It had been three weeks since the false labor and they'd had no more problems. Roger sat on the old couch, Maureen's head on his chest. Mark was at a film festival and Maureen had decided that Roger needed to see Casablanca.
"Okay, so Ilsa was Rob's girlfriend?"
"Rick."
"Whatever."
"Yep."
"Why the hell did she get married?"
"Just watch," Maureen said.
When the movie was over, Roger groaned.
"See? Wasn't that, like, the best movie ever?"
"And the most frustrating!"
"Frustrating?"
"Yeah! She was married and fuckin' around with Rick. What the hell's that? She didn't even tell Rick she was married."
"She thought Lazlo was dead," Maureen said with a shrug.
"Okay, well what about spending the night with Rick in Casablanca? She knew about her husband being alive then."
"Who says she spent the night?"
"Huh?"
"Well, all we saw was them kissing. Maybe she pulled away and went home to her husband."
Roger frowned. "I thought they had sex."
"Maybe."
"Well why didn't they spell it out?"
"Because it doesn't matter."
"How does it not matter?"
"Because the story isn't about their sex lives. It's about the love. Whether Ilsa had sex with Rick or not, she loved him. And her husband."
Roger sighed. "I don't know. I'm still a little confused."
Maureen sat up and kissed his cheek. "It's okay. I'm still glad you watched it with me."
"Yeah, well, next time I get to pick the movie."
"Fair enough."
Maureen leaned forward and kissed his mouth, sliding his lips open with her tongue. Roger moaned when she pulled away.
"What was that for?"
"For watching the movie with me."
"Maybe we should watch it again," Roger said with a laugh.
"Very fun—ow!"
"You okay?" Roger asked, sitting up.
"Yeah, just a contraction."
"Getting near your due date so there's probably going to be more of that."
Maureen rolled her eyes at him.
"What?"
"I was at the same doctor appointment as you. I know what the doctor—shit!"
"Another one?" Roger asked. She nodded and he glanced at the clock. "Okay, just take a deep breath."
Maureen sat up, her hand on her belly. "Could you get me some water? Supposed to help with the contractions of false labor."
Roger crossed to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Maureen sipped it slowly and winced. "Shit!"
"Okay, I'm gonna call the doctor."
The loft door slid open. "Hey, guys. I'm home."
"Mark!" Roger set the phone back down. "Mark, there's, um…she's having contractions again."
Mark unwound his scarf, tossing it onto the ground with his coat. He sat beside Maureen. "You okay, Mo?"
"Do I fucking look okay?"
He looked at Roger who shrugged. "How far apart?"
"Three minutes, give or take."
Mark nodded, holding Maureen's hand. She gripped it tightly as another contraction came on.
"I'm callin' the doctor," Roger said.
Mark nodded and tried to coach Maureen through the contractions. Tears stung her eyes. He patted her back. "It's okay. You're doing good. You're doing good."
"Mark?"
"Yeah?"
"Shut up. All that 'you're doing good' crap they tell you to say doesn't help one fucking bit."
Mark nodded and leaned forward to hug her.
Roger hung the phone up and turned back to them. "Okay, we gotta go. Doctor's meeting us there."
"But I don't think—"
"Babe, please, just trust me on this. Please. Mark, throw some shit in an overnight bag while I get her downstairs."
Mark nodded, flying to her room as Roger helped her off the couch. Mark didn't ask what the doctor had said. They both knew that this was different than the false labor. The false labor contractions started irregularly. These were regular instantly and getting worse.
