I want you to meet the future mother of my children.
Rita stretched, yawned, and meandered to the coffee pot for yet another caffeine jolt. It was late. She knew she should go home, but Chris was on his first date with Sylvia, and Rita was, well, not feeling so great. Her stomach was tense all day, shoulders tight, jaw clenched. She couldn't relax, but she couldn't pinpoint why she was so bothered. This was a new emotion: something unidentifiable.
She plaintively stirred her coffee, tasting the stick and wincing at the staleness and the saccharin. She should go home, trade the hours-old pot for her favorite bottle of rosé and then sleep away this rotten day. However, she was edgy and frustrated. Work kept her occupied and distracted, even though she was doing all of Chris's paperwork.
For the first time in their friendship, Rita could have punched Chris and felt immensely satisfied. It was nonstop Sylvia chatter for the past week, and while it was funny at first, cute and endearing even, by the end of the week, she'd had enough.
I want you to meet the future mother of my children.
Ouch.
This was tomorrow talk. This was daydreaming about white picket fences and puppies and two perfect blue-eyed children, settling down, and starting a life.
A life where she was his best friend, and only his best friend. And while she never wanted to admit it, that scared the hell out of her.
Chris had never talked like this before. Even when Annie moved in with him, he seemed to have cold feet from the start. He was the "here and now" guy- the live-in-the-moment guy that never wanted to think too far ahead or get too closely attached. Sure, he gave away four cars in four years to four different lovers, but she'd gladly see him give away a trinket instead of his heart. Plus, she drove him around for months in between, and that extra time only strengthened their friendship.
I want you to meet the future mother of my children.
Ugh, and why did he want Rita to meet Sylvia so badly? Now she saw the perfect face that matched the perfect description of her perfect body and perfect voice and perfect soul.
And she looked perfect, six thousand dollar tax penalty and all.
Chris seemed a little lightheaded after that decree, but they planned a date right in front of Rita nonetheless. And then he was downright giddy for the rest of the day, which irked her even more.
He's dated. He's had one-night stands, rekindled old flames, had a live-in girlfriend, and Rita's weathered them all, even encouraged some of these relationships (she liked Melissa, and Annie was good for him). She feels like an imposter, a shitty friend, but she can't make it stop.
Because, for the first time, she imagines it. She imagines it all, and she imagines it with him. She could cry at the simplicity of it - how effortless it appears in her head. All of the barriers, those paper walls that define their boundaries, have gone up in flames at the thought of this Sylvia infiltrating their lives.
The Captain would kill her. Kill them if they ever crossed a line. Lipschitz is new and quirky, and she likes his style of leadership, but he's old-school New York, and rules are rules. She needs Chris as a partner more than she needs him as a lover, at least that's what she keeps telling herself. They've only been partners for three years- why is she acting so clingy and ridiculous?
Rita glanced down, realizing she'd been staring at the same paragraph for five minutes. Paperwork is futile at this point, but going back to her empty apartment, alone, seems way more pathetic. Here she will stay. She cranked the radio at her desk, opting for the classic rock station with no chance of a sappy love song infiltrating the airwaves. (Until REO Speedwagon plays three songs in, and she realized that she can't fight this feeling anymore, either.) She flipped off the radio just as promptly as she flipped it on, and tossed her pen across the desk in frustration.
"Sammy, what did that pen do to you?"
She looked up just in time to catch the bag of donuts sailing towards her, Chris' playful grin dancing in the shadows of her desk lamp.
"What are you doing here?"
"Eh, drove by on my way home, saw your Jeep."
She raised her eyebrows in suspicion. "My Jeep is in the parking garage."
"Okay, so I drove through the parking garage to check, detective."
"And you brought donuts along, just in case…?" She gave him a knowing smirk as she opened the bag, grabbing a not-too-stale glazed.
"Well, I'm glad my best friend instincts were spot on." Leaning over her shoulder, he took a playful bite of her donut as she shrieked and shoved him.
"Seriously, Chris, I figured you'd be to third base by now." She watched as his face sobered. "Chris, I didn't mean that, I was just teasing-"
"No, it's okay. The date went fine."
"Just fine? The future mother of your children, and it was fine?" He visibly winced and she doesn't deflect this time, letting her jealousy linger just a bit in the air between them.
"Yeah… about that… How annoying was I this week?"
"Not much."
"Liar."
She took another bite and shrugged. Mid-chew, she offered, "You're cute when you're in love."
"And you're cute when you're jealous," he bantered back, an eyebrow raised in a mock challenge. But she didn't argue, instead grabbing the pen and pretending to carry on with the file in front of her. He plopped down in his chair, throwing his feet up on the desk, watching her with an amused smirk.
Finally, she relented. "What?"
"I'm not in love with her, Sam."
She put the pen down again. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. She's sweet, but not my type."
(What he won't tell her is that halfway through the date, Sylvia smiled sweetly and mentioned that he had told three stories in a row about Rita. She then asked how long they'd been sleeping together. It was an ouch moment, and Sylvia was a good sport and laughed for her misread and overstep, but Chris knew then and there that this would be a one-date encounter. Once again, Rita owned his heart. Always would.)
Typical Chris, Rita thought to herself. All crush, no commitment.
But he looked at her then, and she swore his eyes could melt glaciers. Warmth flooded her veins, and a tiny part of her bloomed with the knowledge that in the past three years, his only major commitment has been to her. Platonically, of course, but steadfast and strong. An unbreakable bond that she can't ruin with fantasies about white picket fences and blue-eyed children. The risk is too great, and right now there's nowhere else she'd rather be than in this moment, simple and true. Best friends are hard to come by, but he's more.
He's her family, and she can't let him go.
"C'mon, partner, let's get out of here. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."
"But you haven't finished my paperwork yet."
He dodged the crumpled post-it note lobbed in his direction as Rita joked, "Just for that, you're buying."
"How about my place instead? Wine and The Maltese Falcon?"
She looked at the clock dejectedly. "It's late, Sam."
"And you have a pair of shorts in your gym bag, and I still have the dry cleaning that I picked up for you hanging in my closet. Sleep over."
It's a request instead of a question, and while she shouldn't take him up on it, she will. After the week she's had, she's craving this domesticity with him. She won't overanalyze it tonight; instead, she'll bask in the comfort and familiarity of their friendship.
Arm in arm, they walked out of the squad room.