MAY

1

The world's favorite season is the spring.

All things seem possible in May

Edwin Way Teale

"I need a favor."

Elizabeth blew the excess steam from her hot chocolate and sipped it gingerly. She grimaced. "Still too hot." She looked at Patrick. "What kind of favor? My shift starts in ten minutes."

"That's fine." Patrick dropped a stack of books on the table. "I'm back from break about then anyway. I need you to be my lookout. I can't leave these around the apartment because she'll see and if she does see them, she'll know the sex of the baby."

"Ah." Elizabeth moved to the doorway of the break room and kept a look out while peering at the books he was opening. "Wallpaper samples? So the rumor's true?"

"In an act of desperation, yes, I agreed to decorate the nursery." He thumbed through the pages. "I mentioned that I was getting paint samples and she was horrified. She wants wallpaper. I barely managed to strip the existing stuff without screwing it up but that's okay. That's why they have shows like Bob Vila right?"

"Of course," she said soberly. She glanced at the samples. "So a boy, huh?"

"Yep. Kelly told me it was a girl first but then the baby turned in another direction and she changed her mind." Patrick turned the page. "I'm a little relieved because, you know, boys are okay. I was one, so I think I'll be able to cope. Girls come with a whole set of issues I know nothing about."

"I want a little girl," Elizabeth said wistfully. "When Jake's a little older, I'm definitely going to convince Jason we should have another baby. But he's not ready to even set a date." She paused. "I should be grateful he didn't just call off the engagement."

"You should be mad he didn't set you free," Patrick grumbled. "Stop reminding me about your unfortunate taste and keep a watch. It's Wednesday."

"Yeah, so?"

"Robin has specific reactions on certain days when I do something that upsets or offends her," Patrick explained. "On Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays, she just cries. On Mondays and Tuesdays, she socks me. Saturdays are tricky. It might be either one."

"And Wednesdays?"

"She socks me and then she cries. It's my least favorite day so I try to keep my interaction with Robin limited to a smile and a nod. It's worked well so far." Patrick held up a sample. "I like this one."

"Racing cars," Elizabeth nodded. "Clearly the right choice."

2

I thought that spring must last forevermore

For I was young and loved, and it was May.

Vera Brittain

"We have to talk about names."

Patrick paused, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was his third attempt to get the wallpaper to stick to the wall. No matter how many times he painstakingly followed the directions in the book, it still bulged in spots. Maybe it was time for another book.

Robin's voice came to him from the other side of the door. He knew it was difficult for her not to at least peek inside but so far her willpower was holding up. "Names," he repeated.

"Yes, names. I made up a list of the ones I like but I thought I'd ask you first."

Patrick continued to press another sheet of the paper to the wall, smoothing it down. "Um. What do you like?"

"Well, I don't want anything that will get the kid laughed at but I want something strong. That would sound just as nice when they're five as when they're thirty. I was talking to Lulu the other day and I just thought—God what was Laura thinking? Lulu is cute for a little girl but ridiculous for a grown woman."

He'd never thought Lulu Spencer was much of a grown woman, but he wasn't about to expound on that. "Sounds about right. Wouldn't want a kid named Bambi. Doesn't sound right after a certain age."

"Bambi never sounds right," Robin said, exasperated. "So I also thought we should think of something that's nickname friendly. I hate that the only thing people can call me is Robbie. It's like, longer than my name."

"Ian calls me Pat sometimes," Patrick mused, pleased when the sheet of wallpaper appeared to stay nice and smooth. "But he only does it because he knows I hate it."

"Exactly. So I was also thinking about naming him for someone in my family. What about Noah for a boy?"

"No," Patrick said shortly. "What about Robert?"

"I'm already named for him, so I don't want to saddle a third generation with that." She pursed her lips. "But Anna for a girl is nice."

"I like Anna." Patrick started on another piece. Maybe he was finally making progress. "What about Malcolm?"

"Malcolm," Robin repeated. "It's a little out of fashion," she said slowly. "But it can be shortened to Mac or Mal which works out well. I like it."

"Good. Malcolm for a boy, Anna for a girl." It was the first time she'd easily accepted one of his suggestions and he was proud of himself. Maybe he was going to be okay at this after all.

The piece that he'd just finished started to peel off the wall.

Damn it.

3

Queer things happen in the garden in May.

Little faces forgotten appear, and plants thought to be dead

suddenly wave a green hand to confound you.

-W. E . Johns

"What do you mean you haven't told your mother?"

Patrick narrowed his eyes, watching Robin shove a whole cookie in her mouth at once. "Robin."

"It never came up." Except she tried to say it with a full mouth, so it sounded more I nevaw ca u.

"Robin." Patrick shoved himself up off the couch. "If your mother doesn't know, then I guess neither does your father."

Robin swallowed and chased it down with a swig of milk. "I suppose that's entirely possible."

"By entirely possible you mean that's exactly what's happening here," Patrick said flatly. "You didn't tell your parents."

"I couldn't!" Robin stood and planted her hands on her hips. "My mother is not ready to hear that she's going to be a grandmother and my father, oh my God, my father—"

"Is probably going to string me up by my thumbs," Patrick muttered. He went to the phone book and started to thumb through the pages. "If I can find a justice of the peace who'd be willing to marry us over the phone, I think I can probably save my life."

Robin frowned. "What was that?"

"Because your parents are in the elevator, on their way to this floor and if you're unmarried when Robert Scorpio walks through that door and sees…" he gestured towards her protruding belly, "…that and finds out you're not married? You'll never get the chance to be a widow because I'll already be dead."

"Now you're overreacting."

"That's rich coming from the woman who cried over a Hell's Kitchen episode," Patrick grumbled.

"I didn't think Vanessa should go home!" Robin stomped her foot.

"Can we please focus?" Patrick demanded. "Look, can you just tell your dad we're married so he won't kill me?"

"He'll ask for proof."

"You're right." Patrick dropped the phone book. "I'm pretty good under pressure but I don't think I'd be able to create a marriage certificate in the next two minutes. Are you any good with Photoshop? We could stick a white dress on you in something."

"Patrick. You're babbling."

"Wait…I've got an idea that I just might be able to pull off." Patrick crossed to the coat closet and dug around the top shelf. "You go lock the door so we can stall them."

"I am not going to lock the door. Besides, my parents can pick a lock." She watched him pull down the locked gray metal box and then root around in the desk for his keys. "What are you doing?"

"Just wait a second. How much longer do we have?" he asked, inserting the key in the lock. He threw the box open.

"Probably a minute," Robin replied.

"Should be enough." He withdrew a velvet box. "I was saving this for later this month, for our two year anniversary, but an emergency is an emergency."

"We have an anniversary?" Robin said. "How can we possibly pick a date to celebrate? We broke up like eight times."

"We took time off, we did not break up," Patrick muttered.

"I think you sleeping with someone else constitutes an actual breakup," Robin pointed out.

"Again, the focusing could use some work." He took her hand, flipped open the box and showed her a diamond solitaire ring. "Marry me."

"I feel like I've missed a step," Robin said. "Shouldn't you be down on one knee?"

"Hey, you're the one that didn't tell your parents about the baby," Patrick pointed out. "If you wanted a real romantic proposal, maybe something better than a five minute warning would have been nice."

"If you'd actually had a romantic proposal, I probably would have thought it was a sick joke," Robin said, tapping her chin. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you're glaring at me at a moment like this."

"We're down to like thirty seconds here." Patrick plucked the ring from the box. "Are you going to marry me or not?"

"I can't wait to tell our kid about this moment one day," Robin sighed with a fake dreamy smile. "Your father was glaring at me and demanding an answer with Grandma and Grandpop on our front step."

"We'll lie to the kid, parents do it all the time." Patrick narrowed his eyes. "Don't make me tackle you and shove this on your finger."

She pursed her lips and took the ring from him, studying it. "How long have you had this?" she asked curiously.

"About ten years," Patrick answered. At her questioning look, he exhaled slowly. "It was my mother's. She left it to me in her will."

"Oh." Robin bit her lip. "But you kept it here in the apartment. Instead of the deposit box where you keep all your documents and that cute coin collection—"

"I think I heard the elevator ding. Can't you just say yes?" Patrick asked.

"I think I'll give you an answer when you tell me why you want to marry me," Robin said, arching an eyebrow. "And to save to your own hide is not a good enough reason."

"I told you," he said, exasperated. "I was saving it for next week. I got it out of the bank a few days ago so I could have it cleaned and polished. And I'm asking you because I love you." There was a knock at the door. "And if you even love me a little, you'll say yes before your dad walks in here."

Robin slid the ring on her finger and leaned up on the tips of her toes. "Yes," she whispered against his lips. "But only because you asked so sweetly."