AN: Here we are, another chapter for this one! (Finally?!)
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"It's homework, Carol," Daryl said.
Carol laughed and stretched her feet out toward Daryl. She was sitting on the floor in the living room with her back against the couch. She had pillows stuffed between her and the couch for comfort. Daryl might have suggested she sit somewhere a little more comfortable, but she'd chosen the spot, and he wasn't going to argue over something so inconsequential as where Carol might be most comfortable.
"Oh—Daryl—look at these! Oh—how sweet are these?!"
Daryl leaned and Carol turned her phone so that he could see the little "sweet" things she wanted him to see. He laughed to himself.
"That's cute," he said. "But—I thought you was wantin' sunshines and flowers. Not elephants."
"Oh—yeah. No…I didn't mean for us. I meant for Andrea. I'm sending these to Andrea. This is so cute and perfect for Peanut's invitations. Oh—she'll love them, don't you think the little elephant is sweet?"
Daryl swallowed back his amusement.
"Cutest cartoon elephant I ever seen," he agreed. "Maybe even as cute as the last fifty or so you sent her." He reached for Carol's bare feet and she somewhat pulled them away, half in shock, it seemed, that someone would touch her. He laughed. "Did I tickle you?"
"Lil' bit," Carol said. "Daryl—I meant it. You don't have to rub my feet."
"I told you," Daryl said. "It's homework."
"You don't have homework to rub my feet," Carol said.
"No, but I got homework to make my wife feel good," Daryl said. Carol eyed him, peeking over the top of her reading glasses. She smirked at him. "You're such an asshole," he teased. "You know that shit?"
"Who gave you this mystery homework, Daryl?" Carol asked.
"Hershel Greene," Daryl said. "Part of our class. Got like an assignment a night. Do the thing, take notes on it, come back to class for comparison and discussion."
"And one of your assignments is to…rub my feet while I look for baby shower invitations?" Carol asked.
"One of my assignments is to purposefully do somethin' to make my wife feel good," Daryl said. "And I'm supposed to write down how it is that she responds to it, and I'm supposed to write down the aftermath, too. We're gonna discuss it. Right now, though, it's not lookin' so damn hot in your favor, I gotta admit."
Carol snorted as she tried to swallow back her amusement. She did cede, at least, a little and let Daryl have her foot.
"You're going to write bad things about me in your notebook, Daryl, and share them with all these people?"
"These people bein' Merle, Hershel, an' Clyde—and Clyde's just there for the cookies an' to make Hershel not feel sad that no damn body comes to his man class."
"What bad things are you writing about me, Daryl Dixon?" Carol asked, doing her best to pretend that she was mad. She wasn't mad, and she wasn't an amazing actress—at least, not when she wanted Daryl to know that she was teasing.
She groaned when he hit a sore spot in her foot, and she leaned her head back, eyes closed, to enjoy the feeling of him working the tender area.
"I'm writin' that you will damn near fight my ass over massagin' you," Daryl said. "But that you salivatin', too, when I finally wear your ass down an' earn the right to take care of you a little."
Carol smiled; her eyes still closed.
"You take care of me a lot," she said.
Daryl felt a rush of warmth run through him. He smiled to himself. She wasn't saying it to get anything. She wasn't even really saying it with the tone of voice that she sometimes used to try to make him feel better. She was saying it with the same tone of voice she might use to tell him that they were almost out of peanut butter, or to ask if he'd rather have meatloaf or hamburger steaks for dinner.
"I love you, woman," he offered, in nearly the same tone.
She opened her eyes, and her smile renewed.
"I love you, too."
"I'm also writin' that—we have spent two damn months lookin' for invitations for a baby shower," Daryl said.
"We have not spent two months," Carol said.
"Close to it," Daryl said.
"We have only been talking about the baby shower for…a month at the most, Daryl," Carol said.
"And you ain't settled on the invitations yet," Daryl said. "At this rate, nobody's gonna have an invitation in time to even come to the shower."
"Sprout is at twenty-three weeks, Daryl, and the average shower isn't until around thirty-four weeks," Carol said. "If our friends can't plan for a shower in that amount of time, we need to worry about their health more than the shower."
Daryl laughed quietly.
"You considered my invitations again?" He asked.
"You know I have," Carol said.
She had them saved in her phone. He had them saved, too. They'd been searching for some time, and they'd found them. He thought they were perfect the very moment that he'd seen them. Carol had thought they were perfect too—at least, Daryl had thought that's what he'd seen in her eyes for at least one brief moment, but she'd quickly dismissed it with the declaration that she wasn't sure they were right.
They still hadn't found the right invitations, though, and hadn't begun to look for decorations—or even to really discuss them—because they didn't know if they might want to match them to the invitations.
As far as they knew, Andrea and Merle hadn't picked anything out yet, either, but Merle swore that was owing to Andrea's indecisive nature and the fact that she worried that everything would simply be "wrong" and nobody would approve of their theme—and, perhaps, they might be drummed out of town or have rotten eggs thrown at them, or something of the like, because random unknown and unnamed people might not approve of their baby shower motif.
Merle wasn't going to push it, and Carol kept sending Andrea options as a way to prove to her that other people would think their little elephant and peanut idea was cute. Daryl's favorite, for them, was one where a little baby elephant was curled up in her mother's trunk, but it seemed that nobody wanted Daryl to choose their invitations.
The ones that Daryl had chosen for he and Carol had a little rainbow and a sunshine on them. Underneath the rainbow were flowers with happy little faces on them. The words had something about a rain making the most beautiful flowers grow after the storm.
Daryl frowned at Carol, and she frowned right back at him.
"You gonna at least tell me what the hell is wrong with my invitations?" Daryl asked. "They aren't ugly, Carol. They're pretty, and they got all the colors, and the sunshine's smilin', and the flowers are smilin'…they ain't ugly."
Carol stared at her phone. Maybe she'd pulled them up. Maybe she was reconsidering them.
"They aren't ugly," she agreed. "I never said they were."
"Then, why don't you want 'em?" Daryl asked. "If you'll just tell me what'cha don't like about 'em, then we'll go on lookin' for what you do like, and I won't say not another damn word about it. I swear. But it's just that you keep sayin' what you want and I keep thinkin' we ain't gonna find nothin' no more perfect than the ones I already found us."
Carol sighed. She stared at her phone a moment longer. She turned it slightly to the side, and then she turned her head slightly to the side. Daryl stopped rubbing her feet and moved beside her, leaning his own back against the couch. On her phone was a picture of the invitations he'd picked out.
"Look how pretty they are," Daryl said. "It's white, and it's got every color—just like you wanted. And the sun's got a pretty little pink bow, Carol. You see that? Just like a little girl."
Carol laughed quietly.
"Our little girl's going to wear a lot of pink bows?" She asked.
Daryl hummed.
"An' every damn color she likes," Daryl said. "She's gonna do whatever she likes. Whatever she wants to do—within reason, of course. She's gonna be…"
"Hell on wheels," Carol teased. "With a name like Scout Dixon."
"With a mama like you," Daryl teased back, "she'll be damn near unstoppable any damn way."
"Do you know what a rainbow baby is, Daryl?" Carol asked.
Daryl reached over and rested his hand on Carol's stomach. Sprout was growing like a weed. Daryl ran his fingertips back and forth over Carol's belly. Carol swore to him that, sometimes, when he did that, she could feel Sprout kicking around like she was chasing his fingertips or, at the very least, doing something that felt like that. Of course, they had no way of knowing what she was really doing, but Daryl liked the idea of playing with Sprout, even though she still refused to kick hard enough for him to feel her—or to kick at the right time for him to catch her.
"I don't know, Carol," he said.
"A rainbow baby is—well, it's like a rainbow. A rainbow is about hope, you know? New life, new chances…a promise for all that's new. For hope. A rainbow baby is like that."
"Like Sprout," Daryl said.
"Except, Daryl, a rainbow baby is…it's like something people talk about having…it's a…I guess it's a baby born to a couple after a baby they wanted, and expected, has been lost. It's…um…it's a baby born after a miscarriage…or…"
Carol's voice cracked slightly, and she broke off. It was dark in the living room. A lamp on the table some distance away shed a little light on them. The light from Carol's phone was all the other light that they really had, especially since the darkness outside had removed the source of the natural light they'd been using when they'd first settled there. What was left seemed to be fading quickly as the sun settled in for a good night's sleep.
In the light of only her phone screen, it was difficult to see her emotions, but Daryl already knew what was there. He caught her hand and kissed it.
"Sprout's our rainbow baby," Daryl said.
"I know it sounds crazy, Daryl, but I just keep thinking—I keep worrying, I guess…that…Sophia wasn't wanted, Daryl," Carol said. "She wasn't the result of—a happy couple hoping for her and dreaming about all she would be. It wasn't both of us. It was only me. And…she was…killed…Daryl. By her father. And I don't know, really, if that means that…Sprout gets to be a rainbow baby."
"Why the hell wouldn't she?" Daryl asked.
Carol shrugged and Daryl heard her swallow. He was certain she was choking back emotions, but he left her alone.
"I've just been thinking…"
"You mean he's been thinkin'. Usin' your head. Takin' up space where he ain't wanted. I ain't interested in him, Carol," Daryl said. "Far as I'm concerned—he's lower than maggot shit, OK? Sophia was killed—but that weren't her fault."
"Maybe it was mine, though. I didn't stop it, Daryl. I didn't protect her. And maybe that means…"
"What? What the hell does it mean?" Daryl asked. "Means—you don't get to be sad about what you lost? Means you don't get to be happy about Sprout? What the hell does it mean, Carol?"
Daryl crawled away from Carol long enough to turn on the lamp beside the couch and bathe them in the soft light of low-wattage bulb. Her face was wet, but she wasn't sobbing. Daryl came back, rolled his shirt over his hand to offer her the clean underpart of it, and wiped her face with it.
"You tell him to get the hell outta your head, OK? Just like you tell me about my old man, right? Tell him—we ain't got time for him right now. We ain't got space. Our baby girl needs…she needs invitations to her little baby party, and he ain't even invited to the pickin' out of them invitations, so he damn sure ain't welcome to the party."
"People might not think she's really a rainbow baby," Carol said. She looked a little better, simply hearing Daryl casting out her ex-husband as she often did, about his father, when he came to her with doubts about whether or not he really deserved anything they had—including everything from their marriage to the house that was coming along beautifully.
"What people?" Daryl asked, laughing quietly. "The same damn people that are gonna judge Andrea and Merle for Peanut's party? Who the hell are these people y'all are invitin' to our baby showers? Because—I say we just take their asses off the list and have the damn parties we want."
"I feel guilty, Daryl," Carol said. "I feel guilty being happy for Sprout when—I let Sophia down."
"You didn't do anything wrong," Daryl said. "You didn't. You couldn't stop him. And Sprout—you take care of her. Look at her, Carol! Look how damn good she's growin'! That's you doin' that. That's you takin' care of her every damn hour of every damn day—growin' her big and strong like she is. That's you."
"I don't have to protect her from anything," Carol said. "Because you're a good man, Daryl. And a good daddy."
"You never shoulda had to protect Sophia," Daryl said. "And the fact that you tried, but you weren't able—that ain't on you. That's on his head for puttin' you in that damned position anyway. Sprout's our rainbow baby. See? Right there." He moved her phone and pointed to the picture. "She's that lil' flower right there. And Sophia? Our Sophia? She's our…she's that little sun right there. Smilin' like that 'cause she's lookin' out for her lil' sister and helpin' her grow."
He turned Carol's face back to him and mopped it clean once more, but she was calming.
"Carol—listen to me," he said, "we just won't invite these assholes that you an' Andrea are worried about, OK? You just—figure out who they are, and we'll cross 'em off the list, and the rest of us'll eat cake an' just have a good damn time and not worry about them, OK?"
Carol laughed quietly and wiped at her face.
"OK," she said, her voice soft.
"OK?" Daryl asked again, coaxing a bit more of a smile out of her.
"OK," she said, giving him the smile that he'd tried to earn from her.
"Good," Daryl said. "Now—you just go on ahead, and you order them invitations. Those right there. I ain't gonna hear no more hem-hawin' about it."
"Do you think I'm crazy?" Carol asked, leaning against Daryl as he moved back beside her.
"Yeah," he said. "Absolutely. But—so am I. So is Merle. Andrea ain't playin' with a full damn bag of marbles, neither. Hell—I even heard someone at work describin' Agnes as batty. Maybe all the best damn people in the world are fuckin' nuts, Carol. Maybe—you don't get through life sane, and that's all the hell there is to it."
Carol laughed quietly.
"And you still love me?"
"Without a fuckin' doubt, woman," Daryl said. "You still love me, even though I'm so nuts I make you piss with the door open after we fuck because it helps me feel like you ain't gonna disappear or like…go out the window or some shit?"
Carol snuggled into him with a giggle.
"If your Sprout keeps growing, I won't be able to go out the window," Carol said. "I won't be able to fit, and that's without even mentioning my lack of coordination."
"That was my master plan the whole damn time," Daryl said. He patted her belly, resting his hand there, as he often did, in the hopes that tonight would be the night when his hardheaded daughter finally quit playing coy and gave him a good, solid kick that he could feel. There was nothing, but he didn't move his hand. "Go ahead…order those invitations. And make sure you get enough for me to have one to keep."
"Daryl…" Carol said after a moment. She was going through the motions on her phone to order the invitations.
"Hmm?" He hummed to prompt her to continue.
"Don't forget to write down in your notebook that—you always make me feel good, OK? Tell Hershel that I think you get an A plus on your homework."
Daryl smiled to himself, and he leaned against her, relaxing as she put in the order.
