Title: Close, But Not Touching (4/9)
Disclaimer: They're all mine. I keep them in a shoebox under my bed. TPTB are mistreating them *horribly* so I'm taking it into my own hands. But I suppose I'll end up returning them anyway.
Summary: Carter and Deb prepare for the baby, and adjust to life together . . .
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**Carter**
Deb stepped into the apartment cautiously, and I followed. It was rather large, with a small kitchen to the right and a hallway to the left. I stepped into the kitchen and peered into the cabinets - I never really knew how to inspect apartments, anyway . . .
"There's space for a refrigerator," the landlord commented from behind me. "It costs $25 a month to rent one. The kitchen comes with a built in microwave, gas stove, dishwasher -"
Deb hurried into the kitchen excitedly. "John, you have to see these bedrooms!"
I nodded and followed her down the hallway. "There's two very spacious linen closets," the landlord continued, following us quickly. "Here's two of the three bedrooms, and one of the bathrooms. The master bedroom is right across the hall, and the second bathroom is connected to it though here." He opened up a door, and there was indeed a bathroom behind it. "See?" he asked proudly.
"Look how perfect this is!" Deb exclaimed from across the hall. "The two larger bedrooms are on either side of the smaller one - we could be the same distance from the baby!"
"No pets except cats," the landlord informed us, coming out of the bathroom. "We pay utilities and trash, deposits are due with contract signing -"
I nodded and looked into one of the bedrooms. It was illuminated with sunlight; the whole apartment seemed more spacious because of all the windows. "You all right with white carpet?" I called to Deb.
"We can change the carpet!" she called back, and I could hear her turning the sinks on and off.
"You can *not* change the carpet," the landlord said sternly.
Deb emerged from the bathroom and put her hands on her hips. "White's fine," she admitted to me. "We'll just teach the baby how close cleanliness is to godliness."
I opened the door to the linen cabinet and inspected it with what I hoped looked like expertise. "Lots of space," I commented.
"Over here, you can see the view of the neighborhood," the landlord continued, and we followed him into the dining room.
"So, what about Abby?" Deb suddenly asked.
I frowned. "I don't think there's going to be room for Abby here."
She shoved me playfully. "You know what I mean," she told me. "First you're completely hung up on Abby, and now you're seeing Susan Lewis?"
"That's . . . complicated," I admitted.
"Complicated?" Deb asked as the landlord rattled on. "John, you were obsessed with her - what could have happened?"
Before I could answer, a sly smile slid across her face. "But as I remember, you were also obsessed with Dr. Lewis . . ."
"Not true," I defended myself. "I was simply . . . attracted to her."
"You told me that you spent almost $500 on a Christmas gift for her," Deb stated. "But you're right, that doesn't sound obsessive."
I rolled my eyes. "You're so cute, you know that?" I grumbled sarcastically.
She grinned - then her eyes widened. "That's what happened, isn't it?" she whispered. "You were all set to go after Abby, and then Lewis shows up, and -"
The landlord cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me," he interrupted. "But if you don't mind, I have four more apartments to show in the hour, so can you give me an idea as to whether or not I should look for those contracts in my office?"
Deb looked at me. "I like it a lot," she told me. "What do you think?"
I took one last look around and smiled down at her. "I think it's great," I agreed. "Do you want to keep looking, or . . ."
She beamed and turned to the landlord. "We're going to have to give it some thought," she lied, pretending to be shrewd. "How soon is it available?"
The landlord chuckled. "How soon can you move?"
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"Hey, bring me that box!" Deb called out from the kitchen.
I looked up at her from the sofa that I had just dragged in. I was incredibly sore and sweaty from lugging boxes and things around all day, and it took a significant effort for me to blink and say "You kidding me?"
"Carter, don't be a prick," Deb sighed. "Please? I can't carry it by myself."
Groaning loudly, I heaved myself up from the couch and stumbled towards the kitchen. "This box?"
"Yeah," she answered as she disappeared behind another wall of cardboard boxes. "The one that says `Kitchen stuff.'
Nodding wearily, I strained to pick up the box and slowly carried it over to the kitchen. "This is a good place!" I yelled, not really asking as much as telling her.
She came back into the kitchen and frowned. "Actually, could you bring it -"
"Could you wait a second, please?" I asked tiredly. "I just brought in an apartment's worth of furniture and belongings - let me catch my breath."
"Such a baby," Deb teased, patting me lightly on the back. "I would have helped, you know."
"Right, like I'm going to take help from a woman who's 4 months pregnant," I informed her wryly, walking back over to the couch and collapsing onto it. "You can do all the unpacking."
"Like hell I am!" she exclaimed, opening up the box of kitchen supplies. "Oh, Carter, you mislabeled this one - this is for the baby's room."
"Then it can wait a few months," I murmured, closed my eyes contentedly.
"You wouldn't be so tired if you had actually asked Luka or someone for help," Deb reprimanded.
I shook my head. "Nothing makes people scatter like asking for moving help," I muttered, not willing to tell her the truth - that I hadn't told anyone at work yet. There wasn't any real reason for not mentioning anything, but there didn't seem to be any real reason for bringing it up, either.
"You didn't even move it all yourself," Deb pointed out. "The moving guys brought in the big stuff. Don't be such a wimp."
"Well, I did most of it myself," I replied. "Isn't that what matters?"
She smiled and sat next to me on the couch. "You're right, all that matters is that you're tired and sweaty and sore. But you did it yourself, right?"
I opened one eye to glare at her, then sat up slowly and embraced her in a big sweaty hug. "You're my *angel* . . ." I teased.
Deb squealed indignantly and struggled to get away. "You're disgusting!" she giggled, wrenching out of my grip. "Go take a shower!"
"Too tired for shower," I responded, stretching out on the couch sleepily. "Shower later."
Deb rolled her eyes and stood up. "Fine, shower later." She started to walk back to the kitchen, then stopped and said "John? Can we talk about something?"
"You can talk," I offered. "I'll listen."
"I think we need to figure out some ground rules," she said quickly, and I could tell she'd been thinking about it. "You know, for the whole . . . situation . . ."
"Ground rules?" I opened one eye skeptically. "You giving me a curfew?"
"No, nothing like that," Deb sighed. "Can you be serious for a second, please?"
I turned over on my side and propped myself up on a pillow. "You have my complete attention."
"Well, once the baby comes, we can figure things out a little more accurately," she said, sitting in one of the dining room chairs. "But for now . . . I know you're working and everything, so I don't have a problem doing *some* of the housework -"
"I'll help around the house," I assured her. "I'll help with the baby, I'll help with everything."
Deb was quiet. "We can figure out some kind of system for cooking - you can cook when you don't work nights, and I'll cook when you do, or something . . ."
"I'm arranging to get my schedule a little more standardized," I told her, and it wasn't completely untrue. I had certainly *thought* about getting Kerry to change my schedule, but that meant telling her why . . .
"Hopefully they'll be receptive to that," she responded - then eyed me closely. "Have you told anyone at work yet?"
I grimaced. Damn Deb and her entirely-too-extensive knowledge of my thoughts. "Not as of yet."
"Carter!" she exclaimed. "You haven't even told Susan?"
"I'm planning on telling her soon," I assured her.
"Oh, well, that's a comfort," Deb sighed sarcastically. "Honestly, John . . ."
"I swear!" I said. "She'll know soon. Within the month, at least."
"You promise?"
I nodded complacently. "I promise."
She looked at me skeptically, then stood up and went back to the kitchen. "Oh, and John," she added. "No sex."
I tilted my head, confused. "You're regulating my sex life now?"
"No, no," she told me quickly. "I mean . . . I mean no sex between you and I."
"Ohh." I nodded a little too eagerly. "I understand, of course."
"It would just be awkward, and everything . . ."
"It was just a one night thing . . ."
" . . . the whole thing is going to be hard enough, without having to dodge each other in the hallway . . ."
" . . . plus, I'm seeing someone right now . . ."
Deb stopped, and looked at me for a moment. "Right, you're seeing someone," she repeated. "That's why it wouldn't work."
I nodded, satisfied. "It's going to be fine, Deb," I assured her. "Don't worry so much. Once you over-think something, there's no going back."
"I know." She was quiet for a second, then said "Want a sandwich?"
"Sounds great," I responded comfortably from the couch.
"Great." She passed through the living room and swatted me on the butt with a rolled up newspaper. "No mayo on mine, all right?"
I looked up and glared at her. "I'm exhausted," I complained.
"Oh come on," Deb called from the hallway. "It could have been worse."
"Oh, really?" I asked, sitting up on the couch. "How? You could have actually packed bricks, or something?"
She poked her head back into the living room. "We could be on the second floor," she told me with a wink.
I scowled at her, then begrudgingly got up to make the damn sandwich. God. I was already whipped and I wasn't even sleeping with her. "This must be what marriage is like," I grumbled to myself.
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"So the guy says `I have no idea,' and I'm looking at him and knowing he's lying," Susan continued from across the table. "I ask him again - `where is the dog?' And he says `I don't know,' and various profanities, and finally . . ." She put her fork down and looked at me curiously. "John?"
I shook my head slightly at the mention of my name, breaking off my stare into outer space. "Yeah?"
Susan smiled amusedly. "Am I boring you?"
"No, no," I assured her, looking up from my food to give her a brief smile. "I was listening."
The restaurant was small and cozy - it was the epitome of a romantic evening, right down to the single candle and red rose on the table. I'd been practicing what to say to her for nearly a month now. Even as she talked, my mind was running through the various ways to say "You know how I'm living with another woman? Oh, well by the way, she's having my baby." This was Susan, of course, she was my good friend, an excellent listener . . . but they didn't exactly make Hallmark Cards for this sort of thing.
" . . . you seem distracted."
I looked up - damn, I'd zoned out again. "Hmm?"
Susan sighed. "How was your day?" she asked, and I could tell she was a little annoyed.
"It was fine," I responded blandly, irritated at myself for not just coming out and saying it.
"How are you and Deb doing in the new place?" she asked amicably, taking a sip of wine. "Killed each other yet?"
"Nope, still standing," I responded warily.
Susan nodded and set her glass on the table. "Well, once you get sick of each other, you're welcome to crash at my place," she offered. "It's small and not particularly neat, but there's space if you need it."
I took a deep breath. "Susan, I -"
"Are you sleeping together?" she suddenly asked.
I stared at her in horror. "What?!"
"I just . . . I was thinking about it, and . . ." She smiled guiltily. "You're not, are you?"
"I can honestly tell you that we are not currently sleeping together," I answered slowly.
Just then her cell phone began to ring, and I sighed in disappointed relief. "Hold that thought," she told me, fishing the phone out of her purse. "Hello?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and after a moment she handed the phone to me. "It's for you . . . it's Deb."
My face flushed as I reached across the table and took the phone from her. "Deb?"
"Where are you and why isn't your cell phone on?!" she snapped.
"My cell phone?" I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved the phone. "Oh, low battery. Sorry."
"What if I needed you?" she exclaimed furiously. "What if there was an emergency or something?!"
"Well, you found me just fine," I said quietly into the phone. The volume of her voice was attracting stares from everyone around us - including Susan. "Is there an emergency?"
"That's not the point," Deb snapped. "The point is . . . why didn't you have your cell phone on?!"
I attempted to answer her but it was impossible to get a word in edgewise; sheepishly I smiled at Susan and turned away for a moment. "Deb, can we talk about this when I get home?" I murmured. "Please?"
"Why, am I interrupting your date?" She sounded like she was in tears. "Fine, John, fine - we'll talk when you get home. But I can't guarantee that I'll still be here!" There was a loud click as she slammed the phone into the cradle, and rolling my eyes, I handed the cell back to Susan.
"That sounded painful," she commented sympathetically as she put the phone back in her purse. "Everything all right?"
I shrugged. "It's fine," I answered. "She does this at work too - the mood swings are getting the better of her. By the time I get home, she'll be happy again."
Susan looked at me carefully. "Mood swings?"
I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized I'd said exactly the wrong thing. "Yeah . . . she's pregnant."
Susan gaped slightly. "You're kidding!"
I shook my head shyly.
"That's great, though," Susan quickly added. "Tell her I said congratulations." She turned back to her plate, but continued "I didn't even know she was seeing anyone. Is it awkward for you to be there?"
And there it was. "She's not seeing anyone," I responded, praying to some unseen power that Susan would get the hint.
"Ouch." She wrinkled her nose. "Painful break-up?"
"Actually, you know what - I'm the father," I blurted out in a rushed breath. My eyes darted from my plate to Susan's face, then back down again. Maybe I didn't want to see her expression, after all.
But after an extended moment of silence, I looked back up at her. She was staring at me with something between confusion and awe. "Say something," I murmured nervously.
Susan shook her head slowly, a suspicious smile growing on her face. "I thought you weren't sleeping with her," she finally chuckled.
I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. "We're not sleeping together *anymore,*" I offered helpfully. But before she could say anything I added "It was a one-time thing, sort of spur of the moment, it happened more than four months ago - and it's not going to happen again."
Susan smiled briefly. "Carter, I trust you." She sounded a little patronizing. "Why did it take you 4 months to tell me?"
I shrugged. I felt slightly relieved but a little annoyed - she hadn't blown up at me, which was good. But why hadn't she? "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't know how you'd react."
"I'm fine," Susan said, putting a hand on her chest. "I mean, it's going to take some getting used to . . . John Carter, as a father . . ." She smiled and squeezed my hand. "You're going to be a great father."
I nodded, not quite in agreement but in understanding. Susan had no way of knowing how many nights I'd stared at the ceiling, pondering this prediction. It was so easy to be a perfect father idealistically, but it was just as easy to be a terrible father in real life. Every day in the ER I saw fathers crying over their children, cursing themselves for one wrong move in raising them, one misstep in their child's life . . . "I hope you're right," I answered with a half-hearted smile.
"And actually, this will be good for me," Susan continued brightly. "I've dated all sorts of guys with all sorts of issues - I'm always up for a challenge."
There was that twinge in the conversation again, where she'd said something so ambiguous that it was impossible not to interpret it badly. "Issues?"
"Well, yeah," Susan admitted, taking a sip of wine. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, of course, I just meant . . . well, you know . . ."
"No, I don't," I informed her, trying not to sound too confrontational.
"Come on, Carter," Susan said with a teasing grin. "You have to admit, it's not exactly a conventional relationship anymore."
"It was conventional before?"
Susan rolled her eyes. "You're being so sensitive tonight," she commented. "I didn't mean anything by it, all right?"
"I just don't understand why you would consider Deb having a baby an `issue,'" I retorted, suddenly feeling defensive.
"Deb having a baby isn't an issue," Susan answered. "It's *you* and Deb having a baby that makes it an issue."
I shook my head discontentedly. "I knew it," I muttered. "I knew you weren't going to be all right with this."
"I'm fine with this, Carter," Susan sighed. "I just don't understand why you can't admit that this is even *slightly* weird -"
I stared at her. "Oh, so it's weird now?"
"Carter-" Susan began, but the waiter came by and dropped off the bill. "Thanks," she told him with a smile. She turned back to me and sighed. "You can't honestly tell me that if the shoe were on the other foot, you wouldn't think it was a little weird."
"I wouldn't," I informed her, crossing my arms over my chest.
"So, if I was pregnant and I moved in with one of my ex-boyfriends - who happened to be the father - you wouldn't think that was even a little odd?"
"There's a difference," I pointed out. "Deb was never my girlfriend."
She gave me a tight smile. "You've had four months to get used to this," she told me. "I've had four minutes. Cut me some slack."
I was quiet for a long time. "Deb and I have talked about this for a long time," I said finally. "Yeah, I know it's not traditional, and it's not going to be easy, but we've decided that it's going to work out. We've figured out the problems and everything, and . . ." I shook my head again. "It's not an `issue,' and it's not `weird.' Just because it's never been done before doesn't mean it *can't* be done."
"I'm sure it's been done before," Susan commented.
"Not successfully." I twirled my fork in my hand unconsciously. "This is going to work out. It's really the best option, if you think about it - Deb is my best friend, we already know that we get along well."
"You don't think adding a baby to the mix is going to change that?" Susan asked skeptically. Just then her cell phone rang again, and she chuckled when she saw the number. "It's Deb again."
I grimaced. "I'd better be going, then," I told her as I stood up. "I'm sorry -"
Susan waved a hand at me. "Don't worry about it," she smiled. "You've got a lot on your mind. I'll call you later?"
I nodded and kissed her softly on the lips. "I'll be waiting," I responded, and didn't let the smile fade until I was out of sight. Suddenly I just wanted to be in the comfort of my own conscious, where saying things over and over and over made them true, and I wasn't so easily irritated when others didn't feel the same way . . .
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When I got home Deb was sobbing uncontrollably. She was curled on the couch and crying into a couch cushion, with dozens of crumpled tissues surrounding her. Sighing, I approached her cautiously and said "Deb?"
Deb looked up quickly, noticing me for the first time. "John!" she wailed, and burst into tears again.
I wanted to ask if she was all right, but it seemed like a pretty dumb question to ask. Instead I sat next to her on the couch and wrapped her into an embrace. She crawled into my arms, and I felt a sense of relief upon realizing that she wasn't still mad at me. "What's wrong?"
"It's so sad," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I . . . just . . ."
"What?" Suddenly worried, I pulled away and looked her in the eye. "Deb, what's wrong? Are you ok? Is the baby ok?"
She nodded distractedly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She tried to say something else, but collapsed in another fit of tears. Her eyes flickered towards the TV - I turned to the screen and smiled in relief. "Has there been a tragedy on Sesame Street?" I teased.
"It's not funny!" she wailed. "I was watching it . . . there was this little boy who wanted to know the alphabet, and the thing . . . the blue thing . . ."
"Cookie Monster?" I asked, amused.
"Yeah . . ." Deb sniffed and snuggled into my shoulder. "He was teaching him, and . . ." Her eyes filled with tears again. "What if I can't teach my baby the alphabet??"
"You're going to be able to teach the baby about the alphabet," I chuckled. "Don't worry about that."
"No, John . . . what if I can't teach the baby other things?" She looked me in the eye, her lip quivering. "How do I teach the baby to talk, or walk, or with algebra homework . . ."
I rubbed her back soothingly. "They all come naturally," I assured her. "Well, maybe not algebra . . . maybe by the time he or she is in high school, they'll have banned algebra from the school system."
Deb nodded and wiped her eyes. "Yeah, I guess," she murmured, smiling slightly. "Thanks, John. It's just so overwhelming . . ."
"I know, I know," I told her soothingly. "I know how you feel." I kissed the top of her head assuredly. The good thing about hormonal mood swings was that they seemed to change fairly often. "Hey, I told Susan tonight . . ."
"Oh yeah?" Deb asked, shifting out of my lap. "How did she take it?"
"Pretty well," I considered. "She didn't run screaming from the building, if that's what you mean. She says congratulations."
"Tell her thanks," she responded, standing up and turning off the television. "Although I'm pretty sure you thanked her in your own way. You want some ice cream?"
"Do we have anything besides that pistachio crap?" I asked.
Deb opened up the freezer and rummaged around. "We've got seven containers of that pistachio crap," she commented, pulling one out and shutting the freezer door. "And I don't know when my craving is going to change, so we need to finish it off as quickly as possible."
I scowled and shook my head. "Why does chocolate have to make you nauseous?" I called out from the couch. "Why not vanilla or something that I wouldn't eat anyway?"
Deb shrugged as she opened the utensil drawer and took out a spoon. "I don't control the baby's whims," she informed me, leaning against the counter and digging into her ice cream. "Baby wants pistachio, I say, bring on the pistachio."
I shook my head and stood up. "You don't know what you're missing," I sighed, putting my hand on Deb's belly. "You're not even born yet and you've never had a Hershey's Bar, or Ben and Jerry's, or chocolate covered cherries . . ."
Deb stared at me. "You trying to make me throw up right now?" she demanded.
I grinned. "Sorry." Just then I felt a flutter against my hand, and my eyes widened. "The baby's moving around again," I told Deb quickly.
"Really?" she asked wryly. "I couldn't tell, what with my uterus being in the way of your hand and everything." She sighed and took another bite of ice cream. "God, I'm getting huge . . ."
"Oh come on, you're-"
She glared at me. "Don't even try to deny it," she retorted, pointing the spoon at me with every word. "Look at me, I'm an elephant!"
I ran my hand along her stomach contemplatively. "You're almost five months pregnant, what did you expect?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "Today I went shopping and I got The Look."
"The Look?"
"You know, that sideways glance everyone gives you when you're noticeably pregnant." She looked at me and smiled. "All right, so maybe you don't know what I mean . . ."
"Come on, it's from your happy maternal glow," I told her with a grin. "They're all jealous."
"Carter, they're looking at my hand," she informed me, holding up her bare left hand. "They're looking for a ring."
I frowned at this. "No, I don't think people are as perceptive as that," I told her. "Maybe you're reading too much into this?"
"No, I'm not," she quipped, putting the cover back on the ice cream. "The saleswomen do it the most. They give me this huge, congratulatory smile, then their eyes go to my hand, and when they don't see a ring, they treat me differently."
I shook my head. "I don't know . . . people can be judgmental, but . . ."
"Not people," Deb corrected me. "Women."
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," I told her as I slung an arm around her shoulders. "They wouldn't understand even if you tried to explain. Trust me."
She sighed and rested against me comfortably. "Feel like doing me a favor?"
I smiled and held up my keys. "I was planning on it," I told her. "What flavor do you want?"
---------------------------------------------------
"All right . . . Tiffany?"
"Tiffany?!"
"Tiffany's a nice name, it seems happy, cheerful . . ."
"John, no, we are not naming our child after the music idol of the 80's."
"Okay, you think of something better then."
"Um . . . Marie, Maria, Angelina -"
"As in Jolie?"
"Yeah, I guess . . ."
"Nope, can't name my baby after a woman I've had illicit dreams about."
"That probably goes for Tiffany, too -"
"Sadly, yes."
"Ha!"
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"Ummm, over there," Deb called out from the hallway.
I turned around incredulously. "You want me to assemble the crib in the middle of the living room?"
"Sure, why not?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe. "We can move it later if we want."
I chuckled. "You mean, *I* can move it later if *you* want."
She smiled sweetly. "Of course that's what I mean. Now be a good handyman and build the crib."
I paused. "What about the rest of the baby furniture?"
"That stuff doesn't require too much work," she told me. "You *can* do it, right?"
I eyed the box of various pieces of a crib. "Hand me the screwdriver," I said menacingly, and Deb rolled her eyes in amusement.
---------------------------------------------------
"Andrew, Charles, William . . ."
"Naming various members of British royalty?"
"Nah, various members of Carter royalty."
"Ick - we're not naming the baby after any of your uncles."
"Well, what about John?"
"John the fourth?"
"Yeah - it's traditional, it's respectable . . ."
"It's dull . . ."
"Dull?? I've been John my whole life and I never thought it was dull!"
"Oh, well, it's not dull when we're talking about *you* . . . I just couldn't name my baby anything like that. "It's so . . . blehhh . . ."
" `Bleh?' The name that's been passed down from generation to generation in my family is `bleh?'"
"Come on, we can pick something better for our child than an ageless punishment."
"Hey!-"
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I looked up from the TV as Deb stormed through the front door. "Bad day?"
"I hate my family," she snapped, heading right to the kitchen and tearing the freezer open.
"They didn't take it well?" I asked tentatively.
She pulled out a container of ice cream and slammed the freezer closed. "I didn't even get a chance to tell them! My mother didn't even let me get a word in edgewise?"
I looked at her skeptically - my gaze shifted to her midsection. "They couldn't just guess?"
She pursed her lips and paused before opening the ice cream. "I didn't exactly stop by," she admitted. "I kind of made a phone call."
"You were going to break this to them over the phone?" I exclaimed. "Did you really think they were going to react any better that way?"
"I chickened out, I know!" Deb snapped, taking a huge bite of ice cream. "But I just . . . couldn't face them again, 5 months pregnant . . ."
I sighed. "You know, my family is just as conservative as yours, and they took it pretty well."
She glared at me. "You told your grandmother, and she would accept you if you had an arm growing out of your head."
"No, I told my parents too," I informed her. "They were all right with it, too."
She shook her head angrily. "Damn you and your functional family!" she hollered, throwing the spoon across the room and storming into her bedroom.
Sighing, I closed my eyes wearily - then took out a new spoon and took a bite of the goddawful ice cream. Deb was improving with every passing day, but every once in a while, something would set her back . . . her family seemed to be the best tool for atrophy in Deb.
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"Jackie."
"No."
"Jane."
"No."
"Jamie."
"No."
"Jennifer."
"Ew, no."
"Josephine."
"No."
"Jigilo."
"What?"
"It says right here - Jigilo."
"You're kidding me!"
"That would be a *cool* name."
"For a little kid?"
"For a cool little kid."
"For a little *girl*?"
"Fine . . . Jolene."
"No."
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I stood up grandly and held out my arms. "Behold - the 7^th Wonder of the World . . ."
Deb crossed her arms and nodded in approval. "It's nice. You did a good job."
I patted the side of the crib proudly. "And it only took me three weeks to do it between shifts," I announced.
Deb turned around to look down the hall. "Is it going to fit through the hallway?"
My smiled faded. "Of course it is."
Deb squinted at the crib, then back at the hallway. "I think it's too big."
"It's *not,*" I insisted, dragging the crib over to the hallway. "If I just . . . turn it . . . or something . . ."
Deb chuckled. "You've got three weeks to spare, right?"
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"Katie, Kaylie, Kelly, Kerry -"
"Ugh."
"Hey, I'm just reading the list here. They also spell it `Kari, Carrie, and Ceri."
"Ceri?"
"Yeah. Don't ask me."
"This is dumb - we're just picking names we like. What if the baby hates us forever because they hate the name we gave them?"
"Yeah, that's true. But we can't exactly tell the baby's personality pre-natally, so what can we do?"
"We could pick names of people we admire, people we love . . ."
"Like *John*?"
"We've been down this road before - drop it already.
"Yeah, all right. Hey . . . what about Susan?"
"Trying to kiss ass with your girlfriend?"
"No, Susan's just a nice name."
" `Mommy, how come you and Daddy named me Susan?' `Oh, sweetheart, Susan is the name of the woman Daddy was sleeping with when Mommy was pregnant with you.' "
"Ha ha. Well, what about relatives?"
"We've been there too . . ."
"I haven't named any females in my family."
"All right, fine - what's your mother's name again?"
"Eleanor."
"Ooh, that's kind of pretty -"
"We're not naming our baby after my mother. In fact, nix the whole Carter family name thing - there's only one woman in my family worth naming anyone after."
"Well, all right. What's your grandmother's name?"
"Millicent."
"Oh. That's . . . that's kind of nice . . ."
"Don't worry, we don't have to name the baby Millicent."
"Good . . ."
-----------------------------------
Deb held up a tiny blue dress. "How cute is this?" she exclaimed.
I leaned on the handle of the shopping cart and frowned. "Kind of skanky for an infant," I commented.
Deb scowled and smacked me on the arm. "It's for me," she told me, holding up the sleeveless dress once again. "Too slutty?"
I shrugged, not sure how to ask if the dress came in a maternity size. "Nah, just slutty enough."
Deb looked at the dress and sadly put it back on the rack. "I guess I'll have to wait a while," she sighed.
"Nah, only 3 months to go," I encouraged. "Then you can wear all the skanky dresses you want."
She stared at me. "I'm never going to shrink back to my normal size immediately after the baby's born," she quipped, unconsciously putting her hand on her expanding belly. "I'm going to be wearing maternity clothes for the rest of my life . . ."
"Well, it's a good thing they're cute," I offered, fully unsure as to approach this topic. We'd been living together for three months now, we'd known each other for years beforehand - but I was still clueless when it came to handling compliments about weight.
"Yeah, cute like a circus tent," Deb muttered, strolling beside the cart as I pushed it down the aisle. "So, are we going to buy baby things today or am I going to keep finding clothes I'm never going to be able to wear again?"
I gestured to the overflowing cart in front of me. "What do you call all this stuff?"
Deb looked at me innocently. "One cart? Are you kidding me?" She laughed and continued to walk alongside the cart. "I call that a warm-up."
--------------------------------------------------
"Blake."
"Blake?!"
"Max."
"Naah."
"Pacey."
"All right, that's where I draw the line. No son of mine will be named Pacey."
"Ummm . . . Spike."
"Deb, for the last time, you're not going to find any names from the TV. Just come back in here and we'll look over the baby book again."
"I hate the baby book. I'm not naming the baby anything from that damn book."
"It's got every baby name in the English language - we're going to find at least one name we can agree on."
"I like my method."
"Deb . . ."
"Ross, Joey, Chandler . . ."
---------------------------------------------------------
"I don't want to say you're taking a long time," Deb called from the sofa, "but I think someone agrees with me."
I tried to ignore her as I tossed the salad. No one ever seemed to mention how difficult tossing a freaking salad was . . . "I'm almost done," I called out.
Deb sighed and propped her legs up on the arm of the couch. "I could have ordered pizza by now, you know!"
"Pizza gives you heartburn."
"I have heartburn all the time anyway," Deb informed me. "At least I'd be able to eat when I'm hungry!"
I delicately positioned the dinner plate and glass on the TV tray and brought it out to her. "I'm apologizing in advance for any aversions I didn't know about."
"I have an aversion to your cooking in general, John," she teased, picking up the fork and taking a bite of salad. "But I'm so hungry, I think I can ignore it."
I smiled. "That's very gracious of you." I stuck my hands in my coat pockets - and my eyes widened when they brushed against a small box. "God, I almost forgot," I murmured.
"Almost forgot what?" Deb asked.
Shyly I pulled out the small velvet box and placed it on the tray. "Open it," I urged.
Deb looked at me curiously as she picked up the box, opened it - and gasped.
Her jaw seemed to hit the floor, and when she took out the elegant diamond ring, I smiled to myself. "Do you like it?"
"John . . . I . . ." She looked up at me and swallowed hard. "I don't know, John . . ."
Suddenly I understood what she was thinking. "Oh, no, no no no, it's not what you think," I insisted.
"You're not asking me to marry you?" Deb asked, and for the life of me I couldn't read the expression on her face.
"No," I answered, shaking my head adamantly. "It's . . . do you remember what you said about how people look at you differently when you're not wearing a ring?" She nodded vaguely. "Well, I was in the jewelry store and I happened to see it . . . it's just to make you feel better whenever anyone . . . it'll remind you that someone does care about you . . ." I shook my head, humiliated. "It's stupid, I know . . ."
"No," Deb told me quickly. "No, it's really sweet." Her eyes welled with tears and she smiled at me gratefully. "It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."
I grinned self-consciously. "Do you like it, though?"
"I love it," Deb whispered, slipping it onto her finger and admiring it. "Thank you."
---------------------------------------------------------
"Stanley."
"Nope."
"Cynthia."
"No."
"Um . . .Dragon."
"Nah."
"Snake."
"Nuh - uh."
"Flamingo."
"What was that last one?"
"Never mind."
"Nuh-uh."
------------------------------------------------------
Deb paced the waiting room frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't," she repeated to herself. "I don't, I don't . . ."
I eyed her from my seat in the waiting room. "Are you sure this time?"
"I'm sure." She stopped pacing and gave me a nervous smile. "I don't. I want it to be a surprise."
I grinned and grasped her hand soothingly. "And you're sure?"
She nodded quickly and attempted to sit down - immediately I stood to help her. "I'm so *pregnant, *" she complained as she eased into the seat.
"Jing-Mei Chen?"
Deb's eyes darted up and she squeezed my hand tightly. "Here we go," she murmured, twisting her ring nervously.
I smiled and helped her up again. "Come on, it's like every OB visit we've had so far," I assured her, putting my hand on her back as we crossed the living room. "Especially since we don't want to know."
Deb nodded, but bit her lip. "I changed my mind, I want to know," she said quickly.
"What?!"
The nurse at the door smiled gently at us. "You're the father?" she asked, and I nodded distractedly. For as many times as she'd seen us before, you'd think she would recognize us . . .
We made our way to the right exam room, and when we were alone, Deb looked at me guiltily. "If you don't want to know, you can step outside for a second . . ."
I shook my head. "I'm willing to do whatever you want to do," I told her, not willing to express how much I loathed making personal decisions. "If you want to know, then we'll know."
She smiled and squeezed my hand. "We're going to find out if we're having a girl or a boy . . ."
Just then the OB walked in and smiled at us. "Hello," she greeted, and Deb didn't make any attempt to hide her scowl. She hated this woman and I knew it. "How are you doing today?"
"My ankles hurt, I'm bloated to hell, and you're late again," Deb quipped.
The woman's smile was strained. "I'm going to miss you two after you have the baby next month," she told us.
"Right," Deb grumbled.
"So - I hear you want to find out the sex today," the OB continued. "You're 8 months along, so there's a good chance we'll -"
"I don't want to know," Deb interrupted suddenly. I stared at her and she looked at me frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't."
"O-kay," the OB said brightly. "Want to change into the gown for me?"
Deb sighed and snatched the gown from her. "I don't," she told her once more, as if she was reminding her.
"I believe you," she said obediently, and I tried not to laugh.
Moments later Deb was changed and we were all staring at the image on the ultrasound screen. "Everything looks good," the OB commented. "Big baby."
"You're telling me," Deb muttered wryly.
"You sure you don't want to know the sex?" she asked.
I was about to respond with something sarcastic just to save Deb the trouble, when she interrupted with "Yes, we do."
I shook my head incredulously. "Are you *sure*?"
"Does it sound like I'm sure?!" Deb hissed.
The OB nodded and bit her lip contemplatively. "Unfortunately, the baby's making it difficult for us," she said with a frown. "I can't see anything."
I cringed, knowing what was going to happen. Deb had told off this OB so often, you could set your watch by it . . .
--------------------------------------------------
"My mother's going to want the baby to have a Chinese name."
"Oh, right . . . family names, or something?"
"It depends. I'll have to find some I like, or that my mother likes."
"Have you -"
"Don't want to talk about it."
"Gotcha."
"What last name is this baby going to have? Did we decide that yet?"
"Oh, the whole Carter-Chen/Chen-Carter fiasco. Do we need to open that wound again?"
"Do you want your baby to have a last name?"
"Good point."
"Well, how about this - Carter if it's a boy, Chen if it's a girl?"
"That sounds awfully simple . . ."
"No?"
"No, I like it, But what if you have twins - a boy and a girl?"
"Do you want me to claw your eyes out?"
-----------------------------------------------
I looked up from the couch as Deb stormed in. "Hello?"
"I don't want to talk right now," Deb snapped, and as she slammed her bedroom door behind her, I could hear her crying.
There was a knock at the door before I could even think about comforting Deb. I stood up, slightly bewildered, and answered the door. "Mrs. Chen?" I asked, surprised.
Deb's mother seemed irritated at my presence. "I need to talk to Jing-Mei," she informed me.
"I . . . don't know if she's home," I said slowly.
Mrs. Chen shook her head. "I just saw her come in here," she retorted. "Let me talk to her."
Conflicted, I looked behind me and then back at Mrs. Chen. "Come in," I finally said, opening the door for her.
She stepped through the doorway and glanced around the apartment. "Sorry for the mess," I apologized, shutting the door behind her. "Deb's due any day, and we haven't really gotten a chance to clean up . . ." I suddenly realized that I may have said too much, and quickly I added "I mean, Deb's . . . been sick . . ."
Mrs. Chen shook her head distractedly. "I know about the baby," she told me, eyeing the hallway. "She came to the house and told us."
"Really?" I was impressed. Deb had finally faced her demons - and it had only taken 9 months.
"I just don't know why she didn't tell us," Mrs. Chen told me irritably. "The first time, she jumped to conclusions, and now this time . . ."
"Are you sure she jumped to conclusions?" I asked carefully. "She's always been afraid of your judgment - of the whole family's judgment."
"But that's ridiculous," she stated. "She told me the same thing a few minutes ago and I don't understand it! Of course her father and I would accept a grandchild -any grandchild she gave us."
I sighed and looked towards the bedroom door. "I'm not sure she believes that," I told her.
At that moment Deb's bedroom door cracked open. "John?"
Quickly I stepped down the hall and approached her bedroom. "You all right?"
"No, John . . ." She swallowed a sob and whispered "My water broke."
Disclaimer: They're all mine. I keep them in a shoebox under my bed. TPTB are mistreating them *horribly* so I'm taking it into my own hands. But I suppose I'll end up returning them anyway.
Summary: Carter and Deb prepare for the baby, and adjust to life together . . .
---------------------------------------
**Carter**
Deb stepped into the apartment cautiously, and I followed. It was rather large, with a small kitchen to the right and a hallway to the left. I stepped into the kitchen and peered into the cabinets - I never really knew how to inspect apartments, anyway . . .
"There's space for a refrigerator," the landlord commented from behind me. "It costs $25 a month to rent one. The kitchen comes with a built in microwave, gas stove, dishwasher -"
Deb hurried into the kitchen excitedly. "John, you have to see these bedrooms!"
I nodded and followed her down the hallway. "There's two very spacious linen closets," the landlord continued, following us quickly. "Here's two of the three bedrooms, and one of the bathrooms. The master bedroom is right across the hall, and the second bathroom is connected to it though here." He opened up a door, and there was indeed a bathroom behind it. "See?" he asked proudly.
"Look how perfect this is!" Deb exclaimed from across the hall. "The two larger bedrooms are on either side of the smaller one - we could be the same distance from the baby!"
"No pets except cats," the landlord informed us, coming out of the bathroom. "We pay utilities and trash, deposits are due with contract signing -"
I nodded and looked into one of the bedrooms. It was illuminated with sunlight; the whole apartment seemed more spacious because of all the windows. "You all right with white carpet?" I called to Deb.
"We can change the carpet!" she called back, and I could hear her turning the sinks on and off.
"You can *not* change the carpet," the landlord said sternly.
Deb emerged from the bathroom and put her hands on her hips. "White's fine," she admitted to me. "We'll just teach the baby how close cleanliness is to godliness."
I opened the door to the linen cabinet and inspected it with what I hoped looked like expertise. "Lots of space," I commented.
"Over here, you can see the view of the neighborhood," the landlord continued, and we followed him into the dining room.
"So, what about Abby?" Deb suddenly asked.
I frowned. "I don't think there's going to be room for Abby here."
She shoved me playfully. "You know what I mean," she told me. "First you're completely hung up on Abby, and now you're seeing Susan Lewis?"
"That's . . . complicated," I admitted.
"Complicated?" Deb asked as the landlord rattled on. "John, you were obsessed with her - what could have happened?"
Before I could answer, a sly smile slid across her face. "But as I remember, you were also obsessed with Dr. Lewis . . ."
"Not true," I defended myself. "I was simply . . . attracted to her."
"You told me that you spent almost $500 on a Christmas gift for her," Deb stated. "But you're right, that doesn't sound obsessive."
I rolled my eyes. "You're so cute, you know that?" I grumbled sarcastically.
She grinned - then her eyes widened. "That's what happened, isn't it?" she whispered. "You were all set to go after Abby, and then Lewis shows up, and -"
The landlord cleared his throat loudly. "Excuse me," he interrupted. "But if you don't mind, I have four more apartments to show in the hour, so can you give me an idea as to whether or not I should look for those contracts in my office?"
Deb looked at me. "I like it a lot," she told me. "What do you think?"
I took one last look around and smiled down at her. "I think it's great," I agreed. "Do you want to keep looking, or . . ."
She beamed and turned to the landlord. "We're going to have to give it some thought," she lied, pretending to be shrewd. "How soon is it available?"
The landlord chuckled. "How soon can you move?"
---------------------------------------
"Hey, bring me that box!" Deb called out from the kitchen.
I looked up at her from the sofa that I had just dragged in. I was incredibly sore and sweaty from lugging boxes and things around all day, and it took a significant effort for me to blink and say "You kidding me?"
"Carter, don't be a prick," Deb sighed. "Please? I can't carry it by myself."
Groaning loudly, I heaved myself up from the couch and stumbled towards the kitchen. "This box?"
"Yeah," she answered as she disappeared behind another wall of cardboard boxes. "The one that says `Kitchen stuff.'
Nodding wearily, I strained to pick up the box and slowly carried it over to the kitchen. "This is a good place!" I yelled, not really asking as much as telling her.
She came back into the kitchen and frowned. "Actually, could you bring it -"
"Could you wait a second, please?" I asked tiredly. "I just brought in an apartment's worth of furniture and belongings - let me catch my breath."
"Such a baby," Deb teased, patting me lightly on the back. "I would have helped, you know."
"Right, like I'm going to take help from a woman who's 4 months pregnant," I informed her wryly, walking back over to the couch and collapsing onto it. "You can do all the unpacking."
"Like hell I am!" she exclaimed, opening up the box of kitchen supplies. "Oh, Carter, you mislabeled this one - this is for the baby's room."
"Then it can wait a few months," I murmured, closed my eyes contentedly.
"You wouldn't be so tired if you had actually asked Luka or someone for help," Deb reprimanded.
I shook my head. "Nothing makes people scatter like asking for moving help," I muttered, not willing to tell her the truth - that I hadn't told anyone at work yet. There wasn't any real reason for not mentioning anything, but there didn't seem to be any real reason for bringing it up, either.
"You didn't even move it all yourself," Deb pointed out. "The moving guys brought in the big stuff. Don't be such a wimp."
"Well, I did most of it myself," I replied. "Isn't that what matters?"
She smiled and sat next to me on the couch. "You're right, all that matters is that you're tired and sweaty and sore. But you did it yourself, right?"
I opened one eye to glare at her, then sat up slowly and embraced her in a big sweaty hug. "You're my *angel* . . ." I teased.
Deb squealed indignantly and struggled to get away. "You're disgusting!" she giggled, wrenching out of my grip. "Go take a shower!"
"Too tired for shower," I responded, stretching out on the couch sleepily. "Shower later."
Deb rolled her eyes and stood up. "Fine, shower later." She started to walk back to the kitchen, then stopped and said "John? Can we talk about something?"
"You can talk," I offered. "I'll listen."
"I think we need to figure out some ground rules," she said quickly, and I could tell she'd been thinking about it. "You know, for the whole . . . situation . . ."
"Ground rules?" I opened one eye skeptically. "You giving me a curfew?"
"No, nothing like that," Deb sighed. "Can you be serious for a second, please?"
I turned over on my side and propped myself up on a pillow. "You have my complete attention."
"Well, once the baby comes, we can figure things out a little more accurately," she said, sitting in one of the dining room chairs. "But for now . . . I know you're working and everything, so I don't have a problem doing *some* of the housework -"
"I'll help around the house," I assured her. "I'll help with the baby, I'll help with everything."
Deb was quiet. "We can figure out some kind of system for cooking - you can cook when you don't work nights, and I'll cook when you do, or something . . ."
"I'm arranging to get my schedule a little more standardized," I told her, and it wasn't completely untrue. I had certainly *thought* about getting Kerry to change my schedule, but that meant telling her why . . .
"Hopefully they'll be receptive to that," she responded - then eyed me closely. "Have you told anyone at work yet?"
I grimaced. Damn Deb and her entirely-too-extensive knowledge of my thoughts. "Not as of yet."
"Carter!" she exclaimed. "You haven't even told Susan?"
"I'm planning on telling her soon," I assured her.
"Oh, well, that's a comfort," Deb sighed sarcastically. "Honestly, John . . ."
"I swear!" I said. "She'll know soon. Within the month, at least."
"You promise?"
I nodded complacently. "I promise."
She looked at me skeptically, then stood up and went back to the kitchen. "Oh, and John," she added. "No sex."
I tilted my head, confused. "You're regulating my sex life now?"
"No, no," she told me quickly. "I mean . . . I mean no sex between you and I."
"Ohh." I nodded a little too eagerly. "I understand, of course."
"It would just be awkward, and everything . . ."
"It was just a one night thing . . ."
" . . . the whole thing is going to be hard enough, without having to dodge each other in the hallway . . ."
" . . . plus, I'm seeing someone right now . . ."
Deb stopped, and looked at me for a moment. "Right, you're seeing someone," she repeated. "That's why it wouldn't work."
I nodded, satisfied. "It's going to be fine, Deb," I assured her. "Don't worry so much. Once you over-think something, there's no going back."
"I know." She was quiet for a second, then said "Want a sandwich?"
"Sounds great," I responded comfortably from the couch.
"Great." She passed through the living room and swatted me on the butt with a rolled up newspaper. "No mayo on mine, all right?"
I looked up and glared at her. "I'm exhausted," I complained.
"Oh come on," Deb called from the hallway. "It could have been worse."
"Oh, really?" I asked, sitting up on the couch. "How? You could have actually packed bricks, or something?"
She poked her head back into the living room. "We could be on the second floor," she told me with a wink.
I scowled at her, then begrudgingly got up to make the damn sandwich. God. I was already whipped and I wasn't even sleeping with her. "This must be what marriage is like," I grumbled to myself.
-----------------------------------------
"So the guy says `I have no idea,' and I'm looking at him and knowing he's lying," Susan continued from across the table. "I ask him again - `where is the dog?' And he says `I don't know,' and various profanities, and finally . . ." She put her fork down and looked at me curiously. "John?"
I shook my head slightly at the mention of my name, breaking off my stare into outer space. "Yeah?"
Susan smiled amusedly. "Am I boring you?"
"No, no," I assured her, looking up from my food to give her a brief smile. "I was listening."
The restaurant was small and cozy - it was the epitome of a romantic evening, right down to the single candle and red rose on the table. I'd been practicing what to say to her for nearly a month now. Even as she talked, my mind was running through the various ways to say "You know how I'm living with another woman? Oh, well by the way, she's having my baby." This was Susan, of course, she was my good friend, an excellent listener . . . but they didn't exactly make Hallmark Cards for this sort of thing.
" . . . you seem distracted."
I looked up - damn, I'd zoned out again. "Hmm?"
Susan sighed. "How was your day?" she asked, and I could tell she was a little annoyed.
"It was fine," I responded blandly, irritated at myself for not just coming out and saying it.
"How are you and Deb doing in the new place?" she asked amicably, taking a sip of wine. "Killed each other yet?"
"Nope, still standing," I responded warily.
Susan nodded and set her glass on the table. "Well, once you get sick of each other, you're welcome to crash at my place," she offered. "It's small and not particularly neat, but there's space if you need it."
I took a deep breath. "Susan, I -"
"Are you sleeping together?" she suddenly asked.
I stared at her in horror. "What?!"
"I just . . . I was thinking about it, and . . ." She smiled guiltily. "You're not, are you?"
"I can honestly tell you that we are not currently sleeping together," I answered slowly.
Just then her cell phone began to ring, and I sighed in disappointed relief. "Hold that thought," she told me, fishing the phone out of her purse. "Hello?" Her brow wrinkled in confusion, and after a moment she handed the phone to me. "It's for you . . . it's Deb."
My face flushed as I reached across the table and took the phone from her. "Deb?"
"Where are you and why isn't your cell phone on?!" she snapped.
"My cell phone?" I reached into my coat pocket and retrieved the phone. "Oh, low battery. Sorry."
"What if I needed you?" she exclaimed furiously. "What if there was an emergency or something?!"
"Well, you found me just fine," I said quietly into the phone. The volume of her voice was attracting stares from everyone around us - including Susan. "Is there an emergency?"
"That's not the point," Deb snapped. "The point is . . . why didn't you have your cell phone on?!"
I attempted to answer her but it was impossible to get a word in edgewise; sheepishly I smiled at Susan and turned away for a moment. "Deb, can we talk about this when I get home?" I murmured. "Please?"
"Why, am I interrupting your date?" She sounded like she was in tears. "Fine, John, fine - we'll talk when you get home. But I can't guarantee that I'll still be here!" There was a loud click as she slammed the phone into the cradle, and rolling my eyes, I handed the cell back to Susan.
"That sounded painful," she commented sympathetically as she put the phone back in her purse. "Everything all right?"
I shrugged. "It's fine," I answered. "She does this at work too - the mood swings are getting the better of her. By the time I get home, she'll be happy again."
Susan looked at me carefully. "Mood swings?"
I felt the blood drain from my face as I realized I'd said exactly the wrong thing. "Yeah . . . she's pregnant."
Susan gaped slightly. "You're kidding!"
I shook my head shyly.
"That's great, though," Susan quickly added. "Tell her I said congratulations." She turned back to her plate, but continued "I didn't even know she was seeing anyone. Is it awkward for you to be there?"
And there it was. "She's not seeing anyone," I responded, praying to some unseen power that Susan would get the hint.
"Ouch." She wrinkled her nose. "Painful break-up?"
"Actually, you know what - I'm the father," I blurted out in a rushed breath. My eyes darted from my plate to Susan's face, then back down again. Maybe I didn't want to see her expression, after all.
But after an extended moment of silence, I looked back up at her. She was staring at me with something between confusion and awe. "Say something," I murmured nervously.
Susan shook her head slowly, a suspicious smile growing on her face. "I thought you weren't sleeping with her," she finally chuckled.
I scratched the back of my head self-consciously. "We're not sleeping together *anymore,*" I offered helpfully. But before she could say anything I added "It was a one-time thing, sort of spur of the moment, it happened more than four months ago - and it's not going to happen again."
Susan smiled briefly. "Carter, I trust you." She sounded a little patronizing. "Why did it take you 4 months to tell me?"
I shrugged. I felt slightly relieved but a little annoyed - she hadn't blown up at me, which was good. But why hadn't she? "I'm sorry," I apologized. "I didn't know how you'd react."
"I'm fine," Susan said, putting a hand on her chest. "I mean, it's going to take some getting used to . . . John Carter, as a father . . ." She smiled and squeezed my hand. "You're going to be a great father."
I nodded, not quite in agreement but in understanding. Susan had no way of knowing how many nights I'd stared at the ceiling, pondering this prediction. It was so easy to be a perfect father idealistically, but it was just as easy to be a terrible father in real life. Every day in the ER I saw fathers crying over their children, cursing themselves for one wrong move in raising them, one misstep in their child's life . . . "I hope you're right," I answered with a half-hearted smile.
"And actually, this will be good for me," Susan continued brightly. "I've dated all sorts of guys with all sorts of issues - I'm always up for a challenge."
There was that twinge in the conversation again, where she'd said something so ambiguous that it was impossible not to interpret it badly. "Issues?"
"Well, yeah," Susan admitted, taking a sip of wine. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, of course, I just meant . . . well, you know . . ."
"No, I don't," I informed her, trying not to sound too confrontational.
"Come on, Carter," Susan said with a teasing grin. "You have to admit, it's not exactly a conventional relationship anymore."
"It was conventional before?"
Susan rolled her eyes. "You're being so sensitive tonight," she commented. "I didn't mean anything by it, all right?"
"I just don't understand why you would consider Deb having a baby an `issue,'" I retorted, suddenly feeling defensive.
"Deb having a baby isn't an issue," Susan answered. "It's *you* and Deb having a baby that makes it an issue."
I shook my head discontentedly. "I knew it," I muttered. "I knew you weren't going to be all right with this."
"I'm fine with this, Carter," Susan sighed. "I just don't understand why you can't admit that this is even *slightly* weird -"
I stared at her. "Oh, so it's weird now?"
"Carter-" Susan began, but the waiter came by and dropped off the bill. "Thanks," she told him with a smile. She turned back to me and sighed. "You can't honestly tell me that if the shoe were on the other foot, you wouldn't think it was a little weird."
"I wouldn't," I informed her, crossing my arms over my chest.
"So, if I was pregnant and I moved in with one of my ex-boyfriends - who happened to be the father - you wouldn't think that was even a little odd?"
"There's a difference," I pointed out. "Deb was never my girlfriend."
She gave me a tight smile. "You've had four months to get used to this," she told me. "I've had four minutes. Cut me some slack."
I was quiet for a long time. "Deb and I have talked about this for a long time," I said finally. "Yeah, I know it's not traditional, and it's not going to be easy, but we've decided that it's going to work out. We've figured out the problems and everything, and . . ." I shook my head again. "It's not an `issue,' and it's not `weird.' Just because it's never been done before doesn't mean it *can't* be done."
"I'm sure it's been done before," Susan commented.
"Not successfully." I twirled my fork in my hand unconsciously. "This is going to work out. It's really the best option, if you think about it - Deb is my best friend, we already know that we get along well."
"You don't think adding a baby to the mix is going to change that?" Susan asked skeptically. Just then her cell phone rang again, and she chuckled when she saw the number. "It's Deb again."
I grimaced. "I'd better be going, then," I told her as I stood up. "I'm sorry -"
Susan waved a hand at me. "Don't worry about it," she smiled. "You've got a lot on your mind. I'll call you later?"
I nodded and kissed her softly on the lips. "I'll be waiting," I responded, and didn't let the smile fade until I was out of sight. Suddenly I just wanted to be in the comfort of my own conscious, where saying things over and over and over made them true, and I wasn't so easily irritated when others didn't feel the same way . . .
-------------------------------------------------------------
When I got home Deb was sobbing uncontrollably. She was curled on the couch and crying into a couch cushion, with dozens of crumpled tissues surrounding her. Sighing, I approached her cautiously and said "Deb?"
Deb looked up quickly, noticing me for the first time. "John!" she wailed, and burst into tears again.
I wanted to ask if she was all right, but it seemed like a pretty dumb question to ask. Instead I sat next to her on the couch and wrapped her into an embrace. She crawled into my arms, and I felt a sense of relief upon realizing that she wasn't still mad at me. "What's wrong?"
"It's so sad," she sobbed into my shoulder. "I . . . just . . ."
"What?" Suddenly worried, I pulled away and looked her in the eye. "Deb, what's wrong? Are you ok? Is the baby ok?"
She nodded distractedly and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She tried to say something else, but collapsed in another fit of tears. Her eyes flickered towards the TV - I turned to the screen and smiled in relief. "Has there been a tragedy on Sesame Street?" I teased.
"It's not funny!" she wailed. "I was watching it . . . there was this little boy who wanted to know the alphabet, and the thing . . . the blue thing . . ."
"Cookie Monster?" I asked, amused.
"Yeah . . ." Deb sniffed and snuggled into my shoulder. "He was teaching him, and . . ." Her eyes filled with tears again. "What if I can't teach my baby the alphabet??"
"You're going to be able to teach the baby about the alphabet," I chuckled. "Don't worry about that."
"No, John . . . what if I can't teach the baby other things?" She looked me in the eye, her lip quivering. "How do I teach the baby to talk, or walk, or with algebra homework . . ."
I rubbed her back soothingly. "They all come naturally," I assured her. "Well, maybe not algebra . . . maybe by the time he or she is in high school, they'll have banned algebra from the school system."
Deb nodded and wiped her eyes. "Yeah, I guess," she murmured, smiling slightly. "Thanks, John. It's just so overwhelming . . ."
"I know, I know," I told her soothingly. "I know how you feel." I kissed the top of her head assuredly. The good thing about hormonal mood swings was that they seemed to change fairly often. "Hey, I told Susan tonight . . ."
"Oh yeah?" Deb asked, shifting out of my lap. "How did she take it?"
"Pretty well," I considered. "She didn't run screaming from the building, if that's what you mean. She says congratulations."
"Tell her thanks," she responded, standing up and turning off the television. "Although I'm pretty sure you thanked her in your own way. You want some ice cream?"
"Do we have anything besides that pistachio crap?" I asked.
Deb opened up the freezer and rummaged around. "We've got seven containers of that pistachio crap," she commented, pulling one out and shutting the freezer door. "And I don't know when my craving is going to change, so we need to finish it off as quickly as possible."
I scowled and shook my head. "Why does chocolate have to make you nauseous?" I called out from the couch. "Why not vanilla or something that I wouldn't eat anyway?"
Deb shrugged as she opened the utensil drawer and took out a spoon. "I don't control the baby's whims," she informed me, leaning against the counter and digging into her ice cream. "Baby wants pistachio, I say, bring on the pistachio."
I shook my head and stood up. "You don't know what you're missing," I sighed, putting my hand on Deb's belly. "You're not even born yet and you've never had a Hershey's Bar, or Ben and Jerry's, or chocolate covered cherries . . ."
Deb stared at me. "You trying to make me throw up right now?" she demanded.
I grinned. "Sorry." Just then I felt a flutter against my hand, and my eyes widened. "The baby's moving around again," I told Deb quickly.
"Really?" she asked wryly. "I couldn't tell, what with my uterus being in the way of your hand and everything." She sighed and took another bite of ice cream. "God, I'm getting huge . . ."
"Oh come on, you're-"
She glared at me. "Don't even try to deny it," she retorted, pointing the spoon at me with every word. "Look at me, I'm an elephant!"
I ran my hand along her stomach contemplatively. "You're almost five months pregnant, what did you expect?"
"I don't know," she sighed. "Today I went shopping and I got The Look."
"The Look?"
"You know, that sideways glance everyone gives you when you're noticeably pregnant." She looked at me and smiled. "All right, so maybe you don't know what I mean . . ."
"Come on, it's from your happy maternal glow," I told her with a grin. "They're all jealous."
"Carter, they're looking at my hand," she informed me, holding up her bare left hand. "They're looking for a ring."
I frowned at this. "No, I don't think people are as perceptive as that," I told her. "Maybe you're reading too much into this?"
"No, I'm not," she quipped, putting the cover back on the ice cream. "The saleswomen do it the most. They give me this huge, congratulatory smile, then their eyes go to my hand, and when they don't see a ring, they treat me differently."
I shook my head. "I don't know . . . people can be judgmental, but . . ."
"Not people," Deb corrected me. "Women."
"Well, it doesn't matter anyway," I told her as I slung an arm around her shoulders. "They wouldn't understand even if you tried to explain. Trust me."
She sighed and rested against me comfortably. "Feel like doing me a favor?"
I smiled and held up my keys. "I was planning on it," I told her. "What flavor do you want?"
---------------------------------------------------
"All right . . . Tiffany?"
"Tiffany?!"
"Tiffany's a nice name, it seems happy, cheerful . . ."
"John, no, we are not naming our child after the music idol of the 80's."
"Okay, you think of something better then."
"Um . . . Marie, Maria, Angelina -"
"As in Jolie?"
"Yeah, I guess . . ."
"Nope, can't name my baby after a woman I've had illicit dreams about."
"That probably goes for Tiffany, too -"
"Sadly, yes."
"Ha!"
--------------------------------------------------
"Ummm, over there," Deb called out from the hallway.
I turned around incredulously. "You want me to assemble the crib in the middle of the living room?"
"Sure, why not?" she asked, leaning against the doorframe. "We can move it later if we want."
I chuckled. "You mean, *I* can move it later if *you* want."
She smiled sweetly. "Of course that's what I mean. Now be a good handyman and build the crib."
I paused. "What about the rest of the baby furniture?"
"That stuff doesn't require too much work," she told me. "You *can* do it, right?"
I eyed the box of various pieces of a crib. "Hand me the screwdriver," I said menacingly, and Deb rolled her eyes in amusement.
---------------------------------------------------
"Andrew, Charles, William . . ."
"Naming various members of British royalty?"
"Nah, various members of Carter royalty."
"Ick - we're not naming the baby after any of your uncles."
"Well, what about John?"
"John the fourth?"
"Yeah - it's traditional, it's respectable . . ."
"It's dull . . ."
"Dull?? I've been John my whole life and I never thought it was dull!"
"Oh, well, it's not dull when we're talking about *you* . . . I just couldn't name my baby anything like that. "It's so . . . blehhh . . ."
" `Bleh?' The name that's been passed down from generation to generation in my family is `bleh?'"
"Come on, we can pick something better for our child than an ageless punishment."
"Hey!-"
--------------------------------------------
I looked up from the TV as Deb stormed through the front door. "Bad day?"
"I hate my family," she snapped, heading right to the kitchen and tearing the freezer open.
"They didn't take it well?" I asked tentatively.
She pulled out a container of ice cream and slammed the freezer closed. "I didn't even get a chance to tell them! My mother didn't even let me get a word in edgewise?"
I looked at her skeptically - my gaze shifted to her midsection. "They couldn't just guess?"
She pursed her lips and paused before opening the ice cream. "I didn't exactly stop by," she admitted. "I kind of made a phone call."
"You were going to break this to them over the phone?" I exclaimed. "Did you really think they were going to react any better that way?"
"I chickened out, I know!" Deb snapped, taking a huge bite of ice cream. "But I just . . . couldn't face them again, 5 months pregnant . . ."
I sighed. "You know, my family is just as conservative as yours, and they took it pretty well."
She glared at me. "You told your grandmother, and she would accept you if you had an arm growing out of your head."
"No, I told my parents too," I informed her. "They were all right with it, too."
She shook her head angrily. "Damn you and your functional family!" she hollered, throwing the spoon across the room and storming into her bedroom.
Sighing, I closed my eyes wearily - then took out a new spoon and took a bite of the goddawful ice cream. Deb was improving with every passing day, but every once in a while, something would set her back . . . her family seemed to be the best tool for atrophy in Deb.
----------------------------------------------
"Jackie."
"No."
"Jane."
"No."
"Jamie."
"No."
"Jennifer."
"Ew, no."
"Josephine."
"No."
"Jigilo."
"What?"
"It says right here - Jigilo."
"You're kidding me!"
"That would be a *cool* name."
"For a little kid?"
"For a cool little kid."
"For a little *girl*?"
"Fine . . . Jolene."
"No."
--------------------------------------------
I stood up grandly and held out my arms. "Behold - the 7^th Wonder of the World . . ."
Deb crossed her arms and nodded in approval. "It's nice. You did a good job."
I patted the side of the crib proudly. "And it only took me three weeks to do it between shifts," I announced.
Deb turned around to look down the hall. "Is it going to fit through the hallway?"
My smiled faded. "Of course it is."
Deb squinted at the crib, then back at the hallway. "I think it's too big."
"It's *not,*" I insisted, dragging the crib over to the hallway. "If I just . . . turn it . . . or something . . ."
Deb chuckled. "You've got three weeks to spare, right?"
----------------------------------------------
"Katie, Kaylie, Kelly, Kerry -"
"Ugh."
"Hey, I'm just reading the list here. They also spell it `Kari, Carrie, and Ceri."
"Ceri?"
"Yeah. Don't ask me."
"This is dumb - we're just picking names we like. What if the baby hates us forever because they hate the name we gave them?"
"Yeah, that's true. But we can't exactly tell the baby's personality pre-natally, so what can we do?"
"We could pick names of people we admire, people we love . . ."
"Like *John*?"
"We've been down this road before - drop it already.
"Yeah, all right. Hey . . . what about Susan?"
"Trying to kiss ass with your girlfriend?"
"No, Susan's just a nice name."
" `Mommy, how come you and Daddy named me Susan?' `Oh, sweetheart, Susan is the name of the woman Daddy was sleeping with when Mommy was pregnant with you.' "
"Ha ha. Well, what about relatives?"
"We've been there too . . ."
"I haven't named any females in my family."
"All right, fine - what's your mother's name again?"
"Eleanor."
"Ooh, that's kind of pretty -"
"We're not naming our baby after my mother. In fact, nix the whole Carter family name thing - there's only one woman in my family worth naming anyone after."
"Well, all right. What's your grandmother's name?"
"Millicent."
"Oh. That's . . . that's kind of nice . . ."
"Don't worry, we don't have to name the baby Millicent."
"Good . . ."
-----------------------------------
Deb held up a tiny blue dress. "How cute is this?" she exclaimed.
I leaned on the handle of the shopping cart and frowned. "Kind of skanky for an infant," I commented.
Deb scowled and smacked me on the arm. "It's for me," she told me, holding up the sleeveless dress once again. "Too slutty?"
I shrugged, not sure how to ask if the dress came in a maternity size. "Nah, just slutty enough."
Deb looked at the dress and sadly put it back on the rack. "I guess I'll have to wait a while," she sighed.
"Nah, only 3 months to go," I encouraged. "Then you can wear all the skanky dresses you want."
She stared at me. "I'm never going to shrink back to my normal size immediately after the baby's born," she quipped, unconsciously putting her hand on her expanding belly. "I'm going to be wearing maternity clothes for the rest of my life . . ."
"Well, it's a good thing they're cute," I offered, fully unsure as to approach this topic. We'd been living together for three months now, we'd known each other for years beforehand - but I was still clueless when it came to handling compliments about weight.
"Yeah, cute like a circus tent," Deb muttered, strolling beside the cart as I pushed it down the aisle. "So, are we going to buy baby things today or am I going to keep finding clothes I'm never going to be able to wear again?"
I gestured to the overflowing cart in front of me. "What do you call all this stuff?"
Deb looked at me innocently. "One cart? Are you kidding me?" She laughed and continued to walk alongside the cart. "I call that a warm-up."
--------------------------------------------------
"Blake."
"Blake?!"
"Max."
"Naah."
"Pacey."
"All right, that's where I draw the line. No son of mine will be named Pacey."
"Ummm . . . Spike."
"Deb, for the last time, you're not going to find any names from the TV. Just come back in here and we'll look over the baby book again."
"I hate the baby book. I'm not naming the baby anything from that damn book."
"It's got every baby name in the English language - we're going to find at least one name we can agree on."
"I like my method."
"Deb . . ."
"Ross, Joey, Chandler . . ."
---------------------------------------------------------
"I don't want to say you're taking a long time," Deb called from the sofa, "but I think someone agrees with me."
I tried to ignore her as I tossed the salad. No one ever seemed to mention how difficult tossing a freaking salad was . . . "I'm almost done," I called out.
Deb sighed and propped her legs up on the arm of the couch. "I could have ordered pizza by now, you know!"
"Pizza gives you heartburn."
"I have heartburn all the time anyway," Deb informed me. "At least I'd be able to eat when I'm hungry!"
I delicately positioned the dinner plate and glass on the TV tray and brought it out to her. "I'm apologizing in advance for any aversions I didn't know about."
"I have an aversion to your cooking in general, John," she teased, picking up the fork and taking a bite of salad. "But I'm so hungry, I think I can ignore it."
I smiled. "That's very gracious of you." I stuck my hands in my coat pockets - and my eyes widened when they brushed against a small box. "God, I almost forgot," I murmured.
"Almost forgot what?" Deb asked.
Shyly I pulled out the small velvet box and placed it on the tray. "Open it," I urged.
Deb looked at me curiously as she picked up the box, opened it - and gasped.
Her jaw seemed to hit the floor, and when she took out the elegant diamond ring, I smiled to myself. "Do you like it?"
"John . . . I . . ." She looked up at me and swallowed hard. "I don't know, John . . ."
Suddenly I understood what she was thinking. "Oh, no, no no no, it's not what you think," I insisted.
"You're not asking me to marry you?" Deb asked, and for the life of me I couldn't read the expression on her face.
"No," I answered, shaking my head adamantly. "It's . . . do you remember what you said about how people look at you differently when you're not wearing a ring?" She nodded vaguely. "Well, I was in the jewelry store and I happened to see it . . . it's just to make you feel better whenever anyone . . . it'll remind you that someone does care about you . . ." I shook my head, humiliated. "It's stupid, I know . . ."
"No," Deb told me quickly. "No, it's really sweet." Her eyes welled with tears and she smiled at me gratefully. "It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."
I grinned self-consciously. "Do you like it, though?"
"I love it," Deb whispered, slipping it onto her finger and admiring it. "Thank you."
---------------------------------------------------------
"Stanley."
"Nope."
"Cynthia."
"No."
"Um . . .Dragon."
"Nah."
"Snake."
"Nuh - uh."
"Flamingo."
"What was that last one?"
"Never mind."
"Nuh-uh."
------------------------------------------------------
Deb paced the waiting room frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't," she repeated to herself. "I don't, I don't . . ."
I eyed her from my seat in the waiting room. "Are you sure this time?"
"I'm sure." She stopped pacing and gave me a nervous smile. "I don't. I want it to be a surprise."
I grinned and grasped her hand soothingly. "And you're sure?"
She nodded quickly and attempted to sit down - immediately I stood to help her. "I'm so *pregnant, *" she complained as she eased into the seat.
"Jing-Mei Chen?"
Deb's eyes darted up and she squeezed my hand tightly. "Here we go," she murmured, twisting her ring nervously.
I smiled and helped her up again. "Come on, it's like every OB visit we've had so far," I assured her, putting my hand on her back as we crossed the living room. "Especially since we don't want to know."
Deb nodded, but bit her lip. "I changed my mind, I want to know," she said quickly.
"What?!"
The nurse at the door smiled gently at us. "You're the father?" she asked, and I nodded distractedly. For as many times as she'd seen us before, you'd think she would recognize us . . .
We made our way to the right exam room, and when we were alone, Deb looked at me guiltily. "If you don't want to know, you can step outside for a second . . ."
I shook my head. "I'm willing to do whatever you want to do," I told her, not willing to express how much I loathed making personal decisions. "If you want to know, then we'll know."
She smiled and squeezed my hand. "We're going to find out if we're having a girl or a boy . . ."
Just then the OB walked in and smiled at us. "Hello," she greeted, and Deb didn't make any attempt to hide her scowl. She hated this woman and I knew it. "How are you doing today?"
"My ankles hurt, I'm bloated to hell, and you're late again," Deb quipped.
The woman's smile was strained. "I'm going to miss you two after you have the baby next month," she told us.
"Right," Deb grumbled.
"So - I hear you want to find out the sex today," the OB continued. "You're 8 months along, so there's a good chance we'll -"
"I don't want to know," Deb interrupted suddenly. I stared at her and she looked at me frantically. "I don't, I don't, I don't."
"O-kay," the OB said brightly. "Want to change into the gown for me?"
Deb sighed and snatched the gown from her. "I don't," she told her once more, as if she was reminding her.
"I believe you," she said obediently, and I tried not to laugh.
Moments later Deb was changed and we were all staring at the image on the ultrasound screen. "Everything looks good," the OB commented. "Big baby."
"You're telling me," Deb muttered wryly.
"You sure you don't want to know the sex?" she asked.
I was about to respond with something sarcastic just to save Deb the trouble, when she interrupted with "Yes, we do."
I shook my head incredulously. "Are you *sure*?"
"Does it sound like I'm sure?!" Deb hissed.
The OB nodded and bit her lip contemplatively. "Unfortunately, the baby's making it difficult for us," she said with a frown. "I can't see anything."
I cringed, knowing what was going to happen. Deb had told off this OB so often, you could set your watch by it . . .
--------------------------------------------------
"My mother's going to want the baby to have a Chinese name."
"Oh, right . . . family names, or something?"
"It depends. I'll have to find some I like, or that my mother likes."
"Have you -"
"Don't want to talk about it."
"Gotcha."
"What last name is this baby going to have? Did we decide that yet?"
"Oh, the whole Carter-Chen/Chen-Carter fiasco. Do we need to open that wound again?"
"Do you want your baby to have a last name?"
"Good point."
"Well, how about this - Carter if it's a boy, Chen if it's a girl?"
"That sounds awfully simple . . ."
"No?"
"No, I like it, But what if you have twins - a boy and a girl?"
"Do you want me to claw your eyes out?"
-----------------------------------------------
I looked up from the couch as Deb stormed in. "Hello?"
"I don't want to talk right now," Deb snapped, and as she slammed her bedroom door behind her, I could hear her crying.
There was a knock at the door before I could even think about comforting Deb. I stood up, slightly bewildered, and answered the door. "Mrs. Chen?" I asked, surprised.
Deb's mother seemed irritated at my presence. "I need to talk to Jing-Mei," she informed me.
"I . . . don't know if she's home," I said slowly.
Mrs. Chen shook her head. "I just saw her come in here," she retorted. "Let me talk to her."
Conflicted, I looked behind me and then back at Mrs. Chen. "Come in," I finally said, opening the door for her.
She stepped through the doorway and glanced around the apartment. "Sorry for the mess," I apologized, shutting the door behind her. "Deb's due any day, and we haven't really gotten a chance to clean up . . ." I suddenly realized that I may have said too much, and quickly I added "I mean, Deb's . . . been sick . . ."
Mrs. Chen shook her head distractedly. "I know about the baby," she told me, eyeing the hallway. "She came to the house and told us."
"Really?" I was impressed. Deb had finally faced her demons - and it had only taken 9 months.
"I just don't know why she didn't tell us," Mrs. Chen told me irritably. "The first time, she jumped to conclusions, and now this time . . ."
"Are you sure she jumped to conclusions?" I asked carefully. "She's always been afraid of your judgment - of the whole family's judgment."
"But that's ridiculous," she stated. "She told me the same thing a few minutes ago and I don't understand it! Of course her father and I would accept a grandchild -any grandchild she gave us."
I sighed and looked towards the bedroom door. "I'm not sure she believes that," I told her.
At that moment Deb's bedroom door cracked open. "John?"
Quickly I stepped down the hall and approached her bedroom. "You all right?"
"No, John . . ." She swallowed a sob and whispered "My water broke."