A/N: Hello everyone! I'm very sorry for not updating the past couple of week but I caught a stomach bug that knocked me flat on my back. As a result, I wasn't really able to write much and I've been playing catch up with my schoolwork. I'm busy tomorrow so I decided to post the new chapter tonight. I hope you enjoy and thank you for all the lovely reviews!
By the way... apologies in advance for our two favorite idiots.
New Normal
Chapter Twenty
After asking Tom if it was alright, Mary decided to bite the bullet and tell Thomas. She couldn't tell if she had waited too long to tell him or if now was an appropriate amount of time. As her assistant, he needed to be in the know, but considering he was her friend as well...
MARY: Can you talk?
THOMAS: Yeah. What's up?
MARY: I need to tell you something.
THOMAS: Then say it. No need to be cryptic.
Mary sighed. They were too similar... and she hated dragging it out but at the same time she still didn't want to tell him. The only people who had receptively responded to the news were Anna and Granny. It was only natural that she felt hesitant to share.
But it needed to be done.
MARY: I'm pregnant.
There was no response for two minutes. Before Mary could text him back to ask if he was alright, she received a call. "Hello?" She said, already moving to the back door so she could stand outside. Chances were that she didn't need Tom or the children overhearing this conversation.
"What do you mean you're pregnant?"
"I mean I am carrying a child in my uterus," Mary said in a deadpan as she stood in the back porch. The sky was grey but it wasn't cold outside, which was a relief. "Well, two children, actually—"
"You need to slow down," Thomas said bluntly. "You're having twins?"
"Yes," said Mary, glancing down at her stomach as she said it. There wasn't much to look at but there was now a noticeable bump where there hadn't been before.
"Well... Congratulations, I guess."
"Thanks." There was no other way to possibly respond... Thomas sounded more surprised than genuinely congratulatory.
"Right. How are you pregnant?"
"What do you mean how? The normal way," said Mary, unable to resist being snarky as she stepped into the backyard. It seemed strange that just next week part of this green yard would be gone. Her and Tom had hired contractors and renovations were soon to start. "No IVF, no turkey basters—"
"Let's try this again. Who got you pregnant?" Before she could say anything, Thomas said, "And for the love of God, please don't say Henry."
"Don't worry. It's not him. Do you really think I'm that desperate?" she asked before she realized how awful it was going to sound when she told him who it really was. To anyone hearing her news, it would sound like she had been desperate enough to seek out the first person in her life to relieve her sexual urges.
"Quarantine makes you do strange things."
"I figured that out for myself, strangely enough," drawled Mary, though honestly it was hard to tell if quarantine was the culprit. It was certainly the catalyst but Mary somehow knew that even if a global pandemic hadn't uprooted their lives, it would have only been a matter of time before she realized how she truly felt. "What sorts of strange things have you done?"
"This isn't about me, this is about you," snapped Thomas. "Now who did you sleep with?"
Mary bit the inside of her lip, dreading this. "Before I do, I need to tell you that it isn't just some quarantine thing. I didn't just— It's been going on before that. Well, my feelings have, anyway."
"Well, color me intrigued. You mean to say you've had a crush all this time?"
"I suppose I have, if you want to put it that way. It's an awfully juvenile of framing it, isn't it?" said Mary, rolling her eyes. She was glad she was alone. "And I think all this time is a bit of an exaggeration but I've felt this way about him longer than I've been willing to admit to."
"Mary, if you don't start getting to the point, I'll hang up the bloody phone."
Mary rolled her eyes again. He was the one who wanted to talk about crushes, as if they were thirteen again. She let out a sigh. "It's Tom," she confessed.
There was silence. Mary wondered if he had hung up or if the call had dropped. Before she could check, he said, "What?" She began to speak only to be cut off by, "You mean Tom Branson?"
"Yes," replied Mary, sensing this was going to take an unpleasant turn.
"You've been fucking Tom?"
"Yes," repeated Mary, knowing this had already taken a nosedive.
There was silence. Then there was a groan on the other end. "Oh my God." He sounded absolutely stunned. "So... so you two are together now, then?"
"No," admitted Mary, ignoring her own disappointment. "Not really."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I've already explained to you how I feel. You do the math."
"Oh, God..." Thomas let out another groan. "So you've just been shagging, then?"
Mary flushed. "Yes." What else could she say? What other way could she describe it? At its core, that's all it was. Though their situation was inarguably nuanced, at its most basic, that was the most she could define it as.
"What made you think that was good idea? In case you've forgotten, he was going to marry your sister!"
That old guilt resurfaced and it wasn't any easier to face. "Of course I haven't forgotten."
"Then how are you pregnant with his baby? Oh, excuse me, I mean his babies?"
"I just told you! I— I'm in love with him!" The last part was a whisper, even though Tom was in the office and the children were entertaining themselves.
"You're what?"
"That's what I was trying to tell you!"
"Since when?"
"I don't know!" She cried out. "It could have been going on for years now, for all I know! But I know I do!" Her voice was much too loud— She was certain someone must have heard her, but it was a relief to finally scream it out. For weeks, her emotions had been threatening to boil over, bottled up inside for too long.
"So you aren't dating— How is it you're pregnant, then?"
"Funnily enough, we weren't aiming for that," Mary shot back, growing angrier and angrier. She knew she ought to just hang up right now, for the sake of her sanity and the babies, but she just couldn't seem to stop. "It just happened. And before you ask anything else, I am very happy about it so please don't spoil it."
There was a silence on the other end. Mary half dreaded his response. Then she heard a sigh and a, "Alright. I won't ask anymore questions. I'll just extend my congratulations."
"Thank you," Mary said, stiffly albeit relieved. She could tell he was still not comprehending things or even understanding, but the fact he was willing to put his own feelings aside was something she appreciated.
"Can I tell Jimmy?"
"We aren't keeping it a secret anymore, so you might as well," Mary told him. "But we haven't gotten around to telling Tom's mother or brother yet."
"Alright, I'll make sure not to bring it up next time they're over, then," Thomas said, his snark returning. Mary couldn't help but smile. She supposed it had been silly to mention it; she wasn't even certain if Thomas had ever met either of them. "But I'll have you know I'm upset with you." Mary tensed before he revealed, "Jimmy and I have had a bet for years now. He's always reckoned you two had a thing and I've been under the assumption you're just friends."
Her shoulders relaxed. "Well, you're each half right. You might as well call it a tie." It was baffling, because as clear as it was that her and Tom were not just friends, at the end of the day, that's all they were: friends.
Thomas scoffed. "Good luck trying to convince Jimmy of that. I might as well surrender."
They hung up shortly after that, Mary uncertain of what to make of it. It was clear he wasn't as happy as Anna (who had screamed with excitement when she learned Mary was expecting twins) but he wasn't like her family, either. A happy medium. Mary supposed she would take it. She walked back into the house, finding George and Sybbie coloring on the floor and the office door ajar.
"Hey," Tom said, glancing up from his laptop. He closed the lid. "How'd it go?"
Mary shrugged, closing the door behind her. "It wasn't good, but it wasn't bad, either."
"Sounds like a success in my books," Tom replied easily, pushing his chair away from the desk. "Come here."
Mary wasted no time doing just that, although she was confused until Tom tugged her down to his lap. A mixture of happiness and astonishment swirled within her. "I don't know how much work you'll get done like this," she managed to say lightly, one arm instinctively wrapping around his shoulders to form a loop as she clasped her hands together.
"I needed a break anyway," said Tom, and Mary was acutely aware of the arm around her waist and the hand on her thigh. It was a pleasant sensation. She let her eyes close, appreciating this closeness to him. "I'm sorry about about all this."
"I thought we agreed there was no sense in apologizing for the actions of others," said Mary, dealing him a serious look. "Or did that only apply to me?"
He smiled slightly. "I only meant if it weren't for me, you wouldn't be in the situation if having to explain these things to everyone."
"If it weren't for me, I wouldn't have to explain this to everyone," she told him, somewhat annoyed. If he was going to blame himself for any of this, he had another thing coming. Though Mary could hardly say their life was a blissful dream free of problems, she didn't regret anything. She was with someone she loved and was going to have his children. If she could, she would do it all over again. "Believe it or not I'm happy right now, so don't apologize for it."
Tom smiled. "I'm happy, too." His eyes were distant, but his thumb stroked her thigh. Mary relaxed. Things had changed now... and for that, she was glad.
They were on the couch together, sitting closer than they had in some time now. One of Tom's arms was draped across the back of the couch, around Mary's shoulders. She could hardly concentrate on the show they were watching, as silly as it was to say, too distracted by his closeness. Though it had become increasingly more frequent for them to exchange kisses and hold one another when they weren't intimate, Mary still hadn't grown used to the little touches he now bestowed on her out of the bedroom.
"I've been thinking," Tom began, startling Mary's eyes away from the television screen, "and I think we should get married."
Mary hadn't expected that. She stared at him with wide eyes, astonished. In a way, she was overjoyed... Tom guaranteed to be at her side for the rest of his life? It was too wonderful an idea for words. "Goodness! Is this a proposal?"
"Do you want it to be?"
The truthful answer was yes... but his nonchalance to her question is what jerked her back into reality. He wasn't the excited yet nervous man he ought to be after asking a question with that kind of weight. Tom was stretched out, relaxed, as if he had asked her to turn the volume up instead of become his wife.
Mary chastised herself. Despite the increased physical contact between them, there was no proof he felt the same way she did. Furthermore, considering there hadn't even been talk about how to classify their new relationship, Mary felt it was awfully soon to talk about getting married. "What's brought this on?" She asked, skirting his question easily, genuinely curious as to why he was asking.
"Well, with the babies coming along, I thought... well, why not?"
"So the concern is the children being born out of wedlock?" Mary asked wryly, trying not to let her annoyance with his response show. "I hate to break it to you, but Sybbie is already illegitimate... and a girl. She won't be able to become Lord Branson."
"No," insisted Tom, ignoring her joke, but smirking regardless. "It's because we already know how well we work as a team. We've lived together for years, we already are raising two children and now we have more on the way."
Mary thought of the marriages of convenience her ancestors had shoved their children into. It wasn't quite the same thing, but what he was essentially proposing was, in fact, a convenient marriage. "Tom," began Mary gently, though she didn't know why— if anyone's feelings by the end of this were going to end up mangled and bruised, they would be hers. "I understand what you are saying. Really, I do. But if I ever marry again, I want it to be for love."
"So you don't love me?" asked Tom. His words made her mouth go dry. Why was he... did he suspect her feelings? "Because I love you."
Mary felt as if her world had been tilted off its axis. Suddenly it seemed like she couldn't breathe. "You do?"
"You're my best friend," Tom said, taking her hand in his. "We've been through a lot together— more than most people have. We understand each other in a way no one else does... and I love you." Mary was honestly speechless, looking into his eyes. Was this true... was this really happening?
"I love you, too," she told him, feeling as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. They met one another's smiles, a giddy sort of laugh escaping both of them at the same time.
Had it really been this easy, Mary marveled, to confess how she felt? She never would have believed Tom could feel the same way... but maybe she hadn't given him enough credit. She had picked up a lot of things from him, so who wasn't to say he hadn't learned to hide how he felt?
But all her hopes came crashing down the moment Tom said, "See? It's not the same kind of love... but we have a strong friendship. And I think for us that could be enough."
She let go of his hands as if he were on fire. How could she have been so stupid...? "Not for me," she said, putting her hands back in her lap, turning forward. She couldn't believe she had been so foolish, so vulnerable and weak— "And it wouldn't be for you, either. You— you deserve to marry someone you are in love with."
"I think you and I both know that isn't going to happen," Tom said, a dagger piercing her heart.
"What about Lucy?" Mary loathed to bring up the moment, especially if doing so meant he might reconsider things with her. Still, knowing a certainty was better than a dozen doubts. "I thought you liked her."
"I liked her. I didn't love her. If I did, you wouldn't be pregnant with my children."
Mary couldn't help but love the way it sounded. "Fair enough," said Mary softly. "So it's over with her? Permanently?"
"It was over for me the night you and I started. I think all this would be a dealbreaker for her," said Tom flatly. "To be honest... I think our love lives are on hold indefinitely."
Mary knew hers was, thanks to her feelings, but apart from Tom's reluctance to be in relationship with anyone, she didn't see what his problem was... and as far as he knew, she had nothing holding her back. "Why do you say that?"
He turned to look at her. "Imagine if you went out on a date with a man and found out he still lived with the mother of his children. Would you really see a viable future with someone like that?"
This... all of this bothered Mary. It chafed at her sensitivities, which she thought had died with Matthew, making them red and raw with irritation. "Is this because of what my father said?" She asked, sorely hoping this wasn't the case.
Tom seemed uneasy. "Only partially." Oh God... as if this couldn't get any worse! He was proposing to her out guilt. Part of her wanted to laugh, if only to stop herself from crying. "I hadn't thought about it until he mentioned it. You know we don't agree in a lot of respects and I don't think you need some man to take care of you... you know how to take care of yourself." Mary might have been flattered under any other circumstances. "And this isn't Victorian times or whatever era your father chooses to live in, so I'm not worried about besmirching your virtue, either."
"Considering I've a child already, it was long gone before you," remarked Mary brusquely, wondering when he would get to the point. Another thought occurred to her. "Besides... I thought you didn't want to marry."
Tom was quiet for a moment. Mary wondered if maybe she had him before he sighed. "I don't. Not really." She wished he hadn't said anything. It was as if, up until now, a part of her had hoped he might have changed his mind. "But... it would be different. For us." She averted her gaze, a lump in her throat. "I think we need to face the fact that nobody will want to be involved with either of us. Not for a long while," said Tom. "Which is why I don't think it would be a bad idea to consider marriage."
God, he had no idea how much that hurt to hear. It was no better than those pacts— if we aren't both married at forty sort of thing friends made in uni when they were single and feeling lonely. He wasn't even pretending that he had any hopes of this evolving into something serious, going on and on about how he would never love anyone again. He hadn't even bothered to get down on one knee!
It was all this, this bubbling resentment and sadness that made Mary's temper boil over. Being weepy about this wasn't an option— Not in front of him, at least. She had cried enough tears in front of him over the course of the last couple of weeks to last her a lifetime. Her only option was lashing out.
"Speak for yourself," she said, finally rising to her feet. "I've never had any problems attracting men before and I doubt it will be a problem in future."
"Mary—"
"Matthew hadn't even been dead a year and I had two men chasing after me," she reminded him. "If being widowed isn't off-putting enough, I'm certain plenty of men will be willing to overlook this." She seemed to have silenced him. Tom was staring at her, expression unreadable. He was oblivious to how thoughtless he was being, how much he was hurting her— "So I don't need to worry about settling for you."
Mary wished she hadn't said that. She had meant to hurt him, but she was convinced the one she had injured most was herself... especially when Tom's lips parted, likely ready to rightfully chastise her. Unable to deal with that right now, she stormed off, her footsteps loud as she went up the stairs. If she were even in a slightly more lucid state of mind, she would have thought to be more quiet to keep from rousing Sybbie and George but she was past that.
She collapsed in bed, not bothering to change. All she wanted to do was to somehow escape her life, as she suspected she had just ruined it.
Tears leaked out of the corner of her eyes and Mary knew there was no point in blaming it on her hormones. She felt as if her heart, which she had felt was so cold and empty for so long, was now shattered into a million pieces.
She had no idea how much time passed between crying and dozing off, but her slumber was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Her eyes snapped open into the dark bedroom. Her pillow was still damp with her tears. Disoriented and dazed as she was, she had enough conscious thought to stop her making any noise. She let her eyes fall shut as she heard Tom walk quietly through her bedroom, footfalls dampened by the carpet.
She felt movement beside her. Her muscle tensed almost involuntarily. She breathed in, preparing herself for the inevitable sinking weight on the opposite side of the bed as he crawled in.
Except he didn't. Tom gathered up his pillows before walking back to the door. Mary felt confusion wash over her as the door opened again before closing. She counted to sixty, waiting for him to return, even as she heard him walk to down the stairs. She rolled over, opening her eyes to a darkened ceiling.
She felt like an idiot... probably because one. In what possible universe would he want to stay in the same bed as her after what she had said to him? Mary turned her head, staring at the empty space beside her, unspeakably sad.
Why was she like this? Why did she always feel the need to hurt the people she cared about the most? About the only people in her life that she was confident weren't looking down on her in some way or another were George and Sybbie, but she supposed that was because they didn't know any better. Her family hated her, Anna and Thomas were certainly questioning her judgement, and now she had turned Tom against her.
She didn't sleep easily that night— it was nearly impossible to. Her mind kept circling back to their argument; it would have been so easy for her to hold her tongue. Mary had also become accustomed to Tom lying beside her, touching her in some way. Without his steady, constant breathing, she was at a loss, unable to get comfortable and feeling as lonely as she had when Matthew had died.
Mary wondered how bad things would be in the morning. She wasn't sure how she would manage if Tom decided that her harsh words were the straw that broke the camel's back. What if he left, taking Sybbie with him? What if he wanted nothing to do with her or the babies, realizing she was too much to deal with?
"I'm sorry," she whispered, hand falling onto her slightly rounded stomach, voice breaking. Her eyes closed shut. She wasn't sure who she was speaking to— Tom or the twins. Nevertheless, Mary knew that if her cruelty was the reason her next children would grow up without a father, she would never be able to forgive herself.
Mary didn't want to leave her bed when she finally awoke. She was perfectly willing to stay there all day— that is, until she felt the nausea return.
With a groan, Mary stood up, battling the discomfort as she peeled off her clothes from the night before, changing into a pair of grey leggings and a baggy tee shirt. It was almost too warm a day for the leggings, but Mary didn't have any clean shorts with an elastic band to accommodate her growing body... even the leggings didn't fit right anymore. It was time for new maternity clothes. Ordinarily, the opportunity for a new chance to shop would have pleased her, but this morning her spirits were low.
Mary vainly hoped that Tom would still be asleep when she made it downstairs, but instead she saw the empty couch, his pillows still propped on the arm rest. She winced... his back was likely killing him right now. The sound of running water and humming told her he was doing the dishes... which meant he was in the kitchen. With her medicine.
Cursing herself for even taking it out there, Mary walked into the kitchen as quietly as possible. However, Tom noticed her nonetheless and greeted her with a, "Morning," without bothering to turn around as she stood by the counter, pill bottle in hands.
Fuck. She was frozen. "Morning," she said back before twisting open the bottle. She shook the pill out into her open palm, ready to reach into the cupboard for a glass when a full glass of water was clunked down next to her. Mary stared at it— or rather, at the spot where his retreating hand had been. "Thanks," she said, popping the pill in her mouth and swallowing it down.
"No problem."
Mary continued to gulp the water, waiting to see if he would say anything else. The water was half drained when he walked back over to the sink.
Mary set the glass down on the countertop, leaning forward. I'm sorry, she thought, but couldn't bring herself to say it. The words were on the tip of her tongue, and yet to do so would feel like surrender... even though she wanted to.
At the very least, his gesture with the water proved he didn't hate her entirely. If she was lucky, he didn't hate her at all. "You didn't have to sleep on the couch," she said finally, looking at the cupboard and imagining his face.
"Didn't think you'd want me."
I always want you. Yet another thought creeping from her subconscious, forbidden and dangerous in equal measure. "You shouldn't pay attention to the things I say," she said instead, still looking at the cupboard, eyes tracing over the grains of wood. "Especially when I am angry."
"I know that." The dishes clinked together in the sink. Mary dared to turn around. Tom was submerging his hands in the dirtied water, a bright yellow dishrag in hand as he wiped the plates. "And I'm sorry if I hurt you. I shouldn't have projected my problems into you."
Hurt her? What about him? She had been the one to deal the fatal blow, with full knowledge of how nasty she was being. There was no way he could have possibly known how deep his words would cut. "You don't have to apologize."
"I think I do. I obviously upset you."
"Tom, stop. You and I both know I was completely out of line." Why must he be so determined to be noble?
"Maybe so," he agreed. "But I was being pushy. You made your position quite clear. And for what it's worth, I think you're right." Before Mary could ask— no, demand to know what he meant, Tom clarified, "I was asking for all the wrong reasons. It was selfish of me. If— if either of us decide to marry, it should be for love. Not like what I suggesting."
Mary had never wanted to be right about that. Mary turned back to her glass of water, picking up. Before she lifted it to her lips, she said, "I suppose you're glad now I turned you down."
"You stopped us from doing something foolish." The water going down her throat was too refreshing, waking her up more instead of numbing her to this reality. She needed something numb her senses— too bad she was pregnant. She could have used a stiff drink right about now. "Of course I'm glad."
"That, and knowing you won't be married to a total bitch." She didn't know why she said it. It was one of the many thoughts resting on the tip of her tongue, one of the ones that should have remained unsaid but somehow it manifested itself.
Tom turned around, pink hands covered in soap subs. Droplets formed on the tips of his fingers, cascading down to rug beneath his feet. "Don't call yourself that," Tom told her.
"Even if it's true?"
"It's not."
"Edith would beg to differ."
"I'm not Edith," said Tom, almost sternly. "And it's not true."
Before Mary could counter his remark, she heard the telltale sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. George was descending the staircase, one small hand on the bannister. "Good morning, darling," Mary called out. "Did you sleep well?"
The previous conversation was shelved in favor of focusing on George, who immediately began telling them about a funny dream involving him in a pasture full of multicolored sheep. They pushed aside their issues and argument, listening. As Tom finished the washing up, Mary got George a bowl of cereal.
Later, while Tom busied the children in the backyard with a game of football, Mary picked up his pillows from the couch and carried them up the stairs. She put them back in his rightful place, even fluffing them. She looked at them for a moment, hoping to God that she wouldn't do anything to make them move from there again.
When night fell, Tom dismissed himself for bed as Mary watched television. She let him go, figuring he needed the rest after a night on this damnable couch. She watched until her eyelids felt heavy and forced herself up to bed.
Much to her surprise, Tom was still awake when she got there. "Hey," he said, voice low.
"Hey," she said back. She closed the door behind her, wondering if she ought to change in the bathroom. It wasn't going to be one of those nights— she could already tell. Figuring there was no need to pretend there was a need for modesty, she stripped off by her dresser, slipping her pajamas on, which consisted of nothing more than a pair of boxers and a loose white tee shirt. She didn't bother ascertaining whether or not they belonged to Tom or Matthew— at this point, they had become interchangeable.
Once she was finished, Mary walked over to the bed, noticing that Tom's gaze lingered on her. She pretended she hadn't seen even though they both knew she had been watching out of the corner of her eye. She climbed into her side of the bed, only for Tom to wrap an arm around her waist. His face pressed into the back on her neck before he adjusted himself. Mary smiled to herself, feeling both comfortable and relaxed.
Her bladder woke her in the night, forcing her from the bed to bathroom. Mary didn't even bother turning on a light, hopeful she could return to bed as if nothing happened. It wasn't until she was washing her hands that suddenly she felt it. She froze, the water still running from the faucet onto her hands.
For a second, Mary wondered if she had imagined it before feeling it again— that same movement in her stomach that she had felt with George.
Without worrying about drying her hands, Mary rushed into the bedroom. "Tom," she whispered, excited and hardly able to stand it. "Tom!"
He didn't stir until Mary shook him awake, emitting a low groan. As his eyes opened in the darkness, his face screwed up. "Sorry to wake you—" she began, only to be cut off by Tom.
"You're hands are wet," he mumbled.
Mary was too impatient to dwell on how adorable he was when he was sleepy. "Never mind that. I felt one of the babies move."
Tom went from laying prostrate on the bed to sitting upright. "Did you really?" He reached out, cool hands against her stomach.
Mary nodded, her own hand seeking out his wrist, holding it there. They sat a moment longer before she felt it again. "There! Did you feel it?"
Tom shook his head, frowning. "No. I didn't." He went silent. "They must be too small yet."
He was disappointed; that much was obvious. "I'm sorry," Mary said, letting go of his wrist.
"What for?" His hand left her stomach to hold her hand. "Mary, it's amazing. I'm so glad you can feel them. They're really in there..."
"But I woke you up—"
"I'm glad you did." He leaned forward, kissing the crown of her head. "Thank you for trying to share that moment with me." She felt movement yet again but said nothing. "I'll be able to feel it later."
Mary wasn't fully confident but nevertheless she laid back down next to him. Despite knowing he would feel nothing, his hand settled on the soft swell of her stomach. Mary smiled, award he couldn't see it, and laced their fingers together before they fell asleep once more.
"Should we start thinking of names?"
"We don't even know the sexes yet," insisted Mary, though she was charmed by his enthusiasm. Last night's revelation seemed to have inspired him to think more about their children. Tom's arm was wrapped around her, his opposite hand resting on her protruding stomach.
"I know... but I'd like to talk about it. Just... Just in case."
Just in case one of us dies. How morbid was it, that Mary knew exactly what he wasn't saying? She supposed it was understandable; after everything they had gone through, there was no wonder there was a lingering sense of paranoia. Add a pandemic into the mix and it didn't seem so ridiculous.
"Alright," she said, letting her own hand join his. Their fingers intertwined. "Do you have any ideas?"
Tom shrugged. "A few. But I was thinking... Do you mind if their middle names are Irish?"
"Of course not." Sybbie's was— she supposed that was as good an idea as any. She hadn't really let herself think that far ahead quite yet. "I think that's a wonderful idea."
"You do?" Mary was surprised by the bemusement on his face. Before she could ask, he hurriedly said, "It's just... well, I remembered that you and Matthew had a middle name. For a girl." He looked nervous. "I didn't know if you wanted to use it."
"I'm surprised you remembered," remarked Mary, genuinely taken aback. She wouldn't have expected him to recall that. Her and Matthew had never been able to agree on a girl's name, only settling in the middle name Isobel. Matthew used to tease her by suggesting they call their daughter Andromeda, which Mary had staunchly refused amongst giggles.
It was strange, she realized, to be laying in this bed with Tom, the same place her and Matthew had been when they brainstormed names for their little prince or princess, now thinking up names for their own babies.
"I remembered hearing you mention it. A few times." Tom seemed a little awkward, somewhat comfortable. "If... if we have a girl, would you want to use it?"
Mary shook her head. "I'd rather think of something new," she said. The idea of using the names she picked out with Matthew didn't seem right. "It's our babies. We ought to think up something special for them... unless you and Sybil had a name you wanted to use?" she added quickly, not wanting to step on any toes.
Tom shook his, a faraway look in his eyes. "No," he said. "We didn't have any names picked out." He was quiet for a moment before adding, "She wanted to wait. She said we'd know once we met the baby what to call it. If I had known what she thought... well, Sybbie would have had a different name."
Mary smiled a bit sadly. "Well, I think it suits her." She reached out, taking his hand. The small smile on his face made her own a little less melancholy.
"She's a lot like her, isn't she?" asked Tom. Before Mary could affirm it, he added, "But she's a lot like you, too."
Mary's eyes widened. "I hope not." The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself. As Tom's eyebrows furrowed, she quickly said, "Sybil and I didn't have that much in common, not really... and I hate to think I might have been a negative influence on her."
Tom shook his head. "I'm glad she's like you." His grip on her hand tightened for just a moment, a comforting squeeze. "You're my best friend and believe it or not, I like you. And I hope our babies will be like you, too."
Mary felt herself soften. "Well, I'm hoping they'll be like you," she told him, gazing up. She didn't say anything more, worried she would reveal herself.
"I'm sure they'll be like the both of us," he said, laying back of his pillow staring up at the ceiling, hands still intertwined. "And I'm sure they'll bring plenty of surprises with them, too."
"They already have," pointed out Mary, thinking of how nearly everything involving them had been nothing short of shocking. As tiring as it was, dealing with all the developments, Mary found herself even more excited to see what they would bring once they were here.
Tom chuckled before pulling her close to him. Mary didn't allow herself to read anything more into the gesture. She knew she would just get hurt.
Granny called one afternoon, while Tom was working and Mary was working in the living room. She took her phone and stepped into the kitchen to be away from the sound of the power tools outside. "Hello, Granny."
"Hello. Is Tom there?"
"He's working right now. Why, what's happened?" Her mind jumped to a million horrendous conclusions. Had she hurt herself? Did she need to go to the hospital? Was it the coronavirus?
"Nothing's happened. I wanted to make sure I could speak to you alone." Before Mary could ask why, Granny inquired, "Just exactly how long have you been in love with Tom?"
Mary nearly dropped the phone. "How did you know?" She whispered. There was no sense in denying it; if Granny could see it, she would easily see through any lie.
"I've had my suspicions for quite some time... and I know how you are."
Mary sighed out her nose, leaning against the countertop. "To be honest, I'm not quite sure. I didn't realize it until a few months ago."
"Before or after you realized you were pregnant?"
"Before."
"You've not told him yet, have you?"
"No. I haven't."
"That's what I thought." Mary couldn't tell if Granny was displeased or gloating that she'd been right. Perhaps it was a little bit of both. "For what it's worth, I think you should tell him."
"There's no point in it."
"Why not?"
"Because I already know how he feels and there's no sense in getting rejected again," Mary ground out.
There was a brief silence. "What do you mean? I thought you hadn't told him."
"I didn't." She had, technically, the night of the botched proposal. She didn't really think it counted though, not when he assumed she meant it in a purely platonic way. "He told me that he only sees me as a friend."
"Forgive me, my dear, but I don't believe that for a second." Before she could protest, Granny was saying, "I don't doubt that he said it, I just cannot believe that is the truth."
"Well, it is."
"I'm sure you think it is, but I can see plainly that he is in love with you. It doesn't make sense otherwise."
Mary shook her head, a lump in her throat. How could Granny see anything? She hadn't seen her grandmother in person since March, just after Tom had broken with Lucy. "You're right. It doesn't make sense." Nothing about this whole thing with Tom had ever made sense but Mary was more confused now than she had ever been in her life. "But please... don't give me any false hope. I need to accept things as they are to save myself from any pain." As it was, she had felt quite enough of it already.
Granny sighed wearily. "Very well. We'll say no more of the matter... but I don't believe Tom is being honest with you."
"Believe me, he's had plenty of opportunity to tell me," she told Granny, starting to grow irritated by this conversation. "Can we please talk about something else now?"
They talked about this and that, mainly updating Mary on the goings on of the family that she was no longer privy to. It saddened her to be reminded of the wall between her and her family, but Mary was grateful to hear all was still well. It only served as a distraction for a time before Granny hung up and Mary left to her thoughts.
Tom had already stated how he felt. Mary shouldn't have even been contemplating Granny's words... and yet how else was she supposed to explain it? She knew she ought to just ask him outright but she wanted to protect her heart. Given what he had said during his disaster of a proposal, it seemed highly unlikely her feelings were reciprocated. What was the point of rubbing even more salt into the wound?
Besides, Mary told herself, pouring herself a glass of water, what they had right now was better than losing him entirely— not just for her, but for the babies and Sybbie and George. Maybe it wasn't traditional, maybe everyone would think they were mad, but in a strange sort of way, she was happy, which was more than she could say about the past few years of her life. Even if she was to be hurt in the end, she would always have these memories.
A/N: I promise these two are very close to finally having that very important conversation! :)
I've reached the point in my semester where big projects are due and final exams are approaching, so if there's no update in the coming weeks, that will be the reason why.
Thank you all so much for reading each week, I really do appreciate it!
