Ok, this should have been up ages ago. Sorry 'bout that.
-pureclass
March 17th 2012, St Patrick's Day
"Hurry up!" Tom yelled, anxiously awaiting the start of the match from his perch on the very edge of the sofa. He had a six pack of Guinness in front of him and was dressed in his Ireland rugby jersey, ready for the match.
She had just walked in with a steaming cup of tea when kick-off was called and Tom opened his first bottle.
"Beer?" she asked, eyeing the now half-emptied bottle in his hand questioningly before looking back up at his face.
"Yes. It's Saint Paddy's day! Tea?" he asked in response, staring down the brew held in both her hands before she sat down next to him and put it on the coffee table.
"Well," she began, systematically, "You're drinking Guinness for Ireland so I might as well drink tea for England. Unless you're lying and it isn't 'our nations in combat'!" she chuckled, paraphrasing him and trying to imitate his accent – with pitiful results.
"Ah, makes sense." He smiled raising his glass and she her cup before they clinked glasses.
"Cheers!"
"Sláinte!"
"Eh?"
"Gaelic, Sybil. Honestly!" Tom mused, and kissed the top of her head.
March 18th 2012, Mothering Sunday
After he had proposed, they spoke no more of what would no doubt become an actual elephant in the room, compared to some of the rooms they entered. Pregnant. Sybil hadn't taken any tests but knew what she was missing; and what she was gaining. And what she might lose. She was training to become a doctor, but what sensible student gets pregnant half-way through their final year?
So, as it was Mother's Day (what a weekend he inwardly, masochistically, grinned in that boyish way of his), he bought her, of all things, a pregnancy test.
She swatted him one, but he just finished off another pint.
"Don't you prefer it draught?" she asked, still holding the little cuboid in front of her.
"Yes," he admitted, "but I had to get some in for our flop and they were buy one get one free. Well, in packs of six."
"So you got four crates?"
"Yes. I need to be out when that comes through." He nodded at the box.
"Mm," she mused, but did not say anything.
"Tonight, then. But I can't promise anything good on TV." She giggled and, like before, they settled into a routine of being blissfully ignorant.
"Morning!" Tom practically yelled. It was just gone midnight of the 19th and he had finished off all the alcohol in the flat in preparation for whatever the test may bring. She wasn't happy, but didn't mind his endless kisses, the way he showered her with affection or the snogging when she hesitantly sipped what remained of the champagne.