I actually got a little bit teary as I was writing this, so I'm interested to hear what everyone else things. Thanks so much for all your reviews!
IV.
A year plus a month passed and you arrived home to find an invitation to Wilson's fourth wedding in your mailbox. You'd known it was coming. He'd even shown the sample invite to Cameron one night over Chinese food. You'd stayed pointedly disinterested.
Of course all of the details of the relationship had already played out before you because this time Wilson was marrying one of the doctors from pediatrics. You didn't know what the hell he was thinking getting involved and then so serious, so fast, but it was his usual modus operandi, so you shouldn't have been surprised. He had come to you for advice a few times, but you'd been circumspect at best. You hadn't wanted to tell him that you thought he was just priming himself for yet another divorce. At the same time, you'd cursed Cameron's influence on you because you were certain that's what made you think that fourth time might actually be the charm.
It had taken forty-odd years, but Wilson actually seemed to have moved past his need for needy people and picked a woman who instead shared his empathy, intelligence and humanitarianism. You didn't completely hate her, so that was a plus, and she didn't mind that he worked late, got too involved with his patients and liked to spend the occasional Sunday afternoon camped out on your sofa watching football. She also got along well with Cameron, leading you to be dragged into "double dating" situations which you'd sworn you'd never be uncool enough to engage in. At least the four of you stuck to smoky jazz clubs and monster trucks instead of the theater and ballet.
He hadn't bothered to ask you to be best man, because he'd known you would just turn him down, but although you weren't about to spell it out, you were happy for him.
At the same time, you sometimes looked at Cameron and wondered if she was thinking more than she was saying. She didn't have a ring or a proposal or a wedding date. You'd been together almost three years with no sign of commitment beyond the fact that you'd moved in together and hadn't gone down in flames yet. You were waiting for her to ask you where you thought the relationship was going.
She never did.
She bought a new dress for the wedding and nagged you into getting a new charcoal colored suit. Since she so rarely nagged you about anything (your snarkiness, your negative attitude, your Vicodin intake), you felt it was a small concession to make her happy. The suit looked good on you, and when the day of the wedding arrived, you pulled your fancier, silver-embellished cane from the back of the closet. You shouted at Cameron from the living room, telling her that you were going to be late if you didn't leave soon. Promptness wasn't something you really cared about, but weddings made you nervous and you needed to yell about something.
When she walked into the living room, you felt as stunned as you had that night of the charity poker tournament, years earlier. You were so used to seeing her every day, in her work clothes, in her sweats, in her tight little jeans and baggy pajamas, that you had forgotten exactly how beautiful she could look. You hoped that the smug look on your face wouldn't be too obvious during the wedding, but you couldn't help it if you thought she was ten times more attractive than the bride.
Her dress was made of something soft and flowing, which was appropriate for the outdoor ceremony. It was pale green, but not that hideous green your grandmother had always preferred for curtains and throw pillows. You were sure it had some trendy name like celery or sage dream, but it reminded you of the smell of spring. She smiled at you, that coy, shy little smile of hers that drove you crazy.
"Do I look all right?" she asked, as if she didn't know.
"You'll do," you told her.
A self-satisfied look spread across her face. Ah, there was the smugness you'd come to admire.
"By the drop-jawed expression on your face, I'd say that I'll more than 'do'," she said.
"Yeah, yeah. Hurry up or we'll be late."
"As if that would bother you," she said, and damn if she didn't know you, but you reminded yourself that after three plus years, of course she knew you.
She pulled a thin little shawl from the back of the closet and announced that she was ready. You held the door open for her so that you could get a good look at the back of her dress and her shapely little ass.
"Stop staring at my ass," she said as she tossed another smug grin over her shoulder.
You had a grin inching its way onto your face as you walked around the car and got in. Wilson had taken to saying that you and Cameron were like an old married couple when you bantered. Moments like this made you think he was right. If you already acted like an old married couple, then maybe Cameron really didn't care about making it official. That thought came as a relief.
It was a small wedding, with less than fifty people, and it was held outside under a simple chuppa draped with flowers and ivy. The rabbi gave some poignant remarks beyond the ceremonial words, and you were amazed that Cameron didn't start sniffling when Wilson and Mrs. Wilson Number Four gave their vows. The food was good and there wasn't a band or dj, so you didn't have to worry about Cameron trying to get you to dance. You didn't think she'd even attempt that, but better safe than sorry.
You actually had a good time, considering it was a wedding filled mainly with people you didn't know and didn't want to know. Sarah – Mrs. Wilson Number Four – barely flinched when you gave a toast saying that you hoped this one stuck. She hadn't known you that long, but long enough to expect something like that from you. You noticed that Cameron didn't even bother making apologies on your behalf. She just rolled her eyes and smirked at you indulgently. She ended up being the designated driver home, but you sobered up enough to make her scream her orgasm after divesting her of that green dress. You'd been thinking about doing that all evening, and when you finally collapsed next to her, exhausted, aching, and satisfied, you felt smug indeed.
Getting the wedding invitation hadn't surprised you, but Sarah's pregnancy did.
They announced it six months after the wedding, over dinner at your place, and you just sat there while Cameron stood up and hugged them both. Then she went into the kitchen to get apple juice to toast the new baby. It was the closest thing you had to champagne, since you still preferred your scotch, and Cameron only drank those girly wine-coolers.
Sarah was Cameron's age, give or take a year, so pregnancy hadn't been beyond the realm of possibility, but you had never pictured Wilson as the fatherly type. Honestly, you were still getting used to the fact that he seemed to be blissfully happy and hadn't so much as given a roving eye to any of the nurses. You drank down the apple juice and wished it was scotch.
Cameron was very excited about the baby. She and Sarah shopped for tiny clothes and tiny booties and whatever the hell other tiny things the kid would need. You started getting nervous again. She hadn't so much as dropped a hint about marriage since the wedding, but you were sure that now she was bound to start pushing. She was still young enough to have a child herself, and when you really thought about it you were shocked that she hadn't already sat you down to lay out her relationship demands. You had no idea what you would do when she made that move.
Then a month passed, and another, and she didn't say a word, and neither did you, and life went on as previously arranged, in comfortable companionship with a side of sarcastic wit when the mood struck you. You started to forget that you'd ever been worried.
When she told you she thought she might be pregnant, all of your earlier fears came flooding back.
It was a Friday night and you were all set to watch the baseball game on television when she walked into the room looking like death warmed over. She'd been sick for almost a week with some sort of stomach bug but you hadn't thought too much about it. Actually, you'd forced yourself not to think too much about it. If you let yourself get worried about losing her to some deadly disease every time she had a sniffle, you'd never sleep at night.
She stared at the television as she sat down beside you and you figured she was just going to watch the game, but then she tucked up one leg and angled herself towards you. That was your first clue that there was definitely a talk coming.
"Game's about to start," you told her which was shorthand code for "Game's about to start, so make it quick."
When her hand landed on your knee, you felt a knot form in your stomach and when you turned to look at her you could tell that she had a matching one in hers. You hit the mute button on the television remote.
"What?"
"Greg…" she started and you knew that whatever followed would not be good news. "I think I might be pregnant."
You stared at her. You didn't blink. You didn't speak. You didn't move.
"Greg?"
"You're on the pill."
Not only was she on a pill that had limited her periods to four times a year, she was also ridiculously anal about taking it at the exact same time every day. You did not want to be the one percent failure rate.
"I know that, but I don't feel right. I'm tired all the time, and this stomach bug won't go away and I've gained two pounds in the past week."
"So? You work too much, there's something going around, and you could use the extra weight."
She took a deep breath before she said, "I just took a home pregnancy test and I can't tell if it's positive or not. I'll get the blood test tomorrow."
You're not sure what idiocy pulled the next words from your mouth.
"Did you plan this?"
"What?" She reared back from you and her eyes went wide with shock and confusion.
"Simple question," you continued to press because your mouth was faster than the kill-switch in your brain.
"Why would you say something like that? Why would you even think it? No! No, I didn't plan anything!"
"Wilson's married. Now Sarah's pregnant. Are you telling me that doesn't make you jealous? That you don't wish you could trade places with her? See a little bump pushing out that flat stomach of yours?" Now you were just being needlessly mean, but it was all you could think to do. You were in shock, and snide was your default setting.
"No, I don't! I don't want a baby any more than you do. I've been perfectly happy the way things are. If you can't accept that, then you're the one with the problem." She stood up and paced in front of you. You had completely forgotten how angry she could get. You hadn't had a real fight in over a year.
Your mind finally kicked into gear and you held out your hand in a placating gesture.
"I'm sorry," you told her, because those were the words you were supposed to say.
She just turned and looked at you with an expression of betrayal on her face. It made you want to get up and grab her and say the words again with sincerity, but you didn't. You just sat there staring up at her.
"You're not sorry," she said. "But I am."
It wouldn't have surprised you if she'd kicked you out, but maybe she still thought of the place as being more yours than hers, or maybe she just wanted the change of scenery for herself. She packed an overnight bag and left without saying anything except that she'd be at the Wilsons'. Your last thought before she shut the door was that you hoped she didn't tell them about the baby.
The next day was spent in avoidance. If you were in the office, then she was in the lab. If you were in the lab, then she was in the clinic. You wanted to complain to Wilson about the childishness of it all, but he'd given you a deathglare when you'd seen him in the cafeteria. Obviously he was siding with Cameron, although you didn't think she'd told him the reason for the fight. He would have moved past deathglare to actual physical harm if he'd known everything. Impending fatherhood had made him even more compassionate than usual.
Five o'clock rolled around and you were still in your office. On any other patient-less day, you would have dragged Cameron out of the hospital by four. You saw no reason to hurry home.
She paged you at five-thirty and said to meet her in one of the clinic rooms. You beat her there by two minutes. A piece of paper fluttered in her hand as she opened the door and walked in.
"I had a nurse draw the blood and gave it to the lab without my name on it," she told you. "I haven't looked at it yet."
Then she handed you the results because it seemed she wanted to make you even more uncomfortable. You'd had a lot of time to think during the night, since sleep hadn't been on your agenda, and you still didn't know how you felt about anything, but you knew that you'd been an asshole to her. You looked in her eyes and hoped that she saw some glimmer of apology in yours. She gave a little nod and you guessed that was as close as you were going to come to forgiveness. You looked down at the paper in your hands and skimmed through the lines of information down to the one that counted.
"You're not pregnant," you said, and were then surprised by the sinking feeling in your stomach. You hadn't wanted a baby, but faced with the fact that you weren't going to get one, you were suddenly sad.
Apparently Cameron felt the same way because when you looked at her, you saw her stoic façade slowly crumbling and a muffled sort of sob pushed its way out of her chest. She quickly covered her mouth with one hand and tried to wipe away her tears with the other. For once, your instincts didn't tend towards sarcasm or pretended indifference. You rushed forward and pulled her into your arms. Your cane was going to leave a bruise on her lower back but you didn't think she'd mind.
You surprised yourself again by telling her that maybe, maybe you could try on purpose. If she really wanted to. You weren't completely opposed. But she shook her head. She said that you both work too much, and she's already had one miscarriage (you didn't know this and you wanted to know more but know better than to ask while she was already crying) and she doesn't think she could deal with another one. Anyway, not being completely opposed to a baby isn't the same thing as wanting one, and she's not about to start forcing you into some mold. She said she was crying for a dream that had died a long time ago, and not for the reality. You weren't sure you believed her, but knew better than to press. You'd learned a few things over the years even if you didn't usually put them into practice.After she stopped crying, you told her that you wanted her to come home. You said that you were sorry for what you'd said the night before, and you really meant it. You admitted that you were the ass, and that you'd been afraid that she needed more than you could give her. That was why you'd said those things. It was more of an admission of guilt than you'd ever given anyone else.
"Next time you could just try asking me what's on my mind," she said, her head still pressed against the front of your shoulder.
"Not really my style," you said, and you had a feeling she was rolling her eyes as you said it.
On the way home, you picked up food from her favorite restaurant and then the two of you had a carpet picnic in the living room in front of the television. You even agreed to watch her favorite movie, an old black and white Bette Davis pictures. You didn't agree not to mock it, however, but she laughed when you did, so you figured it was okay. She was quieter than usual and when you went to bed she just curled up and didn't give you her usual kiss on the cheek, which you always wiped away with a cry of 'Girl cooties!'.
You rolled over and let your hand stray to her side of the bed, landing on her hip. Your thumb stroked over the soft cotton of her nightgown as you concentrated on the warmth beneath your palm.
"Allison," you said, using the name you still rarely called her outside the throes of passion. You waited until you could tell she was listening. "I'm sorry," you told her.
"You said that this afternoon," she said.
"Not for that," you corrected her. "I'm sorry for everything else." For whatever baby she'd lost, for the baby she'd never have, for all the dreams she'd watched fade away.
She let out a very long breath and you were sure there were a few tears with it. When she twisted her body around to face you her eyes were bright.
"Thank you," she said, "but I meant what I said last night and this afternoon. I'm happy now. I'm happy with you. With our life."
You moved your hand from her hip to her cheek, and when you kissed her, you hoped she knew you felt the same, because you'd never been very good with words like those.
