She would have sworn she was dreaming.
She remembered Robert placing that tiny, slick body on her chest. The tiny mouth working as breathy wails emerged, balled fists beating the air. And then her arms closed around him, and he fell quiet.
Her son.
Slate blue eyes blinked in groggy amazement, fingers closed around her pinky, pulled it towards his face. The nurse swiped the tiny head with a moist warm towel, and the auburn strands burst into unruly curl. Robert's face next to her cheek, breathing in wonder. "I love you." The tiny head craned at the sound of his father's voice, and they laughed through their tears. The nurse took her little boy from her arms, and they were filled with the broad shoulders of her best friend, her lover, her husband. She clung to him as his lips worked against her neck, her ear.
And then the bundle was back, yawning and squealing. The nurse's voice. "Seven pounds, two ounces, twenty one inches long. He's absolutely perfect." He squawked again, and Erin guided him to her breast. He latched on easily, and Robert tickled tiny feet.
Then the world began to swirl into deep vibrant color. Her head fell back on the pillow. Someone took the baby from her. And Robert's voice. "Nice work, Mom. Get some sleep."
And now she lay in the bed, feeling exhausted, achy, sore, and euphoric. Awake, but for the hauntingly beautiful sound in her ears. She opened her eyes...
And realized she wasn't dreaming at all.
The lamp a few feet from the rocker set his face in a rosy glow. Proud bare brow, eyes sparkling and aware, jaw softened in wonder -
Lips shaping the most beautiful song she'd ever heard.
Singing to his son.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw the gentle cradle he created with his elbow, the strong thumb circled by four tiny fingers. A tiny sigh from the blanket floated on the notes of the lullaby. Lips she would die for brushed the tiny forehead.
A sniffle betrayed her, breaking his reverie and drawing his focus to her face.
"Hey, gorgeous."
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
He smiled - not a smirk, not a grin - a genuine, beautiful smile. "Not at all. I think he's going to be looking for you soon anyway." He rose from the chair and crossed the room. Erin moved over on the mattress, accepted the baby so he could lower the guardrail, and he slipped into the bed next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she stroked the baby's cheek. He rooted his face to the side, and Erin gave him her finger to suckle. "He's beautiful," Robert breathed.
"He looks like his daddy."
"Oh, you flatterer." He kissed her temple.
"So what's his name?"
"I thought we agreed - "
Erin smiled. "Are you certain?"
He nodded, then leaned in to kiss the baby's cheek.
"Welcome to the world, Patrick Windsor Romano." Robert whispered softly. The baby squealed. "I think he likes it."
Erin snuggled against his chest, adjusted her gown to feed her son. Robert's arms wrapped tighter around her as the sound of Patrick's swallowing filled the room.
Outside, an autumn breeze rattled the windowpane, and the harvest moon shone down on the same old city, with one new story to tell.
***Channels Barry Manilow***
"Looks like we made it..."
Yes, dear reader, this is the end. They deserve some peace for a while, don't you think? Maybe one day I'll visit them again, and if I do, I promise to share what I see.
This first work of mine has been a true labor of love, and would not have endured if not for the help and inspiration of some wonderful friends:
Rocket Launcher - my sister in snark, my co-conspirator in Romano love - I'll never be able to thank you enough. I wasn't sure I'd make it, but you pulled me through like a true wandering wizard. Bud Light's on me, my friend.
PaulMcCrane Fan - for all the nights you telecommuted to keep me awake and inspired, I am forever in your debt. Burbank, August. We'll party, baby.
TrekGirl and Rain - what can I say? Noisy kisses and the Patented Romano- Ella Wave.and keep watching for pink shirts and purple ties.
To the handsome and talented Paul McCrane (yeah, like he's ever gonna see this - well, maybe you all would like to know what I have to say to him): they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Now, mine may border on obsession, but please believe this work was created with only the deepest respect in mind. Had TPTB given you a little more face time, I may not have been forced into such desperate corners of fantasy, so if I have offended - BLAME THEM! But please, for as long as there is snark to be uttered, continue to breathe your special form of life into a character who has worked his way into the heart and soul of so many of us. And remember: God is Love.
And for everyone else who read and reviewed - a deeply heartfelt thank you. It's nice to know there are so many out there who can see a prick is usually more than just a prick. And I appreciate you allowing me to thrust my interpretation upon you.
FIN
She remembered Robert placing that tiny, slick body on her chest. The tiny mouth working as breathy wails emerged, balled fists beating the air. And then her arms closed around him, and he fell quiet.
Her son.
Slate blue eyes blinked in groggy amazement, fingers closed around her pinky, pulled it towards his face. The nurse swiped the tiny head with a moist warm towel, and the auburn strands burst into unruly curl. Robert's face next to her cheek, breathing in wonder. "I love you." The tiny head craned at the sound of his father's voice, and they laughed through their tears. The nurse took her little boy from her arms, and they were filled with the broad shoulders of her best friend, her lover, her husband. She clung to him as his lips worked against her neck, her ear.
And then the bundle was back, yawning and squealing. The nurse's voice. "Seven pounds, two ounces, twenty one inches long. He's absolutely perfect." He squawked again, and Erin guided him to her breast. He latched on easily, and Robert tickled tiny feet.
Then the world began to swirl into deep vibrant color. Her head fell back on the pillow. Someone took the baby from her. And Robert's voice. "Nice work, Mom. Get some sleep."
And now she lay in the bed, feeling exhausted, achy, sore, and euphoric. Awake, but for the hauntingly beautiful sound in her ears. She opened her eyes...
And realized she wasn't dreaming at all.
The lamp a few feet from the rocker set his face in a rosy glow. Proud bare brow, eyes sparkling and aware, jaw softened in wonder -
Lips shaping the most beautiful song she'd ever heard.
Singing to his son.
Tears sprang to her eyes as she saw the gentle cradle he created with his elbow, the strong thumb circled by four tiny fingers. A tiny sigh from the blanket floated on the notes of the lullaby. Lips she would die for brushed the tiny forehead.
A sniffle betrayed her, breaking his reverie and drawing his focus to her face.
"Hey, gorgeous."
She swiped the tears from her cheeks. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
He smiled - not a smirk, not a grin - a genuine, beautiful smile. "Not at all. I think he's going to be looking for you soon anyway." He rose from the chair and crossed the room. Erin moved over on the mattress, accepted the baby so he could lower the guardrail, and he slipped into the bed next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as she stroked the baby's cheek. He rooted his face to the side, and Erin gave him her finger to suckle. "He's beautiful," Robert breathed.
"He looks like his daddy."
"Oh, you flatterer." He kissed her temple.
"So what's his name?"
"I thought we agreed - "
Erin smiled. "Are you certain?"
He nodded, then leaned in to kiss the baby's cheek.
"Welcome to the world, Patrick Windsor Romano." Robert whispered softly. The baby squealed. "I think he likes it."
Erin snuggled against his chest, adjusted her gown to feed her son. Robert's arms wrapped tighter around her as the sound of Patrick's swallowing filled the room.
Outside, an autumn breeze rattled the windowpane, and the harvest moon shone down on the same old city, with one new story to tell.
***Channels Barry Manilow***
"Looks like we made it..."
Yes, dear reader, this is the end. They deserve some peace for a while, don't you think? Maybe one day I'll visit them again, and if I do, I promise to share what I see.
This first work of mine has been a true labor of love, and would not have endured if not for the help and inspiration of some wonderful friends:
Rocket Launcher - my sister in snark, my co-conspirator in Romano love - I'll never be able to thank you enough. I wasn't sure I'd make it, but you pulled me through like a true wandering wizard. Bud Light's on me, my friend.
PaulMcCrane Fan - for all the nights you telecommuted to keep me awake and inspired, I am forever in your debt. Burbank, August. We'll party, baby.
TrekGirl and Rain - what can I say? Noisy kisses and the Patented Romano- Ella Wave.and keep watching for pink shirts and purple ties.
To the handsome and talented Paul McCrane (yeah, like he's ever gonna see this - well, maybe you all would like to know what I have to say to him): they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Now, mine may border on obsession, but please believe this work was created with only the deepest respect in mind. Had TPTB given you a little more face time, I may not have been forced into such desperate corners of fantasy, so if I have offended - BLAME THEM! But please, for as long as there is snark to be uttered, continue to breathe your special form of life into a character who has worked his way into the heart and soul of so many of us. And remember: God is Love.
And for everyone else who read and reviewed - a deeply heartfelt thank you. It's nice to know there are so many out there who can see a prick is usually more than just a prick. And I appreciate you allowing me to thrust my interpretation upon you.
FIN