"The Epiphany"

We took the tree down on Epiphany Sunday, the day the wise men brought the gifts to baby Jesus. We used to celebrate that growing up too, King's Day. I didn't even consider broaching the subject of celebrating yet another holiday with Abby. I'm not that stupid. So I spent the day putting an inordinate amount of baby socks in a box, hauling out the tree and vacuuming up pine needles.

New Year's passed quietly. I worked early on the first, so we didn't bother trying to stay up till midnight. If a good night's sleep was our goal, our parents thwarted us with late night calls, Maggie apologetic for waking us, Ivica incomprehensible with drink. I'm starting to really worry about the old man.

Her birthday's coming, I told her I wanted to take her out but she hemmed and hawed, doesn't want to celebrate. What else is new? Her pregnancy seems to be weighing on her mind as well as her body. She's quieter than usual, pensive, thoughtful. I think she feels trapped in the house by the weather or maybe just by inertia. Sometimes I wish I was. Work feels like a trap, not an escape, same patients, same complaints, same paperwork, no Abby.

On the eve of Abby's birthday I sit in the break room and open the sack she handed to me as I headed out the door for a noon to twelve shift.

"What's this?"

"Lunch or dinner, whatever."

"You made my lunch?"

"Yes, but don't expect slippers and a pipe when you get home."

"What?"

"Never mind, see you tonight." She stood on tiptoes and gave me a kiss.

Carter comes in, sits down and starts eating an apple. I'm taking containers out of the bag, there's seven of the things.

"Big dinner." he says absently.

"Abby gave it to me."

"Abby made dinner? Must be love."

Opening containers one by one, I start laughing and shaking my head.

"What?"

"She's nesting."

"What?"

"She cleaned out the refrigerator, I think this is everything that didn't smell or look like a science experiment."

"Women really do that?"

"Oh yes. I expect I'll have a spotless kitchen when I get home."

"So she's doing well?"

"She's great." None of your damn business.

"Luka, about before, I'm sorry. I was thinking about what you said . . maybe you have a point."

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to lose my friendship with Abby, and I don't know I thought we were starting to be maybe something like friends until, things . . .got . . complicated again."

"Then Carter, keep it simple, be her friend." And I won't have to hurt you. "You want some of this stuff?"

"Did you make it or did Abby?"

"Taste it first then you can guess, it'll be a good game." And it is. We actually enjoy ourselves, until . .he can't resist, really I think he just can't help himself. I'm heading back to work, hand on the door when he says it.

"You do know Abby's birthday is tomorrow?"

I freeze, I turn slowly to look at him. You did not just say that to me.

His eyes grow wide at the expression on my face. "Wrong this to say."

I say nothing just shake my head, make a fist, release, make a fist, release. Then I turn and leave the room. You know there is such a thing as justifiable homicide.

I sleep in the next morning, find the bed empty when I wake and shower before I head down to find her. She's in the kitchen looking at a pile of broken eggs on the floor and crying, really crying. I pull her into my arms, and don't say a thing. I feel her hands clutch the back of my shirt, like she's hanging on for dear life, and she cries more. I've learned better than to ask when these tears come either before or after the baby. You get your head chopped off one time, and you learn. When she quiets, I guide her up the stairs and into our bed, and she curls up on her side. I fold myself in behind her and stroke her hair, and I sing their lullaby until she falls asleep. Happy Birthday sweetheart.

As I lie there watching her sleep, watching her belly shift all on it's own accord, God women's bodies are amazing, I think about Jasna and Marko. And you know what, they're just memories now. Good memories, sweet memories, but the pain, the anguish, the guilt, it's gone. Really gone, purged through pain. I think about Abby, about her labor, another chance to purge. I hope that somehow it purges my past for her as well as her own. I don't want her to spend her life thinking about me with Danijela. I can't imagine spending my life thinking of her with Carter, what a nightmare. It's done for me. The only thing that seems left is for it to be done for her. I think about our baby. I'm overwhelmed with longing and hope and yes even joy.

After a time I get up and go downstairs, clean the kitchen floor. What to do for Abby's birthday? At least I don't have to think of a present. The piano is on its way, for better or worse, and for a ridiculous sum of money. In the end, I go out to our favorite market. I buy the chicken soup she loves, and I get a tiny chocolate cake and candles, and the ingredients to make her dinner at home tonight. While I'm waiting at the bakery, a woman with a little girl comes over to look at the cookies. She must be three, with long blond curls and big blue eyes. I can't take my eyes off her. Her mother buys her a cookie, and she chortles with delight. It makes me laugh too. She eyes me suspiciously.

"Are you getting a cookie too?"

"No, a birthday cake, it's my wife's birthday today."

"My birthday's next month."

"How old will you be?

"Four."

"Wow a big girl." She smiles proudly, and then runs back to her mother, hugs her around her legs and hides from me. My arms ache.

She's still sleeping when I get back, so I get the picnic basket ready. Finally, I decide to get her up, or she'll never sleep tonight.

I kiss her on the forehead. "Hey, sleeping beauty, time to wake up."

"How long did I sleep?"

"Long enough, time to celebrate, here put these on." I bring her warm clothes, she doesn't even ask why.

We drive to the lake. We take a walk, she still doesn't have much to say. The icy blue of the water seems to match her mood. When we get back to the car, I set up lunch, and we eat out of the back.

I decide to break the silence. "Not much for holiday's are you?"

"I guess they feel more like minefields to me than celebrations."

I can relate to that. "So how am I doing, have a managed to avoid detonating anything?"

"You'd know it if you had. How'd you get so good navigating them?"

"Practice."

"Literally or figuratively."

"Both"

"I can't imagine you as a soldier."

"It was either fight or hide." I suppose it always comes down to that in life.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not on your birthday."

"No, I guess not, but ever?"

"Maybe if things ever get dull between us, it would liven it up I'm sure."

"You think things will get dull?"

"Ivica, Maggie, baby, you, me . . .short answer, no. You ready for your cake?"

"Only if it's chocolate"

"Of course it is, do you take me for a fool?"

"God I hate birthdays."

"You'll always be younger than me."

"Not that much, I'm not exactly a trophy wife."

"A what?"

"Young, firm, built, big hair, little brain."

"Who wants one of those?"

"A lot of men."

"You're more interesting."

"Thanks, I think."

I light her candle and sing 'Happy Birthday' in Croatian, and tell her she'll have to get used to that. She makes a wish which she won't tell, naturally, and blows out her candle. After we eat she seems more relaxed.

"Part of me just wants to get this whole thing over with, and part of me wants to keep this baby inside forever."

"Sounds about right. If you want some help jump starting things just let me know. Prostaglandins, oxytocin, I can help you out." I want to josh her out of her mood.

"That has to be the worst come on I've ever heard."

"The most clinical anyway."

"I'll keep the offer in mind. Just how are you going to survive after the birth?"

"Seriously Abby, I want you to take all the time you need after. You come to me when you're ready." I catch her eye so she knows I mean it. Then I wink. " I can wait .. . two, three days, whatever you need."

"Two or three months is more likely, and then only on the weekends and only if you're lucky."

"I am lucky, very, very lucky." She blushes and we grin at each other like we're sixteen and on our first date. God, life is good. And birthdays aren't the worst thing either.