Chapter Forty-Four:
Baby-Mas
WEEK 28
DECEMBER 14TH, 2001
0930 EST
JAG HEADQUARTERS
FALLS CHURCH, VIRGINIA
Tiner stepped down from the ladder, looking up at the banner he'd made himself with pride. He'd gotten to the office extra early so he could make it in time for Colonel Mackenzie's baby shower. Singer, who had no intention of participating in the baby shower other than for the free food, paused underneath the banner and peered up at it.
She grimaced over the rim of her coffee mug. "Tiner?"
"Yeah?" Tiner looked down at her. There was a dash of red paint across his cheek.
"What the hell is this?"
"It's the banner I made, ma'am," he answered with a wide smile. "For the baby shower."
Singer blinked up at the banner, hoping it was a mirage that would disappear. "It's the ugliest thing I've ever seen."
Tiner paused, looking up at his banner. He thought it looked fine. "Well," he paused. "Art is subjective, ma'am."
"Yeah…" Singer shook her head. "Whatever that is...it's not subjective."
As Singer walked off, Tiner looked after her with discouragement. He thought his banner looked fine, and he was positive Commander Rabb and Lieutenant Sims would agree with him. At least his efforts would go appreciated, even if his artistic skill was lacking.
While he wasn't looking, a big glob of red paint slipped down from the banner and landed right on to his shoe. Frowning down at it, Tiner sighed and turned around to go to the bathroom to clean it off. As he was walking out of the bullpen, he bumped into Harm and Harriet, who were rushing in with bags loaded down with baby shower and Christmas decorations. They both looked considerably frazzled.
The plan to have the baby shower at JAG HQ was one Mac was not aware of. Since the baby had been a surprise, Harm wanted to keep that theme with the baby shower. As far as Mac was aware, the shower was being held that Sunday at Bud and Harriet's house.
"Tiner, did you tell everyone to put their gifts in my office?" Harm asked.
"Yes, sir," Tiner nodded. "Would you and Lieutenant Sims like me to take your bags and put them in your office as well, sir?"
"Sure, Tiner," as Harm was handing over the bags to Tiner, Harriet gasped.
"Oh my God."
"What is it?" Harm looked up from the bags. "Oh God-you didn't forget to order the catering, did you?"
"No," Harriet slowly pointed into the bullpen. "What is that?"
Harm straightened up, and his eyes widened in a mix of shock, confusion, and horror. Tiner turned around to look at his banner and grinned. "Do you like it? Sir? Ma'am?" he turned back to look at them, and was dismayed to see they did not look happy.
"Baby-Mas?" as Harriet read the words, a frown immediately appeared on her face. "What does that mean?"
Tiner's banner was stretched across the bullpen, in front of the TV screens. It was white, with "Baby-Mas" painted across it in huge, dripping, crooked, red letters.
"It's a combination of 'baby shower' and 'Christmas party'," Tiner explained. "Since it's technically both."
"You couldn't come up with anything better?" Harm asked before he could stop himself.
Tiner's smile dimmed. "Well sir, Gunny took all of our good ideas with him when he went overseas."
"I can see that," Harm frowned. "Why did you write it in a slasher movie font?"
"That was unintentional, sir."
"And why are the letters in red paint?" Harriet asked.
"Red's a Christmas color, ma'am."
Harm and Harriet exchanged frightened looks, while Tiner looked at them hopefully. They didn't want to crush his dreams, but the Petty Officer wasn't exactly the next Picasso, and they didn't want Mac's baby shower to look like the premiere of a horror movie.
"Do you have any other paint colors, Tiner?" Harm finally asked.
"I might, sir."
"Good, " Harm nodded. "Once you put the bags in my office, meet me back out here."
"Yes sir," Tiner started to head to Harm's office, but paused. "What are we going to do, sir?"
"You're gonna get some impromptu painting lessons."
As Tiner rushed to Harm's office with the decoration bags in hand, Harm walked into the bullpen to assess the banner situation up close. Harriet followed after him. "Are you going to have time to fix that?" she asked him. "Mac's should be getting back from her appointment at about 1000."
"I know, but she has to be in court right after. Hopefully she won't have to come in and see us setting up." Harm said as he reached up to wipe some of the paint from the edge of the banner before it could drip onto the floor.
"Oh, well that's good," Harriet said. Harm noticed she was watching him and turned around.
"Is something wrong, Harriet?" he asked.
Harriet blinked, drawing herself away from the far off place she'd let her mind wander off to. "Nothing's wrong. I was just...thinking," she smiled at him, but there was something off about the smile that Harm couldn't put his finger on. "The catering should be coming in at around 1300, so we might not be able to eat right when the party starts."
Harm smiled faintly. "That's alright-" he paused. "Hey, Harriet, are you alright?"
"Oh yeah. Harm I'm-"
"Sir, there's a problem," Tiner poked his head out of Harm's office. "There's no room in here."
"Huh?" Harm and Harriet walked over to Harm's office, where Tiner was standing in the middle of a sea of pastel colored gift bags, wrapping paper, and tissue paper. Between gifts and decorations, Harm's office was so packed with things that the door couldn't even be opened entirely.
Harriet groaned. "Where are we going to put all of this stuff so Mac won't see it?"
The three of them thought it over, and all came to the same conclusion. They were all thinking of the only place at JAG HQ besides the courtrooms and conference rooms that was big enough to house all the party supplies.
When the Admiral got back to his office, he wondered at first if he'd stepped into the inside of an Easter egg. There were decorations, some baby-themed, others holiday-themed, scattered all around his office. On the floor there were packages and gift bags, ostensibly there for the same reason. He knew Colonel Mackenzie's baby shower was that afternoon (the terrifying banner hanging in the bullpen served as a reminder) but he wasn't expecting it to be held in his office.
"Tiner," he called. His yeoman was at his side in second, AJ noticing a smudge of paint on his cheek. Rabb was in the bullpen, acting like the next Bob Ross instead of being a Naval lawyer, and Tiner was apparently his protege.
"Sir?" Tiner asked.
"When did my office become a storage closet?" AJ asked, the question coming from a place of genuine wondering rather than a place of anger. After being the JAG for seven years, AJ knew not to ruffle his feathers at every single thing that went wrong-if he did that, he would be putting himself in an early grave. Then who would be left to deal with this mess of a JAG Corps? AJ knew the answer: no one.
"Oh don't worry, sir," Tiner told him. "We're just storing this in here until we can set it up for Colonel Mackenzie's baby shower."
"I see," AJ nodded slowly. "Were you planning on telling me? Or just hoping I wouldn't see?"
Tiner grimaced. "I'm not sure about that, sir."
"Was this Rabb's idea?"
"Yes, sir."
AJ looked at Tiner with an arched eyebrow. "Are you just telling me that to get yourself off the hook?"
Tiner paused. "Maybe, sir," he answered sheepishly. The Admiral smirked.
"I honestly can't blame you," The Admiral answered as he stepped over a clump of bags to get to his desk. Mid-step, he paused, cursing under his breath.
"What's wrong, sir?" Tiner asked.
"Do you know my address?"
"Yes, sir. Why?"
"Can you go to my house and get my present for the Colonel?" AJ asked. "I left it on my kitchen counter."
"Of course sir," Tiner tried to hide his eagerness. He now had an excuse to get out of having to help Harm fix the banner.
"Thanks. The spare key's under the ceramic frog on the third porch step." AJ gazed down at all the other presents, reluctant that he would be adding to his office clutter. At least it was for a good cause.
It's not everyday that your Chief of Staff has a baby, AJ reminded himself as he sat down. His eyes widened when he heard the crunch of tissue paper and plastic when he sat down. Slowly standing up, AJ looked under himself and noticed the smushed gift he'd sat on by accident.
Groaning, he picked up the bag to see whose gift he'd ruined. The tag was on the formal side, especially for a baby shower. It read: To: Colonel Mackenzie, From: Lt. Singer.
As self centered as it was, Mac had always secretly enjoyed when people went out of their way for her. Only, now that she was pregnant, it was different. Before, men rushed to get the door for her and help her reach something at the grocery store because she was an attractive woman - Mac didn't need to make that assumption based on her arrogance, those men made their intentions very clear. However, now those men-anyone, really-were rushing to help Mac because she was a delicate pregnant woman in the midst of carrying out one of the most honorable and selfless acts of nature.
Or, in Mac's words, she was a walking bowling ball.
Regardless of her own opinions, Mac was grateful for the help. She no longer had to lift a finger for practically anything. At the same time though, she acknowledged the convenience was a double-edged sword. Pregnancy had done little to combat Mac's need for independence, so she didn't like the feeling of being beholden to anyone, no matter how hard it was for her to reach the bag of chips on the top shelf.
With that in mind, Mac made it a point to draw the line at certain gestures that she deemed too excessive, too babying (no pun intended). So when she gets off the elevator and finds Harm waiting at the bullpen entrance with a mug of coffee, ostensibly for her, in his hands, Mac knew a line had to be drawn.
Ignoring the pressure on her bladder, Mac stopped in front of Harm and gave an exasperated sigh. She rolled her eyes at his big grin. "Harm, I can brew my own coffee," she told him.
"I know," Harm held the mug out for her. "I just wanted to be nice."
Mac smiled at him politely. "Thank you, but I have to get to court," she tried to step around him, but Harm stepped with her, blocking her entry into the bullpen.
"Harm," she glared up at him. "What are you doing?"
He chuckled lightly. "The courtroom is that way," he said, pointing over her shoulder.
Mac huffed. "I'd like to go to my office first, if that's okay with you," she tried to step past Harm again, only to have him step with her again. "What is it?" she finally demanded. "Is there some secret password I'm missing?"
Harm paused, his brow furrowing slightly. "Umm...no," he answered. "But you don't have time to go to your office. You need to be in court!"
"Oh," Mac took a step back, folding her arms across her chest. "So I have time for coffee, but no time to stop by my office?" she watched with satisfaction as Harm's smile dimmed. She didn't have to check her watch to know what time it was-she still had twenty minutes before she had to be in court.
"You can drink your coffee in the courtroom, before it officially starts," Harm practically shoved the mug under her nose. "You can't swing by your office and be in court at the same time."
"Drinking coffee in court?" Mac looked at him like he had three heads. "Do you have any idea how unprofessional that looks?"
"No one's going to care, you're pregnant," Harm took Mac's free hand in his and wrapped her fingers around the mug. "They can't fire you; that's discrimation."
Mac sighed, taking the mug from Harm in defeat. She was trying to eliminate as many stressors as possible, and right then Harm was the easiest one to eliminate. "Fine," she said. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why are you acting so weird?"
Instead of answering, Harm placed a kiss on Mac's forehead. "I'll see you after court, honey," taking her by the shoulders, Harm (gently-she was pregnant, after all) spun her around and nudged her in the direction of the courtroom. With one final glare over her shoulder, Mac left for the courtroom.
As soon as she was out of sight, Harm whirled around, hurrying back into the bullpen. Harriet and Tiner were already in position, as were Bud and Sturgis. "Alright people," he clapped his hands. "It's go-time! Let's get this baby shower rolling!"
"Isn't it technically Baby-Mas, sir?" Tiner asked, a hopeful tone in his voice.
Harm paused. "Tiner, no one's going to call it that."
Tiner sighed as he headed into the Admiral's office to help Sturgis bring out the gifts. He looked at the banner, which Harm had fixed by adding some flowers and ducklings. And it took me two hours to come up with that idea too, he thought to himself as he walked under it.
Spending almost two hours in court made Mac forget Harm's strange behavior. So when Mac left court, making a beeline for the bathroom, she walked right past the suspiciously dark bullpen without even noticing it. As she rushed past, Harm slowly pushed the bullpen door open and peeked out. His brow furrowed as Tiner appeared at his shoulder.
"What's happening, sir?" he asked.
"I think she's peeing," Harm whispered.
Tiner's eyes widened. "In the courtroom, sir?"
"No, in the bathroom."
"Ohhh."
Harm straightened up, turning to face everyone who was waiting in the dark for Mac's arrival. "False alarm, everyone," he said, smiling apologetically at the groans he heard from the darkness.
"If she's going to pee now, at least that means she won't pee when we surprise her," Singer said, and for once everyone agreed with her.
Fortunately for Mac-unfortunately for the people trying to surprise her-she had the clarity of an empty bladder to know she was being surprised as soon as she saw the dark bullpen. She reached out and flipped the light on before Harm had the chance to. Mac would give them credit-the decorations did surprise her.
"What's all this?" she asked, looking around at all her coworkers and the mix of baby shower decorations and holiday decorations adorning the room.
"Surprise?" everyone asked, only partly in unison. All eyes turned to Harm to see what to do.
"It's your baby shower!" he announced, gesturing to the decorated bullpen. "Two days early," he placed a kiss on her cheek. "I know how you like to be punctual."
"I see," Mac smiled, looking around at everyone. Despite her ruining the surprise for herself, and there already being a shower planned for that Sunday, she was touched nonetheless.
Mac's eyes soon landed on the pies-de-resistance, Tiner's banner. Everyone waited with baited breath as she assessed it-Tiner himself seeming a little too overconfident.
"I love it!" she said, to everyone's shock. She turned around. "Who made it?"
Harm was about to open his mouth, but Tiner stepped forward. "I made it ma'am," he answered. "Commander Rabb helped, of course. You see, I decided to mix the themes of a baby shower and a holiday party."
"Oh," Mac frowned. "The lettering kind of reminded me of Halloween. How did you know that was my favorite holiday?"
Tiner smirked. "Just a lucky guess, ma'am."
Mac turned back to the banner, looking at the crooked letters Harm had tried in vain to fix. "I'm sorry," she told Tiner, "Mr. Perfectionist had to ruin all your work."
"It's okay, ma'am."
Harm looked at the two of them incredulously. "Ruin?" he truly couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"Art is subjective, honey," Mac answered. Tiner looked over his shoulder to give Singer a smug look.
With that, Mac's baby shower was underway. The catering arrived with unexpectedly perfect timing, so Mac was able to snack a little while her and Harm unwrapped presents. They soon found themselves surrounded by blankets, books, stuffed animals, bottles, pillows, toys, and diapers. Also onesies. So many onesies. They also received gifts in the mail from Trish and Frank, as well as Chloe-even Renee. Harm and Mac had awoken that morning to a delivery man knocking on their door with a huge crate full of presents, Renee's swirly penmanship on the card. Harm wasn't sure if the gift was given out of the goodness of her heart or if it had just given her an excuse to shop, but nonetheless it was a nice gesture.
Mac had even gotten a very brief email from Mic, which she decided was the closest thing to a truce they would ever get. She was just grateful he wasn't planning on returning to the states any time soon. Judging by another email she'd received a couple of weeks earlier from a woman named Gillian Arthur, Mic seemed to have his hands full in Australia.
"Look at this," Harm said, holding up a pack of infant-sized socks. "They're tiny socks!"
"They are," Mac nodded with a laugh. Even though they were at work still, Mac decided to forgo formality and rest her head on Harm's shoulder. She found herself - oddly - deliriously happy, so much so that the feeling took her by surprise.
Mac looked around at everyone, all of her coworkers and family. It was practically the same group of people who had been at her engagement party to Mic. That night, where she and Harm were laying it all on the line on the Admiral's porch, felt a million miles away-and Mac couldn't be more grateful for that.
She needed a time machine so she could go back and tell that anxiety-ridden, emotionally-wrecked Mac that everything was going to be okay. Nothing was going to go to plan, but it was still going to be okay. Better than okay, actually.
"I didn't know they made socks that small-Mac?"
"Hmm?" She looked up at Harm. "Yeah, they're pretty small. You know why?"
"Why?" Harm didn't catch her teasing tone.
"Because it's for our baby," she answered. "We're having a baby."
Mac watched as a grin spread across Harm's face. "We're having a baby," he repeated, leaning down to kiss her. Harriet walked up to them, a tiny pair of mittens in her hand to go with the tiny pairs of socks Harm was holding.
"Here," she held them out. "You dropped these."
"Oh!" Harm took the mittens, marveling at their tiny size, just like he had done with the socks. "Mittens?" he looked at Mac. "Do we need mittens? Did I miss something?"
"We might, I'm not sure-"
"It's so the baby doesn't claw the skin off their face. They have surprisingly long nails," the Admiral said from behind them. Harm, Mac, and Harriet all turned around to stare at him. "What?" he asked with a shrug. "Francesca had a problem with that."
Harm leaned in close to Mac. "Does that mean the baby can claw you? Like from the inside-"
"Please don't go there."
The Admiral cleared his throat. "Speaking of surprises," he began to reach behind a desk. "You two haven't gotten my present yet."
Harm and Mac exchanged glances. "But sir-" Mac started.
"You two thought I'd just get you a gift card?" The Admiral smirked. "You underestimate me."
From behind the desk, the Admiral wheeled out a stroller-already assembled, much to the relief of the expectant parents. "Sir," Mac looked at the stroller in disbelief. It was one she'd been eyeing, but had ultimately decided the splurge would be too much. "You shouldn't have-"
"I indeed should have," The Admiral insisted, wheeling the stroller over to Harm and Mac so "I want nothing best for my Chief of Staff."
"Well...what about me, sir?" Harm asked slowly.
The Admiral sighed. "Remember the holes in the courtroom?"
"Yes, sir-"
"And when you abandon JAG to go fulfill a pipe dream on a carrier out in the middle of nowhere?"
"Yes, sir."
"Instead of having a midlife crisis on land like a normal human?" the Admiral raised an eyebrow at Harm. He was taking great satisfaction in what he was saying-he'd been meaning to get it off his chest for a while.
Harm sighed, knowing he couldn't exactly tell his CO anything laced with certain four-letter words. "Point taken, sir," he answered. "But do you remember when I almost died six months ago?"
The Admiral's smirk dimmed. Damn, he thought, I should've banked on him pulling the near-death experience card. "Right," he gently nudged the stroller in Harm's direction. "The stroller's for you too, Commander."
Mac was watching the interaction with amusement. So was Harriet, but she kept looking over at Mac. It was only a matter of time before Mac felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up to meet Harriet's gaze.
Things had been so strained between her and Harriet that Mac was always prepared to go on the defensive, but the look Harriet had in her eyes suggested that Mac wouldn't need to. Mac surprised herself by speaking first.
"Do you want to talk?"
"Yes I would."
Mac got to her feet, sitting the wad of tissues paper that had been sitting in her lap in the empty chair. She led the way to her office, opening the door and shutting it behind them. With the party being so small, they hadn't been able to slip out without some people noticing, but no one said anything.
"Do you want to go first?" Mac asked as she leaned against the edge of her desk. Harriet remained standing. "Or do you want me to go first?"
"No," Harriet shook her head. "I'll go."
Mac folded her arms across her chest, silently cursing the ache in her back (she now knew not to tease Harm when he complained about his back acting up). She waited for Harriet to collect her thoughts, grateful she was thinking about what she was going to say before she would say it. That way she wouldn't slip up and accidentally call Mac a whore again.
"I didn't mean to call you a whore," Harriet finally said, reading Mac's mind.
"Really?"
"Well, I did-but I don't think you are one," she clarified. "I wasn't calling you a whore because I think you're one, that's what I mean."
Mac slowly nodded. "Then why did you do it?" she asked, using the same voice she used when questioning a witness. She was keeping her distance for a reason, as one usually did with a friend who had been exhibiting considerably unfriendly behavior.
"Because I was fucking pissed, ma'am."
The courtroom demeanor flew out the window as Mac's eyes widened. Harriet rarely cussed, and Mac didn't think she'd ever heard her say the f-word before. "At me?" Mac asked. Now she was more confused than defensive.
"No. Yes? I don't know," Harriet ran her fingers through her hair. She knew who she was angry at-God, the universe, even. But neither God nor the universe were there for Harriet to take her emotions out on. She wanted to scream-she'd been wanting to scream since November 14th, 2000.
Harriet swallowed down that scream, just like she had done millions of times before. "All I know is," she looked up at Mac. There were no tears in her eyes, because tears rarely came with bitterness. "My daughter is dead, Mac."
Mac met Harriet's gaze, and there were no tears in her eyes either. If Harriet had been sad, Mac probably would've cried. But Harriet wasn't angry. In her own words, Harriet was fucking pissed. Luckily for her, Mac knew how to handle anger. From the rage of her father, to her own rage, Mac knew angry, and it wasn't something that scared her.
"Why didn't you say so, Harriet?" Mac asked, getting over and walking over to her. Hesitantly, lightly, Mac placed a hand on her shoulder. When Harriet pulled back, Mac didn't try to reach out again.
"Because I couldn't," Harriet said, turning away.
"How come?"
"Because!" Harriet whirled around quickly, but Mac didn't back away. "When do I ever get to be the angry one? When do I get to be bitter? Or cynical?"
Mac opened her mouth to answer, but found herself unable to provide one. Harriet continued, the fire in her eyes just beginning to ignite. "I'll tell you when; never," she hissed. "You don't get it, Mac. No one gets it."
"Believe me, Harriet," Mac said. "I understand angry-"
"Yes you do, but you get to feel it," Harriet shook her head. "I don't. Not even when my own daughter dies, I can't be angry about it. Sure, I can cry, I can grieve, but I show even the tiniest bit of rage, everyone's going to think Harriet's gone off the deep end."
"No one would think that."
"Oh but they would, I know they would," Harriet insisted. "Because I've never been the angry one. Ever. I'm not allowed to be. I have to be the support system, I have to be the backbone. Last year, I had my two weeks of grief, then I had to plan Christmas and New Years and Easter, and be your maid of honor while I was dying inside."
"And the bullshit of it all is that I couldn't even allow myself to be angry," Harriet's voice broke, and she cursed again under her breath. "I didn't even allow myself to be angry about my daughter-Sarah dying."
She reached up and wiped her tears away before even realizing they were falling. "Do you have any idea how much that-that-hurt? Ignoring her? Acting like I was okay with her not being here? And then you being pregnant was just the breaking point."
"Harriet-"
"So yes, I was angry with you. But please don't think it was your fault because it's not, it's just-"
"Harriet-"
"My baby should be here too," Harriet spoke softly. "Sarah should be here. We should have-we should've been able to have our babies together because that would've been so nice, Mac. I know that would've been great and we would've loved it, and they would've loved it-"
Without saying anything, Mac pulled Harriet into a hug, ducking her head down so her own tears wouldn't be visible. "I know," she said, trying to swallow the shakiness in her voice. "I know it would've been amazing, Harriet. And-" she pulled away so she could look at her. "You have every right to be angry about that, okay?"
"I just-"
"Don't let anyone tell you differently, okay?" Mac looked at her, and Harriet nodded. "Don't tell yourself differently, either."
Harriet cleared her throat. "I just-I don't know what peace is, anymore, Mac. And I don't think I ever will."
Mac nodded, pulling Harriet in for another hug. Not knowing peace was another familiar concept for Mac, something she was still struggling with. Here she was, becoming a mother without having a mother herself-a mother still out there in the world, a mother Mac had no idea what to do with. Then there was her childhood as a whole that Mac still shut away into a box when it got too much to deal with.
Another thing Mac knew was how to deal with not knowing peace. When she was younger, it was drinking and other reckless behavior. Both of those coping mechanisms weren't something she'd recommend to Harriet. She did have some alternatives, though.
THREE DAYS LATER
1830 EST
THE LOCAL GYM
WASHINGTON DC
The gym wasn't too crowded on that Monday evening, which was a good thing. Mac was already sticking out like a sore thumb, being the only person in the third trimester of pregnancy there-the added stares would not be beneficial. Mac still had to make it clear that she was not there to work out-as if the pair of fuzzy slippers she was wearing weren't enough of an indicator.
"Here you go," Mac passed the boxing gloves over to Harriet. She took them hesitantly, turning them over in her hands.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she looked at Mac skeptically.
Mac shrugged, sitting down on a nearby unoccupied bench. "It's better than drinking," she replied. "Or, in your case, planning parties."
Harriet needed Mac to help her get the gloves on right, and once she had them on she was still at a loss as to what to do. Harriet looked over at the punching bag, then down at her hands, then up at Mac. "What do I do?"
"Just punch it, Harriet."
"But-"
"Don't think. Hit."
Mac watched with amusement as Harriet gave the punching bag the slightest nudge. "Come on," Mac rolled her eyes. "You call that a punch?"
"I don't like violence!" Harriet said, something she'd been insisting the whole night. "Make love, not war."
"You weren't even at the war protests," Mac replied. "Hit the bag, Lieutenant. That's an order."
Never one to disobey an order, Harriet hit the bag with as much conviction she could muster. She looked over at Mac, who nodded in approval. "That's good," she said. "It helps if you put a little anger into it, though.
Harriet nodded, a glint of eagerness forming in her eyes. She turned back to the punching bag with renewed energy. If there was one thing Harriet could muster up, it was anger. She wound back and punched the bag with a force that made Mac's eyes widen.
"That's the spirit!" Mac threw her hands up. "Where has that been all these years?"
"I don't know," Harriet smiled, turning around to hide her blush from Mac. "Is that all?"
Mac smiled, shaking her head. Harriet groaned. "Nope," Mac told her. "You gotta keep the momentum going. That's what makes it so therapeutic," she laid down on the bench, sprawling her legs out in front of her. She placed both hands on her bump and stared up at the ceiling. "God I miss boxing."
Harriet continued to strike the punching bag, surprised by her enjoyment of it. It wasn't exactly peace, but it was something. After a while, Harriet paused. Breathing heavily with sweat dotting her brow, Harriet turned to look at Mac, who was lamenting about all the obscure things she'd read about in a baby book she'd received at the shower.
"And apparently the umbilical cord stump stays attached? Like attached to the baby?" Mac wrinkled her nose. "You're just supposed to let it shrivel up and fall off. Don't you think that's weird?"
Harriet shrugged. "Little AJ's only stayed on for a few days," she said, giving the punching bag one final nudge. "It is kind of weird, though."
"Are you done?" Mac propped herself up on her elbows. "Have you gotten all your rage out?"
"For now," Harriet sighed, brushing her bangs out of her face. Her ponytail had come halfway undone. Her eyes drifted down to her purse, something Mac had given endless grief about. "Who brings their purse into the gym with them?" had been her exact words. Little did she know, Harriet had brought it in for a reason.
Mac pulled herself into a sitting position, swinging one leg over the side of the bench. She patted the now-available spot next to her. "Come sit," she said. "You earned it."
Harriet sat down. "I almost forgot to tell you," she paused to take a sip from her water bottle. "I have something for you."
"What? Harriet you already got me too much at the baby shower-"
"No, it's nothing for the baby," Harriet picked up her purse. "It's not exactly something for you, I just wanted you to see something," she rifled through the contents of her purse as Mac watched her with interest.
Harriet pulled out a stack of typed pages held together with a big binder clip. "It's kind of a long story," she said. "Pun not intended. I found it while I was cleaning out my closet."
"What is it?" Mac asked as she flipped through the pages. "Did you write this?"
"Yeah," Harriet nodded. "I actually used to be an English major before I switched to political science for Officer Candidate School."
"Really?" Mac looked up at her. "I didn't know that."
Her and Harriet were close and considered each other best friends, but they rarely talked about their lives before JAG. They were both so busy, seemingly now more than ever, that they rarely got a chance to sit down and have a conversation.
"Yeah," Harriet looked a little wistful as she spoke. "I think I wrote this for a creative writing class."
Mac looked over the pages for a few moments, reading over snippets of what Harriet had written so many years ago. "Harriet, this is-"
"I know, it's bad. I shouldn't have made you read it-" Harriet reached out to take the pages back, but Mac held them out of her reach.
"This is good, Harriet," Mac told her. "Why didn't you tell me you could write?"
Harriet shrugged. "I didn't know I could," she admitted. "I haven't done it in years. I just found this while I was cleaning and…"
Mac looked up. "And what?" she asked.
"And…I don't know, it got me thinking about…" Harriet paused, mustering up her courage. She'd been thinking about this thing for a while, but she'd never talked about it to anyone. "About writing a book. Yeah...I've been thinking about writing a book."
Mac's eyes lit up. "Are you serious?" she asked, a smile spreading across her face. "Harriet, that's amazing!"
"You think so?" Harriet was genuinely pleased by Mac's reaction. Bud didn't know anything yet, since things had been so tense between them lately, but Mac's positive reaction made her optimistic that Bud would feel the same way.
"Of course," Mac looked back at the punching bag. "Does this mean you're not going to take up boxing?"
Harriet shrugged. "I think I can multitask."
Finally, something a little more uplifting! Well, it had a happy ending, at least.
Thanks for reading! Also thank you for all the reviews and kind feedback - this story continues to be one of my favorites.
See you next week!
-Harper