Part Eight

Sydney and Michael call his mother that night to tell her the news, and needless to say, she is ecstatic. She speaks to Michael first, then asks to speak to Sydney. Emily has already been put to bed but comes in to say she needs a glass of water, so Michael tends to her while Sydney speaks to her mother-in-law.

"Sydney, dear," Marguerite says. "You're a saint to bring four babies into this world."

"I don't feel like a saint, Marguerite," Sydney confesses, leaning against the refrigerator with a sigh. "I completely freaked when I found out."

"Well, that's understandable, darling," Marguerite says sympathetically. "Grace will just be old enough when he or she comes to be a real handful, and Emily will still be at home as well."

"I know," Sydney sighs, twirling a few strands of hair around her index finger. "I don't know if I'll be able to do it."

"Of course you will, darling," Marguerite says firmly. "Because you have to, and because you'll want to, because you'll love that baby so much you won't be able to imagine your family without him or her."

"I know," Sydney says again, but she knows her voice lacks conviction. "I just hate that we didn't plan it."

"Listen to me, Sydney," Marguerite says, her voice growing firmer as she speaks. "A baby coming into this world is a wonderful thing, no matter how or when it gets here. And this baby is especially lucky, because it has parents who love it and love each other and have the means to give it everything it wants or needs."

Sydney feels tears spring to her eyes. She'd known that, of course. She'd just needed to hear it. "You always know the right thing to say, Marguerite."

Marguerite laughs gaily. "Well, that's my job, dear. I'll let you go now, sweetheart. Make sure my son is good to you, hmm?"

Sydney returns her laugh. "I have a feeling he's going to pamper me until he drives me crazy."

"Let him," Marguerite advises. "Have a good evening, Sydney. I'll see you soon."

"Bye, Marguerite."

She hangs up the phone and heads upstairs. Michael has taken care of Emily and is in the bathroom, washing his face in preparation for bed. She walks up behind him and wraps her arms around his waist, kissing his shoulder through his undershirt. "You have an amazing mother," she tells him. "And she raised an amazing son."

Michael smiles, turning so he is facing her. "Thanks, Syd," he says, slipping his arms around her. "You're pretty amazing, too."

"No thanks to--" she stops short, shaking her head. "Maybe I'm too hard on my father. I know he's not a bad guy, he just sort of lost it when Mom died. I'm sure it must be--" her voice breaks. "You know, awful. To lose someone you love."

He wraps his arms tighter around her, and she can't help but think of her nightmares, the ones where she and Michael aren't together. Most recently, she dreamt that she'd been missing for almost two years, and that he'd married another in her absence. She remembers feeling awful, alone, lost without him.

She knows that he has nightmares, too, though his are different from hers. He fears not being able to provide for her, take care of her and the kids, something she doesn't worry about. He loves her and takes care of her like she has never been loved and taken care of in her life.

And in her dreams, they are never apart because they don't love each other. Always because something awful keeps them from being together. And because she knows that their dream selves love each other as much as their real selves do, she has no doubt that they will find their way back to each other again.