~~~**~~~

Chapter 18: Heartbeats in a Thunderstorm

March 11th

6:41 PM

The Loft

"I. . .am not. . .believing this," Roger murmured, his voice tinged with awe as he and Mimi walked into the loft.

"See? Even you have to admit it's exciting."

"I didn't say it wasn't!" Roger protested.

"Sure you didn't." she muttered, "I'm gonna go lie down."

She turned and stalked off to their bedroom, leaving Roger staring after her in confusion.

"O. . .kay. . ." he muttered.

"Having fun yet, Dad?" Mark asked from behind him, making Roger jump. "How was the checkup?"

Roger resumed grinning like an idiot.

"Amazing."

"Really?"

"Yeah." Roger leaned in closer to Mark, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "We heard the baby's heartbeat."

"Yeah, I kind of thought you might get to."

Roger gave Mark a funny look.

"How'd you get to be the expert on pregnancy all of a sudden?"

Mark grinned sheepishly and showed Roger the book he was holding.

"This."

"Pregnancy for Dummies," Roger read aloud, smirking, "Dork."

"Hey! If I have to put up with you two fighting about this all the time, I want to at least be well informed."

Roger shrugged and began rooting through the kitchen for something to eat. He finally found a box of chocolate chip cookies and began wolfing them down.

Mark gave him a look of utter disgust.

"Do you even know how old those are?"

Roger gave the box a once-over, then shrugged again.

"Tastes okay."

Mark grimaced.

"Just don't blame me when you get sick. So does this mean that you and Mimi are on speaking terms again?"

Roger sighed.

"I don't know what kind of terms we're on. I mean, I know mood swings are normal but really. . ."

Mark nodded silently. Roger and Mimi had been alternately fighting and then reconciling on and off for the past week and a half. No one had said anything more about the incident with the needle, but it certainly hadn't been forgotten by either one of them. It seemed that everyone was having second and third thoughts about the baby.

Roger polished off his box of cookies and tossed the remaining cardboard into the trash.

"I guess I'd better go make sure she's okay."

"Good idea." Mark answered, a little too quickly.

Roger turned back to him, grinning suspiciously.

"Hey, Mark, do I sense that you're trying to get rid of me?"

Mark blushed.

"Maybe."

"Hot date, or what?"

"Maybe."

Roger coughed.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

Roger grinned.

"Okay. I'll get out of your way."

Roger turned and went into the bedroom where he found Mimi sitting on the floor with her back to him, piles of cash spread out around her.

"Mimi?" he asked cautiously, coming up behind her and putting his hands on her shoulders. He realized suddenly that she was crying. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She turned around and threw her arms around his neck in a suffocating hug.

"I can't do this, Rog."

"What?"

"Have this baby! I can't do it, Rog. Where am I going to get the money from? And how the hell am I supposed to raise a child? I mean, God, I can't even take care of myself!"

"Mimi. . ." Roger was at a complete loss for words. "What are you saying? A minute ago you were all excited. . ."

"I don't give a damn what I was a minute ago!" she sobbed, pushing him away roughly, "You don't understand anything!"

"You're right," Roger snapped, "I don't understand. You insist on having this baby, you're perfectly happy one minute, and then the next you're miserable. What do you want me to say?"

"A little sympathy would be nice!" she shouted at him. "It's all about you!"

"Mimi, it's not. I just—how can I know what you want me to say when you're changing your mind every few seconds?"

"I don't know!" she yelled, starting to cry again.

Roger got up and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face against his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Shhh," Roger whispered, rubbing her back, "It'll be okay. We'll get through this somehow."

~~~**~~~

Mark nearly hit the ceiling he jumped so hard when the knock finally came. Aimee was more than twenty minutes late, and he'd been starting to worry that she'd stood him up. He rushed to open the door, hitting himself in the foot with it in the process.

"Ouch!" he yelped, grinning sheepishly. Aimee shook her head, trying not to laugh at him. She was dressed in khaki jeans and a blue shirt and drenched from head to toe.

"You're wet," Mark commented.

Aimee nodded.

"It's raining. Well, pouring, actually."

"It is?" Mark looked out the window for a minute, then jumped back. "It is! Come in."

Mark closed the door behind her, then resumed pacing nervously.

"So . . .what do you want to do? I'll take you to dinner, or we could get take-out, or stay in but I have to warn you that Roger and Mimi aren't exactly on the best of terms right now so-"

"Mark."

"What?"

"Shut up. You're talking a mile a minute. Staying in is fine with me, especially seeing as how it's raining buckets outside. If you want to invite Roger and Mimi to join us, it's fine."

Mark shook his head.

"Nah. That's fine. They're probably both. . .busy anyway." Mark blushed slightly.

Aimee nodded.

"Okay."

"So um. . .yeah. . .are you hungry?"

She shook her head.

"Not really. Are you?"

"No. Umm. . ."

"Mark?"

"Yeah?"

"How about you show me some of your film?"

Mark smiled enthusiastically, glad to have something to do.

"Okay!"

Mark's words were punctuated by a crash of thunder as he hurried to get his camera hooked up. He jumped slightly.

"I hate thunderstorms." He muttered, "I always feel like the roof of this shithole is going to fall in on my head."

Aimee laughed.

"Yeah, I can see why you would think that. How long have you lived here, anyway?"

Mark shrugged.

"Five years. Roger and I both agreed we had to get away from home. Our parents were. . .the definition of overprotective."

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Mark showed her film of Maureen's protest, of everyone getting drunk at The Life the night they'd met, and finally the footage he'd gotten of her and the hotdog vendor the day they'd met.

"I can see why people don't want to buy this," she said after a minute.

"What?" Mark asked, hurt.

"Not like that!" Aimee added quickly, "It's just. . .everything in film these days is so. . .fake. And you've captured what's real in the world. People would rather live in a world of dreams they can never have than except the reality they're living. I guess I'm really no better. . ."

There was another loud crack of thunder, and the loft was plunged into darkness.

"Shit!" Mark yelped, "It does that all the time. Yet another reason why I hate storms."

Aimee came up beside him and wrapped her arm around his waist in the dark.

"You know what I always used to do in thunderstorms when I was little?"

"What?"

"I'd go hide under the covers in bed and pretend I was somewhere else." She leaned up and kissed him.

Mark grinned down at her in the dark.

"Think we should try it?"

"I think so."

Mark leaned down and scooped her up, running toward his room with her and laughing all the way. He dumped her on the bed, both of them still giggling like teenagers.

"Room service," Mark laughed.

"What?"

"You know, room service. The service that takes you to your room."

"Mark Cohen, you are such a dork. But I love you for it. . ."

Mark fell silent, fighting tears. He was glad it was too dark for her to see. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of her. She kissed him again and he gave in finally, losing himself in his own emotions.

~~~**~~~

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