Audrey was used to having daydreams like this, of simple little moments that had seemed impossibly quiet and comfortable back on Skid Row. But when she'd imagined the sort of life she desperately wanted to have, those daydreams usually took place in the bright sunlight. She couldn't recall any that had them in their kitchen late at night, and Seymour in the process of making cookies simply because she'd woken up hungry and mentioned wishing she had some.
Of course, she had tried to tell him that it wasn't this important, and he should feel free to go back to sleep, but he insisted that it was "the least he could do". And even if she felt a bit guilty, it was always hard to turn down the offer of his company.
She couldn't manage to feel comfortable simply sitting there and not doing anything productive while he was working in the kitchen, so she'd felt the need to keep her hands busy, and picked up a project she had been working on. She liked to think she was getting better at knitting, though as she looked over her progress with a critical eye, she noticed a few places where it hadn't turned out quite perfectly. She had gotten far enough along that she might as well complete it, but perhaps she should just write it off as practice and forget about actually using it. Maybe it would be better to just buy one from a store. Then it would be professionally-made, with the stitches and pattern all perfectly in place. She would hate for their child to grow up thinking they didn't deserve something nice.
Seymour carefully shut the oven door, and double-checked the box to see how long it would take for the cookie dough to finish baking. Once the timer was set, there wasn't much else for him to do at the moment, so he hovered by the counter and watched the process he found rather mesmerizing of a small blanket forming out of a basket filled with yarn and Audrey's knitting needles.
Sensing his eyes on her, Audrey glanced up long enough to smile at him, though soon had to return her gaze to the latest flower she was adding into the design on the pastel green cloth.
"I really am sorry I woke you."
Seymour shrugged. "I wasn't sleeping that well anyway."
Audrey looked up longer that time, his attempts to keep a casual tone not enough to keep her from thinking it was important enough to pause.
"Bad dreams?" She asked.
He nodded.
"Was it the plant again?"
"Not this time." It was the truth. Audrey knew him well enough that she would have been able to tell if it wasn't. He knew she wouldn't push, but he didn't want to leave her to wonder and worry, so a few moments later, he quietly added, "Orphanage."
His own childhood was something that had been running through his mind more and more ever since he and Audrey learned their home had a new addition on the way. There was no denying that his youth hadn't been a good experience, and certainly not a time when he could recall any happy memories. It had been weighing on him to wonder if he'd even know how to create a good childhood for someone else. Recently, now that Audrey's stomach had started to show a visible bump and it all felt undeniably real, it had been on his mind even more than bad memories from bloodthirsty vegetation. In a way, he supposed it was a sort of progress.
Audrey stayed silent as she watched him. His expression was deep in troubled thoughts, and she wanted to give him the space to decide whether to say more or change the subject.
Seymour chose an option somewhere in between, and spoke up next with, "I'm glad they'll have something like that."
Audrey looked confused about what he meant, and he gestured towards the work-in-progress still sitting in her hands.
"It must mean a lot, being able to grow up with something you've had as long as you can remember." He added.
It was something she had known before, that he didn't really had much in terms of possessions. At least mot until he got old enough to work and earn his own money, most of which was used to collect plants. He'd mentioned the practical issues back in the Home for Boys, things like not having enough warm clothes for winter, and having to tape his glasses together again every time they broke because he couldn't count on being able to get a new pair. But she hadn't heard him talk about the more sentimental aspects before.
"You really weren't left there with anything?"
"I wouldn't know if I was."
It happened to everyone there, the few possessions you managed to own got taken away because another kid thought it looked interesting, or someone who worked there hoped it would sell for a decent price. None of the adults would have admitted such a thing happened there, but he knew it did. He wasn't sure which idea was harder to consider; that no one had ever cared enough to do more than provide bare essentials, or that someone had lovingly choose something like a stuffed animal or baby blanket, intending for it to be something to comfort him and let him know he was cared for, and it had been snatched away long before he could remember.
It was good to know that their baby would never have to wonder the same thing.
Seeing the warm way her husband looked at her unfinished work, and the way it appeared to lift some of his worries, Audrey found her own doubts about it fading. When it was sitting in their child's nursery, a few little imperfections would let them know that it had been made just for them.
As Audrey's knitting needles began to click again, Seymour's thoughts drifted towards what his mother must have gone through. He knew Skid Row could have been an easy place to bring a child into the world. Had she been angry, or disappointed to realize she was carrying him? Had she been frightened? Did she have anyone helping her? Anyone who cared about her? Did she worry about losing them because of him? Had she lost anyone important because of him?
He knew that Audrey had her own share of worries and insecurities, not to mention all of the physical discomforts that seemed to come along with this experience. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't take all of those problems away. He often worried about whether or not he was really any help at all. But right then, cookies were something that could help, so of course he would make cookies. He didn't know why Audrey worried it was asking too much of him to get out of bed in the middle of the night. He would walk to the other end of the world for her. The kitchen was nothing.
The oven timer let out a ding, and as he went to retrieve the cookies and give them some time to cool on the counter, he decided that was probably the best he could do, really. Take things one day at a time, pay attention to what she needed, and be there for her. He didn't know how to do all of this perfectly, but at least he could make sure knew she was never facing this change alone.