A/N: Someone asked me if this roommate was crazy too (ref: Malik in Body Count). My answer is; crazy is a relative term.
Random rambling: I named this Maury after the paternity-test talk show host because it should be an adjective that describes dysfunctional behaviour, maybe it can replace 'ratchet' e.g. "She's so Maury."
Trigger warning: contains discussion of miscarriage. If you're uncomfortable, I'll see you next chapter.
Chapter 26: Maury
Thursday 13th October, 8.27pm, Joss' apartment, New York
There was something powerful about what a hot bath could do to ease the tension in her shoulders, neck, and her stomach. Finch once told her in medieval times they believed the seat of emotions was the stomach not the heart, and since hers had churned all day long with the mishmash of feelings. John always knew something was up when Joss got her hair wet voluntarily, and the fact she let the ends of her hair get wet while leaning back on his chest was something he didn't take lightly. But it all made sense when she unburdened herself of a secret that was as old as an eighth-grader. "You were pregnant?"
Joss tried to explain it as best as she could. Back in late 2001, just after she received the date of her deployment; she knew Paul was too fragile – on the edge of breaking – to hear the news. So she never told him. After a horrible Christmas where Taylor played happily at Grandma's house while Joss sat in the driveway in tears, she knew it was over and that she, Taylor and the baby would make three all by themselves. Perhaps her then-husband sensed it, because on Boxing Day or The Day he left as she remembered it; their huge fight ended when she asked him something that could've come directly from her brutish father-in-law's reckless mouth, "Why can't you be a man?" That was the last thing she said to him before he hung his head, grabbed his jacket and walked out the door not to be seen for months. "…So I called Ma, 'cause Taylor was still over there and I told her not to panic." It still made her cry when she allowed it to rise up from that deep place inside, beneath the rubble and debris, which was why she did her best not to think about it. For some reason she would ever understand, Zoe's news triggered it, and she couldn't get it off her mind.
John said the only think he thought could help the situation. "Next time I see him, I'm gonna kick his ass."
She was comforted by the offer. "He doesn't know."
"You never told him?"
"He wasn't like he is now; I couldn't talk to him back then. No-one could."
"And since then?"
She sighed. "What's the use?"
And Zoe… "I'm sorry, Joss."
"I know you are. We can't change the past." Then she shared something no-one – not even her mother – knew. "Maya for a girl and Maxwell for a boy." All he could do was kiss her cheek.
Friday 14th October, 10:40am, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York
Calista arrived in the morning because she figured if was going to get fired, she'd rather get it over with first thing so she could drown her sorrows at Club Roxy with her friends. "Congratulations, they're dairy-free. If you're still doing that."
"I'm not, but thanks. I'll take every one." Zoe's doctor had recommended that particular brand of maternity vitamins. "Let's talk about Senator Campbell."
When the eager young woman with the bad ombre dye job arrived at his home in Detroit, he fired Zoe and ZCM Consulting on the spot because she sent a 'kid' in her place. "I know. You're done with me."
"Screw the alleged cokehead Senator. We have work to do. And there's always someone new." She said with the confidence of her pregnancy brimming until it overflowed. "Call Calvin Presse of Print Presse Publishing and set up lunch; he's an old blackjack buddy from college who needs to boost his profile even if he doesn't know it."
5.10pm, Turner Hall, Emory University, Atlanta
Taylor threw his heavy book bag on the bed, prepared to lock himself in until Multivariable Calculus made sense again. It was nothing like high school. "That girl was here." Brock informed him, dressed in a freshly-ironed shirt and slacks like he was going somewhere important.
"She has a name. It's Zahra, you know; like the store they don't have in your town."
Brock thought it was his duty to embrace Taylor as a brother in Christ. "I'm going to a class later; you can come if you want." He suggested, handing him one of those laminated postcards that usually advertised club nights with images of singers and actresses who wouldn't be there.
"Accountability class?" Taylor read. Seeing as he hadn't gone broke since his first semester, Freshman year, when Paul broke down how hard it was to buss tables and clean football stands in college while keeping his scholarship at Milton with no help from home, he figured he was very accountable. "No thanks."
"At least think about it. Young men should set the standard and help each other."
Taylor couldn't help but notice that slogan was on the advert. "Look Brock, I don't know what you think about me but-"
"Hear me out. Every time she's over here; you're giving away a piece of your heart."
"You gotta be kidding me." Taylor had heard this kind of talk before, usually from someone on a soapbox with the wrong date of the Armageddon.
Brock continued. "And then you won't have a whole heart to give to your wife."
"I'm 19. If I had a wife, my mom would stop my whole heart the day she killed me."
In their training, they were advised to persist. "But you can have a new heart, a whole heart, and I can help you with that."
Taylor thought humour would help. "A heart transplant?"
"In a spiritual sense."
"I'm studying tonight. All night. And tomorrow."
"We meet every-"
"I'm not going. And for the record, everything's not about sex. She's here 'cause I like her. But if it's a problem; I'd get it if you wanna switch rooms. And by the way, your credit card's poking out of your pocket again." Taylor stated unpacking his bag; he even got Calculus for Dummies. Brock resolved that he wouldn't be able to be an example if he left so he decided to drop talk of the class in aim of a greater goal. Taylor was just relieved he didn't have to hear his mouth anymore.
6.42pm, L'emphase, Chelsea, Upper East Side, New York
After staying up late running through different scenarios with The Machine, Finch came to the conclusion offense was the best defence so the best way to manage the impact of Zoe's pregnancy was to befriend her. It was clear that she didn't have friends, despite the thousands of connections she had on a popular professional social media site. "If you don't mind, I asked the chef to prepare Bacheofe." Zoe didn't mind at all. In her eyes, Harold really knew how to treat a lady – right down to the Alsatian meat stew he ordered of lamb, pork, leeks, and root vegetables marinated in white wine. "You have my sincerest congratulations."
"Thank you." After all, Zoe had always preferred the company of men.