This is my contribution to March's All About Ireland AU. I thought about making it a separate one-shot, but as I was writing it, I kept thinking of this version of Tom and Sybil. So for those of you who enjoyed the story, here's a little something extra.
The two movies mentioned here, The Wind That Shakes the Barley and The Secret of Roan Inish, are two of my absolute favorites, both Irish, but very, very different. Highly recommend them.
It was Tuesday.
The day after her due date.
She was bored. And tired.
Tired of being pregnant. And tired of waiting.
Sybil had never been a fan of waiting. "Patience is a virtue," her mother would always say. Sybil would always roll her eyes in response.
And this baby was trying her patience in every way. Especially this last month.
First, there was the weight gain. Her small, curvy frame had grown, not just in the middle, but everywhere, including her feet, which rendered almost all of her shoes unusable. Tom, of course, would tell her every day how beautiful he thought she looked, but it was one thing to hear "I have never wanted you more" from her randy husband and another to have to negotiate 40 pounds of extra weight and a bowling ball firmly perched between them during their attempts at love making over the last few months. Before pregnancy, she had loved being on top. Now the only thing she longed for was to feel his weight on her and to burrow her face into his neck as they came together. (Tom had no complaints.)
Then, there was her appetite. There was simply not enough food on this earth to keep her satisfied. Tom had taken to leaving her a bit on his plate, resulting in his losing ten pounds during her pregnancy, which, of course, just reminded her of how much she had gained.
Thirdly, there was her emotional state. She wasn't flying off the handle, going from hot to cold, happy to sad at a moment's notice, yelling at everyone in her path the way "hormones" are portrayed in film. But every so often, she would feel emotion well in her chest and feel the need for release through a long cathartic cry.
Tonight was such a night.
Cora had flown into Dublin that morning to be there for the birth. Robert would be coming in two days. Tom and Sybil's house had plenty of room, but Cora had insisted on staying at a hotel a few blocks away until the baby's arrival.
"Once the baby is here, you won't be alone for the next twenty years," she'd told them. "These last moments will be a treasure when you look back on them."
So after dinner, Tom had gone to drop her off, and Sybil had been left on the sofa in the den to contemplate how very, very uncomfortable she was.
"Please come out soon, baby!" She said aloud, rubbing her belly and feeling the gentle pushing from inside. "Is that you saying, no? Don't argue with your mum!"
She laughed at herself, then resolving that she needed to get a bit of emotion out. She went to their television and put in her favorite movie. It was not five minutes in when Tom returned.
"I've brought some dessert," he called out from the kitchen.
"What?"
"Apple barley pudding," he said walking in with a bowl and a spoon for her.
"I love you," she said taking the pudding eagerly. "I've got a movie on," she added after taking a bite.
Tom sat down and let her adjust her position so he could pull her feet into his lap. Seeing what was on the screen, he groaned audibly. "Sybil, not this again!"
"What?! The Wind That Shakes the Barley happens to be a brave, wonderfully authentic and heart-wrenching drama on the struggle for Irish independence."
"And you've seen it a dozen times in the last month."
"You're exaggerating."
"Not by much."
"Why is it that I'm the English one and I'm always in the mood for this movie and you're not?"
"It's terribly depressing, love. I mean, I do find it moving and righteous and I'm glad it was made to show a truly Irish story about the fight for the free state, but it's not something for every day. At least not for me."
"I just need a good cry."
"And what's wrong with the copy of Terms of Endearment that Maura let us borrow. Not enough Cillian Murphy in that one?"
Sybil lifted one of her legs from Tom's lap to kick him, which only caused him to laugh.
She furrowed her brow. "I think I've been refreshingly honest about my weakness for Irishmen," she said. Tilting her head, she added, "You know you're still my favorite."
Tom smiled and pulled her hand to his mouth to kiss it. "Thank you, my darling."
They sat in silence as the movie played. When it ended, as the credits rolled, they laughed at how red both of their eyes were from crying. Tom pulled her closer and grabbed her face in his hands. After wiping her tears with his thumbs, he pulled her into a long kiss.
"Do you promise to always kiss me like that?" She asked quietly.
"As long as you promise to always kiss me back the same way."
She answered by pulling him in for another. After a few minutes of slow lingering kisses, they stood and made their way to bed. It took Sybil several minutes to settle into place on her side. She'd been feeling cramps on and off all night and was having a hard time getting comfortable. Feeling Tom come up behind her and put his arm on her belly, she snuggled her back into him.
"Is everything all right?" He asked. "You seem more fidgety than usual tonight. Are you feeling anything—contractions wise?"
Sybil sighed. "Well, at the risk of getting our hopes up, I started feeling some back spasms during the movie, but only about every half-hour. Nothing that feels like labor yet."
"Do you want a massage?"
"No, just some sleep, I think."
Tom reached over to the night table and turned off the lamp. They'd been laying in silence for a few minutes, when Sybil spoke up.
"Tom?" She said quietly.
"Yes?"
"Do you think you could ever die or kill for a cause? Like in the movie, I mean."
Tom thought for a long while. "I'm not sure. I think that before my father died, I would have said yes, but it would have been a naïve impulse. Knowing what loss can really be like, I'm not so sure. I'd like to think that I would have had the courage to fight for Irish freedom if I'd lived back then, but I have the benefit of hindsight. If I'm honest with myself, there's really only one thing that would move me to give up my life now."
"What's that?" She asked in a whisper.
"You," he whispered back.
Sybil pushed herself up and turned to face him.
He sat up and took her hands. "There is nothing I wouldn't do to make sure you and our baby are safe."
Sybil was about to lean in to kiss him when she felt a sharp pain across her abdomen. She squeezed his hands in response to the pain.
"Ow!" Tom exclaimed. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"No, but even so it's not time yet. One hour of contractions lasting at least one minute every five minutes, remember?"
Tom smiled. "So we're in for a long night?"
"I'm afraid so."
"What do you want to do, then?"
"I don't know. Another movie?"
"We're not watching The Wind That Shakes the Barley again, love."
Sybil laughed. "How about the Secret of Roan Inish?"
Tom grinned. "My favorite? See, that one I'm happy to watch as many times as you like."
"Let's hope once is enough tonight."
Tom leaned over to turn on the lamp. "Wait here, I'll get my laptop."
Tom went downstairs to get his computer bag, then into the den to get the DVD. He ran back upstairs and settled back into bed with the computer on his lap. Sybil snuggled up to him.
As they waited for the computer's DVD player to start up, Tom asked, "So have you thought any more about names?"
"No. Nothing sounds right. Maybe I'm too pregnant to think about it."
Tom chuckled. "How about this—if your water breaks while we're watching the movie, we'll name him Eamon if it's a boy and Fiona if it's a girl."
"Deal."
XXX
Seventeen hours later.
"Oh, Sybil, he's a wonderful baby," Cora said holding her grandson, as tears pooled in her eyes.
"I can't believe he's here," Sybil said, exhausted from the delivery but not ready to succumb to sleep, lest she miss anything of her son's first few hours in the world.
"Have you two slept at all since last night?" Cora asked.
Sybil looked at Tom, who was sitting in a chair next to her bed holding her hand with both of his. They laughed and shook their heads.
"I'm surprised delirium hasn't set in," Tom said. "I think it's the adrenaline."
Cora smiled. "Well, I understand not wanting to sleep now that he's here, but don't push yourselves too much and do try to sleep sometime this afternoon, both of you. He's not going anywhere!"
"We will, mum, don't worry," Sybil said.
"You haven't told me what his name is."
"Eamon Colin Branson," Sybil said.
"Eamon? That's not one from the list you sent me. How did you settle on it?"
They looked at one another and laughed. "It just came to us," Tom answered.
"It's lovely," Cora said, looking back at the baby. "Hi, Eamon. This is your grandmother Cora. It's nice to meet you."
After a few more minutes of cooing at her first grandchild, Cora handed him back to Tom. "I should call Robert to check and see if he found a flight. And Mary and Edith are still waiting to hear the details."
"What about Grandma Martha?" Sybil asked.
"Her too. Don't worry, darling, everyone will know soon enough. In fact, I'd turn off your phones for the next 48 hours if you want any peace."
Tom laughed. "Thanks for the advice, but anywhere Claire Branson is around, there is no peace."
"She went to the hospital cafe, you said?" Cora asked.
"Yes, calling around the family."
"I'll go join her, then," Cora said as she headed out. "Maybe she'll share some tips on being a grandmother."
Tom laughed. Then, once they were alone again, he looked over at Sybil. Exhaustion and happiness were exuding from her every pore.
He motioned with his head. "Move over, will you?"
Sybil gingerly lifted herself over to make room for him. Tom sat down next to her and lifted his feet up onto the bed. Sybil snuggled into his shoulder. It was more or less the same position they'd been in when they'd felt wetness spill onto their bed with ten minutes left in The Secret of Roan Inish. The difference was that instead of a computer, there was now a baby on Tom's lap.
"Am I still your favorite Irishman?" Tom asked quietly.
Sybil grabbed Eamon's tiny hand.
"A very close second."