.
"But he never just…noticed?" Andrea asked.
Carol knew immediately what Andrea was asking.
"You remember what it was like," Carol said. "There was never any privacy. To be honest, it wasn't like he had very much opportunity to notice."
Andrea looked very satisfied with the answer. At least the answer told her that Carol and Daryl weren't really intimate very often because of their circumstances—as she imagined those circumstances to be—and excused Daryl from being entirely oblivious to Carol.
"After Ed, I'm so glad you found Daryl," Andrea said.
"Me too," Carol said.
She was being honest. She was being entirely and completely honest. She was so happy to have found Daryl. She was happy to have him in her world, even if he wasn't really her husband. He renewed some hope in men that she'd started to lose entirely.
Just thinking of Daryl in any context could automatically make her chest tighten.
"I guess he's…probably at least a little like Merle," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. She was still absent-mindedly running her fingers over the bars of the crib that she coveted for her future nursery. "Merle says Daryl is the sweet one. Maybe he doesn't show it very often, but Merle has such a sweet side that…I'm having a hard time imagining that anyone could be sweeter. Daryl must really be something."
Carol swallowed.
She thought about Daryl. She thought about every interaction they'd had since she'd met him. She thought about snatched conversations around the rock quarry when her husband wasn't around or Daryl was bringing something that he wanted her to cook. Usually he would only ever say one thing, either for risk of being overheard and making life harder for her or because he didn't know what to say.
"You alright?"
Carol had been trained to always answer in the affirmative. If anyone wanted to know how she was, she had to tell them she was fine. Any other response might have resulted in some sort of punishment for Ed, and that would have just come back on Carol when Ed next got his hands on her. Still, it was always nice to simply hear Daryl ask it. He asked it with genuine concern. Just the question—even though she knew that there was nothing that she could trust him to do about Ed that wouldn't just cause more trouble—made her feel a little less alone in the world. She remembered the way he looked at her the day she put a pickaxe through Ed's brain. She remembered the way that he remained optimistic and confident about finding Sophia just so she could benefit from his security. She remembered when he risked his life to bring her a sign that her daughter was still alive, and how he brought her flowers, told her stories, and showed her flowers growing wild just to encourage her. She remembered how he was there when she was sure that everyone else was gone and their hope of a future was going up in flames.
She remembered how he'd reacted when he discovered she was pregnant. She could still see the concern in his eyes as he offered her the skinned raccoon, and she remembered the true rage that had burned there when he'd drawn a knife on Rick to stop him from reaching for the food.
"Daryl is—everything," Carol said. She laughed to herself. She felt her face burn warm at the admission of her feelings. Andrea would hear them only as a declaration of the love that a woman had for her husband. Carol felt the warm tears that slipped out of her eyes. Tears, today, seemed closer to the surface than they had in a very long time. Nearly anything seemed capable of drawing them out of Carol and she felt helpless to try and stop them. She could only hope that the pleased expression on Andrea's face meant that she wouldn't judge her for her incapacity to hold back the tears which seemed to have gained a mind of their own. "He's sweet and…and…"
"Romantic?" Andrea offered.
Carol couldn't admit that Daryl, perhaps, had never been really romantic toward her because of the true nature of their relationship. He had done things, however, that she would have considered romantic if only he'd meant them that way. She might even have considered nearly everything he'd done to be romantic if he'd wanted her to see him in such a light.
Her mind, immediately, reminded her of the taste of the French toast. She almost ached for the craving that suddenly surged up inside her. She would have sat and let him feed her food until she'd burst or he'd been satisfied at what she ate—whichever might come first—simply to have him continue to treat her with such kindness.
"He can be very romantic," Carol confirmed. "Kind. Gentle."
"Merle can be those things," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. "But—he can be quite a few other things, too. There's still a lot of—something—assholeness? Passion, maybe? Even anger, but I don't mind it when it comes out at the right moments and in the right places."
Carol's stomach twisted. She understood Andrea's meaning by the smirk that crossed her lips. She understood by the wagging of her eyebrows.
"Daryl has a lot of that," Carol said. "At least—when he needs it."
"At least I can say that I don't miss my vibrator with a Dixon in my bed," Andrea said with a laugh. "You know?"
Carol felt like she couldn't lie entirely.
"There was never much privacy," she offered.
Andrea laughed to herself.
"Well, there's plenty of privacy now," Andrea said.
Carol only wished that the privacy really mattered. The only thing she needed privacy for now was the quiet time spent resting without fear of an angry husband interrupting her or a Walker trying to eat her face. Daryl spent that private time with her, but not in the way that Andrea imagined.
Not in the way that Carol wished.
"I think we could move that crib for you," Carol offered, drawing Andrea's attention back to something besides her fictional relationship with Daryl. "Nobody would have to know. It could be our little secret until you're farther along and feel like you can share it."
"I think it's heavy. I think we'd definitely get noticed trying to carry it across the community. And that would get us both in trouble," Andrea said. "Still, I might ask someone to move it. I really do want this one. It couldn't hurt to have something to look at in the empty room, even if…nothing ever comes from it."
The sadness in the end of Andrea's comment struck Carol. It was a reminder that, for all the happiness she was showing the world, Andrea had lost everyone before. She'd known as much loss as she possibly could. And she still feared loss.
And Carol understood, in ways she probably shouldn't, what Andrea was saying. It was nice to have something you enjoyed to admire, even if it never really served you the way that you wanted.
Still, Andrea had a great deal more hope for her situation than Carol did when it came to having dreams come to fruition.
Carol walked over and put her hand on Andrea's shoulder. The woman covered Carol's hand with her own.
"You'll need it," Carol assured Andrea.
Andrea turned and looked at her. Almost like magic, the sadness was gone as though it had never been there. A smile took its place and Carol realized that Andrea—though she'd never known it before—was something of an actress. Maybe that was her secret. The sadness and the worry weren't entirely gone; she was just good at keeping it hidden.
"You'll need one sooner," Andrea said. "Come on—let's find you one that you like, and then we can pick out all the other things you'll need to go with it."