Title: Pause!
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Only in my dreams
Spoilers: All of season 10.
Summary: A "first" date, Carby-style
Author's Note: Thank you for all of the lovely reviews! I hope you like this chapter too.
Chapter Two
"Funny kind of day," Mrs. Monagan called as Abby approached, nodding. "Wake up to thunder and now we'll spend the afternoon beneath blue skies."
"Hopefully," Abby joked. She almost brushed past the woman who sat on the steps, but decided she had nothing better to do than converse with her neighbor. After all, seven 'o'clock was hours away.
"That's Chicago for you." The woman patted the step next to her and Abby sat down. A few moments of silence passed before Mrs. Monagan spoke again.
"I'd spend all my time on these steps if I could."
Abby nodded, concentrating on a man marching down the opposite side of the street. You could always tell someone was crazy if he walked as if stepping over hurdles.
"Enjoying the weather, watching the cars," Mrs. Monagan continued, looking at the same man Abby had. "Watching the people."
The women shared a glance and laughed.
"Especially the people," Abby said.
After several more minutes of amicable observation, Mrs. Monagan turned to Abby.
"Maury and I are having a barbeque this evening, if you'd like to join us."
"Actually, I'm busy this evening," Abby told her apologetically.
"Oh! I forget how doctors have such odd hours. And seeing as how you're home so early, you must be—"
"I'm having dinner with someone."
Mrs. Monagan's eyes brightened. "Like a date?" Abby smiled. "Well, good for you. Anyone I'd know?"
Recalling the way Carter had brought the Monagans their newspaper in the mornings when he returned from a nightshift, Abby smiled again, wider.
"Well run upstairs and get ready!" Mrs. Monagan exclaimed. Abby stood and gathered her coat and purse. She turned to leave, feeling strange about the open display of excitement she'd just revealed.
"I hope the barbeque goes well."
"Good luck!" Mrs. Monagan called after her, and Abby unlatched the door chuckling.
Inside her apartment, Abby was not sure what she should be doing. Pacing blankly, she wandered about the entryway ruffling through magazines and glancing at her empty message machine. Bored, she decided she may as well do something useful, so she pulled up her sleeves to scrub a small stack of dirty dishes.
Too soon, the kitchen was spotless and, with a smack, her foot knocked the dishwasher shut. She fluffed the couch's pillows, and dusted the coffee table with the edge of her hand. Moving to the bedroom, she changed the sheets and was struggling to retrieve the vacuum from her too-small closet when she realized how sick of cleaning she had become. What she really wanted to do was eat, but, no, she decided. She should save room for dinner.
After restlessly flipping through various television and radio stations and munching her way through a handful of peanuts, Abby finally allowed herself to begin her preparations for the evening.
In the shower, she scrubbed and shaved and shampooed in record time, and then she repeated the whole process to slow herself down. She thought of her college years when she'd get ready for dates pretending to be in a movie, making sure she had a strategically placed towel around her at all times. Now, she couldn't find a towel, and as she dripped into the linen closet searching, she thought she was old enough to be in a more mature movie anyway. Towels were for young hot babes; meatier roles required nudity.
Luckily, after forty-five minutes of several shirt, skirt and shoe combinations, hair-dos and makeup trials, Abby's excitement overrode her exhaustion. Perching on a kitchen chair partially engrossed in a magazine, she waited. Finally, a knock reverberated about the apartment, and she rose, surprised to see one hand trembling.
She opened the door to a fistful of flowers, and behind them, the man she'd awaited.
"Hi."
Blushing a bit, she took the flowers. She wanted to remark on the tastefully small size of the bouquet, but she feared he'd take it as an insult.
"I'll just get a vase for these, come on in." Even Abby was surprised at the normal tone of her voice. In a moment, she halted his loitering about the entryway and joined him.
"Thanks for the flowers."
He put a hand on her lower back, guiding her out of the apartment. "Ready?"
She nodded, "You look nice," and hoped the words didn't come out sounding shocked.
He laughed, "I don't always?" then added a moment later, "You're stunning."
She tugged at her skirt, straightening.
"Glad you noticed."
In the car they talked too much and too fast, too eager to keep awkward silences at bay.
"There was a boy on the El today who was deaf. He was signing to his mom. And she was yelling at him, as if he could hear!"
"Maybe she needed to let her anger out?"
"Maybe she forgot he couldn't hear her."
Another time she said, "I've been meaning to tell you. On Oprah today—" and then she bit her tongue, mortified. Carter had laughed, and later, as they walked down the sidewalk towards the restaurant, he sunk to her level.
"You know what was a great movie?"
"Pulp Fiction?"
"That too. I was going to say New York Minute."
"Which one was that?"
"You know, with Mary-Kate and Ashley."
She almost crumpled into a laughing heap right there, but he held open the door to the restaurant and, guffawing, she walked inside.
When they were seated, he struggled out of his coat.
"I hope you like Indian."
"Are you kidding?"
"Yeah," he grinned. "All those times you forced paneer down my throat. How could I forget?"
She shifted in her chair, pleased he'd remembered.
The awkwardness had begun to disperse by the middle of the meal, and by the time the dessert menu arrived, both were more or less at ease.
"I don't think Susan meant you'd be the permanent babysitter," Abby laughed, reading through the list of various sweet dishes.
"She looked me head-on and said, 'We'll only need you till he's eleven or so.'"
She glanced up into his grin. "Tell her no way." He chuckled. "Besides, you're no fabulous, irreplaceable babysitter, are you?"
"One of a kind, thank you very much," he said, "But I think I will tell her no thanks."
The waiter returned, looking expectant, and both ordered so as not to disappoint him.
"Carter," she said later, stabbing her fork into the delicacy before her, "Don't you think we should talk about—"
"Check, please," he called to a passing waiter, putting up a hand to pause Abby. The hand dropped to the table and he asked, "What were you saying?"
"Nothing," she looked down at the last few crumbs on her plate and, too tempted, picked one up with a finger. He chuckled.
"I saw that."
"Wouldn't want anything to go to waste, right?"
The waiter came back and Carter completed his transaction.
"You ready?" he asked, rising, and helping her do the same.
"Yeah, thanks," she stood. "And thanks for dinner."
"My pleasure."
Tired, they drifted into a pleasant silence for the car ride back to her apartment. Abby mentally re-lived the evening, and, by the little smile Carter wore, she thought he did the same. At least, she hoped he was thinking about tonight, and not some twisted Olsen twin fantasy.
More quickly than either realized, Carter had pulled up to her building. She thought to invite him in, but decided against it. As she stepped out of the Jeep, suddenly uncomfortable, his hand brushed her arm. Continuing to slide out of the car, she did not acknowledge her reaction, hoping he hadn't noticed her shiver. Entranced, both jumped when Abby shut the car door. Leaning to the open window, she said, "That went well."
"Yeah." He cleared his throat, "Yeah it did."
Turning, she walked up the steps, and he watched her go through the main door before driving away.
Inside, Mrs. Monagan's head poked out of her apartment.
"Abby! How was it?"
Abby beamed. "Goodnight Mrs. Monagan."