...

The Anniversary Evolution

Year Three

Valentine's Day is not a holiday for the parents of a newborn. It passed by with nary a whisper, and most certainly no brushing of the skin.

They were trying to get Ada on a schedule, which was both more difficult and more simple than they had been doing it. This they discussed endlessly: the nuances of timing and order and balancing needs with wants. Then there was the thing they did not discuss at all, the morning four days prior that Amy had hit rock bottom and almost took Sheldon with her. By silent mutual consent, it would never be mentioned again. They would each live separately with the guilt of this black mark upon them: Amy for the things she had said, Sheldon for how he had stood with his forehead against the door, his hand around the door knob, fighting every demon he had ever known not to open it and walk out.

On the twentieth, Sheldon woke up with a start, well before the 6:30 feeding. He strained his ears, but all was calm and quiet. Amy was sound asleep next to him, and he would not wake her for anything. Well, maybe the Nobel Prize. He slipped out of bed and into the shower before trying to slip out of the house. He carried his shoes to the living room and was startled to find his mother awake, sitting on the sofa, knitting.

"Mom, what are you doing up?" he whispered.

"I could ask you the same," she replied, watching her stitches. "I haven't been able to sleep past six in years, so I knit. These are booties. Where do you think they've all been coming from? And why are you dressed and out here so early in the morning?"

"I remembered an errand I have to run. And do you just sit in silence and knit?"

"At home, I watch the early news, but I can't figure out your fancy TV. And what errand?"

Sheldon sighed. "I've told you, there's nothing to figure out." He took the small remote from the coffee table, pressed the large button on the bottom, and raised his voice slightly, "Siri, play Channel Four, volume low."

Mary jumped as the television came to life. "I don't like that, it's unnerving. You think this woman is your friend, but one day she will kill you in your sleep. And what kind of foreign name is Siri, anyway?"

Sheldon rolled his eyes and started to slip on his shoes.

"You never did answer my question. What errand is so important you have to run it at six in the morning?" his mother asked.

"Uh . . . going to buy cereal before breakfast. We're out," he said.

She looked up at him. "We both know that's not true. Don't try to lie to me, young man."

"Fine. I just realized it's our anniversary. I haven't got a single thing to give to Amy."

Mary smiled. "See, the truth is nicer, anyway. Get a card, women love cards." She returned to her knitting as he opened the door. "When she wakes up, I'll tell her that you went to buy cereal. You might consider bringing some home. One of the secrets to a successful lie is follow through."

He drove to the grocery store to buy cereal, debating what he should get Amy, what he could find so early in the morning on such sort notice. His mother's suggestion of a card was ridiculous, he had never once bought Amy a greeting card and did not intend on building her future expectation for one now. The best idea he had was a box of brownie mix that he could make for her, because she liked brownies and chocolate was supposed to be romantic, but he knew that was weak idea. He had just grabbed a shopping basket when he saw the sunflowers in the floral department. Yes! He choose the bouquet with the most perfect specimens, and then he saw the sign above the display: "Don't forget your bouquet card!"

Well, one of the plain ones with the red border wouldn't be too much, would it? He picked up the complimentary pen. But what to write? It needed to be something Amy would understand but that wouldn't be embarrassing, especially if his mother saw it. Suddenly, he remembered the recent forgotten holiday, and he smiled as he wrote the words.

His mother got up as soon as he came home, and, when she saw the flowers, she smiled and nodded at him. Behind her, on the sofa, was Amy, sitting and looking down at their daughter in her arms.

"Oh, good, Sheldon! I'm so glad you remembered the cereal!" Mary said effortlessly, and Sheldon envied her skill. "You know, I just remembered that no one went down to the get the mail yesterday. I'll be right back." She picked up the mail that she had, in fact, remembered to get the day before and went out the front door, patting Sheldon's arm as she went. Follow through.

"Yes, thank you for the cereal," Amy said, not looking up, still lost in the trance of motherhood. Sheldon didn't mind. He liked watching her. She was looking so much better now, more like herself. Even though she was still in her nightgown and robe, her hair was neatly braided and there were no dark circles under her eyes. Only in middle the night did the look of terror come back into her eyes, the one he had feared was permanent that first week home from the hospital, when Amy seemed like a feral version of herself. The schedule had saved her, and now he frequently caught her just holding and enjoying Ada for those precious moments that were all too brief. He felt a strange ache at the thought of going back to work on Monday, a regret he had never felt before at the thought of returning to his job. Maybe he should have taken a longer paternity leave, so that he could watch them together everyday, to see the look on Amy's face when she gazed at her baby. That look, it was so unique, so different from the loving looks she gave him, but there was no doubt that it was love. Motherhood looked beautiful on Amy.

Sheldon sat the bag with the cereal and the brownie mix on the island and walked over to the sofa. Amy looked up at him.

"Sheldon! Sunflowers!" Her face had instantly shifted to the loving countenance she reserved for him alone.

"For you. Happy anniversary," he said, suddenly feeling silly about the whole thing. But he leaned down to kiss her softly anyway. "Do we have a vase somewhere?"

"Oh, they're beautiful. Yes, there's the crystal vase Mother sent as a housewarming gift. But leave it for now. Sit with us instead."

He sat. "There's a card."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "Will you read it to me? My hands are full."

He nodded, feeling more ridiculous by the minute. He opened the little white envelope and cleared his throat. "Amy, this is strange, reading this to you. Maybe I should I let you read it yourself later."

"Please? I want to hear it. And your mother isn't here."

Unable to deny her, he stared at the words, even though he knew exactly what they said. He couldn't help but whisper them. "You make my heart feel like the Tardis."

He looked up sheepishly, to see Amy's beautiful face, shining so brightly at him. A single tear started to roll down her cheek, and he instinctively reached up to stop it. "Amy? Is that not what I should have written?"

"Sheldon, it's perfect. I'm so happy." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I completely forgot. I didn't get you anything."

He leaned forward to set the flowers on the coffee table. He ran his palm over his daughter's dark hair, before tracing down her arm with his fingertips. Then, he gave her his index finger and she grasped it in her tiny hand. At the exact same moment, she released a small, contented baby sigh.

"That's not true," Sheldon said. "You gave me the best gift of all."

That night, the Post-It notes were on his bathroom mirror, surprising him. When did she have the time to sneak off and write them?

"I love you more than Bilbo loved the Shire."
"I love you more than Laura loved Almonzo."
"I love you far more than Catherine loved Frederic."
"I love you more than Mary loved the garden."
"I love you more than John loved Shakespeare."
"I love you more than Poirot loved his little gray cells."

Under those notes, there was an extra one:

"You are an unsolvable puzzle, and I cannot resist that."

AN: Thank you in advance for your reviews!