A/N: I don't own what you recognize.

During the second week of the fall semester, I had a meeting with Chris White to discuss my maternity leave. While it was settled that I would have six weeks from the day I gave birth, we needed to discuss who would cover my classes while I was on leave and how we would handle grading.

"You have essentially two options. Either we can have graduate students cover your classes or you can have other professors each take a section of your classes. Either way, it's probably best if you do your own grading."

"Either option works for me," I replied. "I don't want to create too much extra work for someone else, so I think it'd probably be best to have my grad students do my teaching and then do my own grading with George's help."

"I know that Mark and Art have both said they'd be willing to cover your Brit Lit intensives."

I smiled. "And I appreciate that. But I don't want to put that much pressure on them during the second half of the semester."

Chris nodded. "I understand. Personally, I think it would be best to have your grad students cover your classes for you and then have you do all of your own grading. It isn't ideal."

"But having a baby in the middle of the semester isn't ideal either," I said, resting my hands on my belly. "I know it's not ideal, but life doesn't always go the way you plan."

My department chair smiled. "So you can handle grading the coursework."

"With the help of my grad assistants," I replied. That year, I had three grad students I was mentoring. One was a second-year grad student and the other two were first-years. All three were working on doctorates in nineteenth-century British literature, which was my specialty.

"And you'll have George too," Chris said with an almost teasing smile.

I shrugged. "He will be around."

"And inevitably your mothers will show up."

"I don't know about that."

"Oh trust me," Chris replied. "I have four children and I can guarantee you that mothers always materialize when grandchildren arrive."

I must have grimaced because Chris chuckled. "Those first few weeks will be some of the hardest of your life. The only time that's harder is the week before your oldest daughter's wedding. That week is a little heartbreaking. I know Lisa and I were both a little overwhelmed the week that Rebecca and Oliver got married."

"Chris, I haven't even given birth to this baby yet. I'm nowhere near ready to think about her getting married."

"You'll have to deal with it someday," he said. "And it will be really hard on George. Trust me."

I smiled. "Oh, I have a feeling that George is going to be the ideal daddy to a little girl."

"He will," Chris replied. "I have three daughters, and I can guarantee them that George could potentially be a better father than I could ever been."

I had heard that comment from various people ranging from Hattie Smith to my mother to now my boss. Even George's sister-in-law (and the mother of his brother's children) thought that George would be a better father than his own brother.

"We'll see what happens," I replied casually. "But I do see great potential in him."

When I arrived home that evening, the man of great potential was sitting in his beloved recliner without a shirt on while drinking beer and reading playing Mario Kart. I sighed. "George, do you know what you look like?"

"An exhausted professor who desperately needs an explanation of why he always ends up with classes that are ninety percent female," he replied without looking up.

"No," I replied. "You look like a college student."

"Ouch," he grimaced, dropping the game control and clutching his ribcage. "That hurts."

"Sometimes, they say that the truth hurts."

George sighed, paused his game, and looked up at me. "You look fabulous today."

"Now you're just trying to sweet-talk me after I insulted you."

He shook his head. "Come here. You genuinely look fabulous. Your skin is glowing, and that shade of blue looks stunning with your hair."

"Did you spill coffee on my bed again?" After occasionally sharing my bed with George over the past few weeks, I was starting to wonder if the reason he was perpetually single was his propensity for spilling coffee while having his morning coffee and a novel session in bed.

He grinned. "I didn't do anything too bad."

"Did you tell your mother things like this when you were a kid?"

He laughed. "What do you think?"

"Poor Madeline," I sighed.

"Don't you think you should honor her by naming her first granddaughter after her?" he asked teasingly.

"Okay, shirtless man, what exactly is up with you? You're being odder than normal."

"Odder than normal?" George repeated. "Emma Clare, I'm going to take that personally."

I laughed. "Please do. Now what did you do?"

"I bought pink paint," he replied.

I was confused. "Why?"

"I had an idea. Baby needs her own space. And I'm not exactly sure how we're going to create it in this mousehole, but we'll do it. And we're going to paint it pink."

I smiled as I sat down next to him. "You're a dear. Now put on a shirt."

"Do you want me to stop playing Mario Kart too?"
I rested my hands on my belly and sighed dramatically. "Well, Baby wants to watch Doctor Who, if it's not too much trouble."

"I don't believe you," he replied with his cheeky grin. "I think you want to watch Doctor Who. I think it's far more likely that Baby wants to watch The Princess Bride."

"I'm sold," I replied. "Now put your shirt on."

"You wouldn't tell Orlando Bloom to put his shirt on."

"Well, Orlando Bloom isn't here. He's off with his Victoria's Secret model wife. So, put your shirt back on until he gets here."

"What am I going to do when he gets here?"

"Leave," I replied. "You're going to leave me alone to fulfill all of my Legolas-fangirl dreams."

"You have a thing for Legolas?" he asked. "I always saw you as an Aragon girl."

"Oh tosh," I sighed, putting a hand on his bare shoulder. "I'm a sucker for blondes without chest hair."

"You're describing me," he said. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or not."

"Well, let me know when you decide, but while you're working on that, put the shirt on please."

George laughed and put his shirt back on. I kissed him quickly. It probably wasn't the best thing for him to have me kissing him or snuggling with him if he wasn't attracted to me, but he wasn't complaining, which was a relief.

The first time I ran into Paul during fall semester was September 21. I had successfully avoided him for three weeks, but that Friday, I ran into him after teaching my only Friday class. I had lunch plans with Hannah, and apparently she had decided to invite Paul along. So when I walked into Cosi for lunch, there was Paul sitting at a table with Hannah. I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.

The minute she saw me, Hannah stood up and hugged me. "It's so good to see you, Emma. You're looking amazing. Paul, doesn't she look amazing?"

"She looks like she swallowed a basketball," he replied without rising.

"Have a seat," Hannah said to me. "Paul doesn't mean that. He's just teasing. I mean, you really do look fabulous. I hope when I'm seven and a half months pregnant, I look that good."

"You're enormous," Paul said to me without a hint of teasing or irony in his voice. "I mean enormous."

I rolled my eyes and rested my hands on my belly. "Thankfully, George doesn't tell me things like that."

"You should have listened to me and terminated back in April," Paul persisted. "Then you wouldn't be letting your figure go to crap like this."

"And I'm out of here," I said as I struggled to my feet.

Hannah put a hand on my hand. "Em, he's kidding. He's just teasing. He doesn't really think you look fat or that you should have terminated the pregnancy."

"Uh, yeah he does," I replied. "Are you listening to him?"

"It's his sense of humor," she insisted. "Paul, tell her that you don't really think that she's fat."

"Hannah, get a clue," Paul replied bitterly. "I told her to terminate the pregnancy, and she didn't do it. And now, she's fat. If she had listened to me, she wouldn't be fat and she wouldn't be having a baby. And she's insane if she really thinks that George is going to stick with her from here to eternity. I mean, has he seen you lately? Sea World has whales who are smaller than you."

"And that's my cue to leave," I said. "Hannah, call me when you're ready to be reasonable."

Half an hour later, I walked into the Knit 'n' Lit to find Jamie Malloy behind the counter and Betsy stocking shelves. "You look like you could use a drink," Jamie said with a warm smile.

I sighed. "I'd love a drink, but unfortunately, that's going to have to wait until mid-November."

He smiled. "Would an Irish cream latte do any good?"

I grinned. "That would be lovely."

"Make her a turkey and pesto while you're at it, Jamie," Betsy called out. "She needs a good lunch."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"The look on your face, the tone of your voice," she replied. "While Jamie makes your lunch, do you want to come over here and tell me about it?"

I smiled and made my way over to one of the store's comfortable rocking chairs. As I eased myself into it, I sighed. "I know that I still have seven weeks until my due date, but I'm not sure how I can handle it. I'm not sure how I can get any bigger or any more uncomfortable."

Betsy smiled. "Been there, done that; got the baby to prove it."

I laughed. "Where is Natalie?"

"Asleep in the pack 'n' play," she replied. "And let me tell you, Emma. That thing is a lifesaver. That and the sling-carriers make it possible for me to have her at work with me."

"I'll keep that in mind."

"Do," Betsy said with a smile. "Now, please tell me what's wrong. Did George do something stupid?"

I shook my head. "Hannah did."

"Oh dear, what did she do?"

"We made plans to have lunch together today, and she invited Paul along in an attempt to broker peace and maybe even a reunion between us. And instead all he did was insult me and call me a whale."

"Jerk," Betsy said softly.

"And I don't even get why she feels this need to broker peace between us. We broke before he knew I was pregnant. And he doesn't want kids. So why does she want to fix us?"

Betsy shook her head. "Hannah is very much the sort to believe in happy families and happily-ever-after. She doesn't understand dysfunctional and complicated like you do. I know that you and Mark both come from broken and semi-dysfunctional families, so you're used to confusing and complicated. You're adaptable to this sort of complication. And George is just plain adaptable."

"He's a chameleon," I said with a soft smile.

She nodded. "He really is. And he understands that you come from a complicated background. But Hannah doesn't get that. She believes in fairy tales. She wants to see you and Paul live happily ever after. She doesn't understand that's impossible."

Just then, my phone started ringing. When I checked the caller ID, I saw that it was Hannah, so I ignored the call. "Hannah," I said to Betsy's questioning look. "Let her talk to my voice mail. This enormous whale isn't ready to talk to her."

Betsy smiled. "You're not a whale; you know that, right?"

"Yeah, but that's what Paul called me, so I thought I'd use it against her for a little while."

"You really are the vindictive middle child, aren't you?"

"I had to be. Have you met my sisters?"

When I got home later that afternoon, George had one question for me. "Why does Hannah keep calling me and asking to talk to you?"

"Because I'm ignoring her phone calls," I replied flatly.

"She said that she wants to talk things through with you."

"Yeah, that's nice," I replied as I plopped on the couch.

"Emma, what happened?"

"She brought Paul along on our lunch date in an attempt to broker peace between us."

He sighed. "Why?"

"I told you. She wanted to broker peace between us. Apparently my baby needs a daddy."

"What am I? A rooster?" he asked.

"Beats me," I replied.

George sighed. Then he asked me a question that I would have found strange from most people, but from him it was completely typical. "You've known Hannah since, what, first grade? And you met Betsy less than four years ago. Why is it that you are so much willing to trust Betsy than you are Hannah?"

"Because Betsy isn't trying to fix me," I told him quickly. "She wants to help me and support me. Hannah is trying to change me. She's my friend, George, but she acts like she's my governess or something sometimes. I don't need her to meddle in my life or anything like that."

George nodded in a way that reminded me that he had known me since I was born. He knew things about me that not even Hannah and Betsy knew about me. He knew that I hated it when people tried to fix me or interfere in my personal life. And he knew that sometimes I just want someone to listen to me and hold my hand. So that is exactly what he did. He knew that I'd talk to Hannah when I was good and ready.

A/N: Please review!