Keeping Pace
by
Owlcroft
Beetlejuice had just about finished clearing the lab bench when he heard his wife's steps in the kitchen above him. "Lyds?" he called. Getting no answer, he quickly rattled the test tubes into their racks and juiced himself up the stairs to join her.
Lydia was leaning over the double sink, head down, motionless.
"Lyds?" he said again, quietly. When she turned to him, he could see her eyes were damp and he reached for her immediately.
"Please just hold me for a little while, Beej," she whispered.
He did so, cradling her gently but firmly, rubbing her back and whispering nonsense sounds of comfort.
Finally, Lydia sniffed loudly and told him, "I think maybe I was hoping I was pregnant again." When she felt him startle, she hastened to add, "But I'm not. It's just the beginning of menopause." She sighed, sniffed again.
Beetlejuice kissed her temple, then picked her up and sat at the table with her in his lap, re-establishing his embrace. "Dearest, did you want to be? I mean . . . it would be wonderful, but I thought we'd decided not to try for another one." He nuzzled her hair then kissed her forehead again. "Are you okay? Please tell me what I can do."
"Nothing. Except this," she snuggled up against him. "It's not that I was hoping I was. Because we had decided not to." She sighed again. "I guess I'm just . . . feeling a little old all of a sudden."
"Are you seriously worried about getting old? Heart's treasure! You'll never be old!" He looked at her in disbelief. "And you're sure not old now."
She sniffed once more, swiped at her eyes. "Maybe not yet, but I'm starting to get there. Beej, haven't you noticed my wrinkles? The gray in my hair?" Lydia looked up at a perplexed Beetlejuice.
"Um. No?"
That made her chuckle and hold him tighter. "You are such a darling, and I love you so much. Haven't you really noticed I weigh a little more, walk a little slower, look a little different? This year will be my forty-fifth birthday. Didn't that register with you?"
He wrinkled his face in thought. "I remember that's the number. But that's not old."
"Okay, that's not old. But suddenly I do feel older. It's probably just realizing it for the first time." Lydia shrugged then, without disturbing the embrace. "And it might be the changing hormones. You're going to have to put up with me for a while, you know?"
Beetlejuice frowned at her. "Really? Put up with you? Oh, I don't know if I can do that." When she laughed, he cocked his head a little, thinking, eyes half-shut. Then he nodded decisively and returned to comforting his wife. He had a plan.
ooooo
Over the next week, Lydia began to notice very slight changes to her husband's appearance. There were a few crows-feet around his eyes and his hair was a slightly lighter color of blond with a couple of streaks nearly white. She found it touching and adorable, but when she mentioned it one evening in the parlor, he disclaimed.
"Nah, it's not me. It's the lights in here, babes. It was getting a little harder to read, so I made the lights a little brighter, that's all." He waved a hand as if to illustrate then put an arm around her shoulders. "But you can thank me some if you want."
She did.
ooooo
Just a few days later, after lunch, Lydia went into her office to check over Itchy's latest design thoughts. The former Sappy Face Ghoul had turned into a good business manager for Scarabée and had some interesting ideas for their Neitherworld clientele. For the first time in months, she found a note from her husband on her desk. Usually, he left her a little something every few weeks, just a heart with their initials scribbled inside, or maybe a piece of paper pushed under the door that read, "Hugs and kisses – you's the one I misses". But this one looked, from a distance, like a poem. She picked it up and read:
I feel your pulse
And my heart stops
I hear you sigh
And my breath ceases
I sense your touch
And nothing else exists
You are the sun
I orbit.
She held her lip between her teeth and went to find him at once. When she entered the kitchen there was Beetlejuice at the table, working on a crossword, wearing brand new reading glasses.
Lydia stopped short in the doorway, then began to laugh. She laughed so hard and for so long that she finally had to lean weakly against the door frame.
Her husband sat and watched her through the plain glass of the spectacles he'd juiced up, wondering what his reaction should be – he hoped she was pleased but thought she might just find it comical. Then when she began to cry he went to her immediately, holding her and apologizing. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to . . . to . . . do whatever it is. Heart, please don't cry. I'll change it all back." He held her close and tried to think what else he could say or do. "I thought you'd like it. I wanted to . . . match you. To show you it wasn't, you know, a bad thing. I'm really sorry." He tried to get a look at her expression as she sniffled and wept quietly. Finally, he whispered, "Are you mad at me?"
With that, she started laughing again, although more quietly. "Mad at you? Mad? You are the most amazing, lovable, dear sweetheart anyone ever had and I can't begin to tell you how much I adore you. Beej, my darling, sometimes my heart just can't hold all I feel for you, that's all. And that's not a bad thing," she hastened to reassure him. "You are so thoughtful and caring and –" she broke off to kiss him, "and loving and wonderful. I wasn't crying because you did something wrong, but because you did something so right – so incredibly thoughtful and sweet."
Beetlejuice looked at her hopefully. "You're not mad. And you're not sad anymore, right? And you're not old."
Lydia smiled at him and caressed his face. "With you around, how could I possibly get old?"