"Your cousin sure is a cutie. If pictures mean anything."
"I hate to burst your bubble, but he won't be ready to date for a few more years. Like eighteen."
"It's just as well. I don't think I could handle the thought of getting puked on when we make out."
"Please tell me that's just the cabin fever talking."
Jane zipped up a large duffel bag and surveyed her mostly empty room. "Damn right, it is. I've never been so happy to leave a place. Not that I won't miss the lack of food and broken appliances."
"And Trent. Your brother," Daria pressed.
"That's if he can go more than five minutes without inviting himself over." Again, Jane looked around and spread out her arms in a grand gesture of finality. "Alright, BFAC, in a few days you're going to meet Jane Lane and the world as you know it will never be the same!"
Daria couldn't help but smile a little at her friend's enthusiasm, and wish she could share it.
"You think maybe I could stay here while you're away?" she murmured.
Jane's brow wrinkled with concern. "Daria, part of our happy plan involved being in the same city when we attended college. Now come on: I'm counting on you to steer me away from the social traps you fell into. I'm sure your next semester at college won't be as bad."
"Right," Daria muttered, "maybe both my roommates will have contracted a rare illness that comes from staying up all night and playing loud music. One that will have spread throughout the entire floor. And when I return, everyone I knew will be gone and I'll meet a whole new group of people with exactly the same sensibilities as me. Yeah, that could happen."
Jane sighed. "Well at least don't spend your last two weeks of vacation stressing about it. Just sit at home. Relax. Talk to your Aunt Amy. It's not often you get to see her, and now that she's got a little cuchie-coo to take care of, she's probably got even less time."
Daria nodded broodingly and gazed around Jane's empty room, wishing she could move in that day.
Daria walked down the sidewalk toward her house. It was chilly out, but she had resisted offers for a ride home; she wasn't in any particular hurry to get back. With Amy, her fiance Joel, and their baby, not to mention her mother and Quinn, the house felt crowded and chaotic.
The sounds that greeted her upon arrival was Quinn's light banter, intermixed with the lower murmurs of her aunt. Quinn was probably talking about college applications, having sent the last of hers in a few weeks ago. Sure enough, when Daria opened the door -
"University of Florida. Oh my God, think of all that sun!"
"Believe it or not, I've heard that there are perfectly good universities without sun," Amy said in a mirthful tone. "Your mother and I may have even attended two of them."
"I know, but I want to go someplace I'd really like for four years," Quinn persisted. "I wouldn't go to MIT even if I could get in."
"Never say never," Amy reminded her. "Joel did write you a damn fine letter of rec, if I do say so myself."
Over the summer, Quinn had done a six-week internship at Joel's engineering firm to boost her math credentials. She said it was mostly boring, but she did learn a lot about corporate engineering. The city nightlife was a plus, and although Joel's firm provided her with a place to stay, Quinn still found plenty of time to visit her aunt, who was home alone with an infant son and welcomed the company of someone who could walk upright. The easy rapport that had formed between them was still evident, Daria noted as she slid through the doorway.
"You have a good brain, you know," said Amy in a firm tone. "You shouldn't be afraid to use it."
"I'm not," Quinn shot back playfully. "And I will. U. of Florida has great academics on top of everything else. Oh hi, Daria!"
Daria froze in the foyer and looked at Amy and Quinn looking back at her. She didn't know why, but she had hoped not to be noticed on her way upstairs. Amy's signature smirk crept out, and she brushed aside one of several college pamphlets.
"Haven't seen you around," she said to Daria. "Thought maybe you'd gone AWOL."
"I went over to see Jane," Daria replied. "You know, my best friend."
"You have a best friend? Really, I didn't know." Amy's tone was light, but carried a slight edge. "That wouldn't be the same Jane Lane you've been best friends with for the past three and a half years, would it?"
"She's leaving for Boston in a few days, and I was helping her pack," Daria said simply.
"Yes, well, you never said anything about it. You just disappeared."
Sensing something in the air, Quinn busied herself with collecting the scattered college pamphlets.
"Where's the kid?" asked Daria, trying to change the subject. She cringed internally at her choice of words, which sounded so awkward and dismissive. But "your son" did not flow right, either.
"Sleeping," Amy replied, smiling with faint relief. "For the time being, anyhow. And his dad's gone off to [something]. So looks like it's just us girls." She patted the sofa cushion beside her. "Come on, sit down, I feel like I haven't had the chance to talk to you."
That's because you haven't, Daria thought, walking over.
The changes were apparent from the moment Amy and Joel pulled up to the curb - in a silver Jeep Cherokee instead of the fiery red Triumph Spitfire. Daria knew that the Spitfire did not have enough cargo space to fit all of their gifts and luggage, but it still felt odd to see her aunt show up in a different car.
The Amy that emerged, however, was not different. Not at first. Upon meeting her sister and nieces on the front walkway, she smirked and said cheerfully, "God, it was good to get out of there."
"There" being Grandma Barksdale's house, where she had just spent a full week, including Christmas Day, before coming to Lawndale to spend another week.
She then glanced at the gifts stacked in the back and scoffed, "Can you believe all the crap she gave us? We don't need half of it."
Smart move, Daria thought. Distancing herself from her grandmother's favoritism before her mother even had the chance to get jealous.
"She was probably just excited to spend Christmas with her grandchild," Helen murmured.
"Why should that matter? She had three to start with," Amy reminded her gently.
Helen smiled, grateful that Amy did not buy into the notion of her child's supremacy the way Rita did. For Daria, though, the comfort of Amy's familiarity ended the moment she turned toward the backseat of the Cherokee. Suddenly she seemed slower, though it may have been because she was favoring one leg over the other. Lingering pregnancy weight had left her a little bulkier around the middle and a little fuller in the face. Somehow this had the effect of softening all of her sharp edges. Before, Aunt Amy had had a self-possessed quality, like she was reserving her full opinion until she had finished judging you. That quality had been curiously absent during their last meeting, but Daria had chalked it up to sleep deprivation. Now...
Amy opened the car door, and her face took on a look of overwhelming tenderness that Daria had seen her give just one person.
Strapped into one of those baby seats, sound asleep, was her cousin, Ryan. Amy's son.
At once, her mother and Quinn were crowding around, their eyes wide and cooing at the sight of this bald-headed wonder. Amy, for her part, did not discourage it. Gently, so she wouldn't wake him, she unbuckled her baby's safety harness and lifted him out. No sooner was he tucked into her arms, his head against her shoulder, when his eyes fluttered open. He looked around with some confusion, but (to his credit, Daria thought) did not burst into tears. Amy made cooing sounds and some silly faces that caused him to look at her as though he hoped she would give him an explanation.
By then Joel was out of the car and
Somehow overnight, the downstairs of the house was transformed into a minefield of baby toys and teething rings. One false step might turn her cousin's favorite Mr. Frog into permanent roadkill. The coffee table was swept clean of objects to keep the baby from snatching anything even remotely within reach. "And putting it in his mouth," Amy said with an amused, resigned air.
Daria found this out quickly when Amy placed him in her lap, and within seconds he had her glasses in his pudgy hands.
"Agh!" she cried out involuntarily. She tried to take the glasses back, but her cousin held on tight. He waved them around, then stuck one of the tips in his mouth and suckled, until Amy finally came over and pried them away. She handed them back to Daria, who held her glasses delicately by one of the rims, repulsed by the baby drool. Amy then had the nerve to start giggling.
"I thought he'd stopped doing that," she said, looking at her son with a scolding expression that didn't quite succeed. "I've told him 'no' enough times with my glasses."
"Well at least [sarcastic, cutting remark]
"You did it to me when we first met," Amy said. Daria thought she sounded slightly put out.
"When did she become such a... yuppie?"
"Well, she kind of always has been, if you think about it," Quinn said with an air of indifference. "She's always been into clothes and cars and stuff."
"I guess..."
"So how's school?"
"I've told you."
"Bits and pieces, but nothing real specific."
"It sucks. What more do you need me to say?"
Amy gazed at Daria. "Nothing" she said softly, "if you don't want to."
They sat in silence for a moment, Amy feeling that there was something her niece was keeping close to the vest. If Daria had merely found college life disappointing, she would have gone on about everything from the undercooked food to her overly-loud roommates. Daria had said a little about her living conditions, but not enough to give Amy a distinct impression of how she felt in her new environment.
"You know I think college being this wonderful transformative time is a bit of a myth," Amy said, attempting to ease Daria's discomfort. "At least during freshman year. I remember how thrilled I was to get away from your Grandma and Grandpa Barksdale, only to land in a dorm room with a girl who thought 'quiet time' meant listening to Black Sabbath instead of Black Flag at all hours of the night. The fifth floor lounge became my second home." Amy winced at the still-vivid memory. "But she did get me into the Cramps, so I guess it wasn't all bad."
[Daria says something, Amy replies, there is awkwardness.]
Okay, fine, I get the hint, Amy thought, unable to stifle feelings of irritation. Daria could keep to herself then, until she was ready to talk. If she would be ready. Amy was almost relieved when her son's wailing burst through the walkie-talkie, as it gave her an excuse to head upstairs.
Helen had let her and Joel have the master bedroom for their visit, insisting, "There are three of you and only one of me." Amy wound her way over to a plastic, collapsible crib at the foot of the bed and stared down at the red, tear-strained face of her son. With the ease of familiarity, she lifted him up and began bobbing him slowly. He had been fed recently and his rump felt dry and... not lumpy, so Amy guessed that his gums were hurting him again. Ryan stuffed his little hand into his mouth, confirming her view. Amy held her son with one arm while scrounging through a suitcase for the medicated teething rings with the other.
"Shhhh... calm down, baby, Mama's here. That's my good boy... now where the fuck did your dad put the Orajel?"
Amy finally found the bag and gave her son an Orajel teething ring to suck on. The numbing medicine would seep into his gums, but it would take a few minutes. In the meantime, Amy sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to keep Ryan occupied.
"How's my boy, huh? How's my little Ry-guy? That feel good? You feeling better?"
When did I start sounding like a Disney character? Amy wondered, shaking her head. And yet this baby talk had come to her with shocking ease, just days after Ryan's birth. Suddenly she sounded like the other mothers, the ones whose syrupy voices used to disturb her reading on the subway or in the park or a restaurant. Whose kids she hoped would wind up in juvie, never to be on the honor roll or play an organized sport. Now that she was one of them, Amy felt a little ashamed of some of her more vicious thoughts, yet her feelings about other mothers and children hadn't changed. Even talking to the mothers in her son's playgroup made her fight back bile, especially if the conversation lasted more than five minutes. And her niece, Erin - ugh, she couldn't even go there. Amy had seen firsthand how zealously Rita took to parenting, but Erin put her and every other living mother to shame. Amy would never be the earth mother she was, which was fine by her.
Ryan's sobs softened to whimpers, evidence that the medicine was taking effect. Amy touched his damp cheek and he drew away, as if to resist any flagrant attempts at coddling. He is his mother's son, Amy mused. That's what Joel said, anyway, but really it was too early to tell. He did have her eyes, though. Her mouth, too. And when it curled up in a small smile and the eyes crinkled at the corners... well, it was enough to forgive his screaming during that trip to the library, when she had hoped he would just sleep, or for puking on the living room sofa. Amy didn't doubt (now) that she would have loved him no matter what he looked like, but it did give her a warm feeling inside to know that he carried a part of her.
And if he inherits Joel's eyesight, so much the better...
Amy decided to wait until Ryan had calmed down completely before bringing him downstairs. Not that she was in a tremendous hurry to go down anyway. Quinn would melt the moment she saw Ryan, displaying maternal instincts that Amy had once thought she never possessed. But Daria...
Well, she didn't seem to hate Ryan, exactly; she just displayed enough warmth toward him to freeze the tropics. Really, it wasn't all that surprising. Daria had enough trouble bonding with people her own age, so someone with undeveloped verbal skills was an insurmountable challenge. Still, Amy had hoped that Daria would make the extra effort... since after all this wasn't just some baby off the street, but her favorite aunt's...
Forget it. Let it go.
Daria was probably a little jealous. To go from having your aunt's undivided attention to sharing it with an infant could be a tough break... if you're four. Coming into the visit, Amy had hoped this wouldn't be an issue, that the reason she and Daria hadn't seen or spoken to each other lately was due to events beyond their control. Amy's Caesarean had taken so long to heal that she wasn't up to playing hostess until Quinn's internship several weeks later. Daria and Helen had come then to see her off, but soon after Daria was immersed in her difficult new life at Raft, one for which Amy wished she had helped her prepare. Then came the reading and exams that kept Daria too busy to phone or e-mail, and the weekends where she chose to revisit the comforts of home rather than her aunt's apartment. Amy, for her part, was more immersed in motherhood and impending wifehood than she ever thought possible. Carving out time just for herself was a challenge, so much so that she had to admit communication with her niece was not as diligent as it could have been. She did try to send regular e-mail updates, and had attempted to get Daria on the phone more than once, only to give up in frustration after one of Daria's spaced-out roommates kept her dangling for forty minutes.
Whenever they did connect, Amy had tried to ignore the fact that Daria sounded more distant and their rapport more awkward. Lack of communication will do that to you, Amy thought. Never mind that during this time, her communication with Quinn had increased. Daria and I just need to have a sit down and we'll get caught up, she told herself.
Except that Daria clearly did not want to get caught up. She had jealousy, alienation, or whatever stuck up her bum. Amy hoped that it would pass, but a part of her worried that it wouldn't. She didn't often admit this, but since they met up at Erin's wedding a few years ago, she had felt like there was a cosmic connection between her and Daria. How else to explain why they had a lasting bond after that one day? Amy had never bonded with any other adult that quickly, not even Joel. Whatever Daria was going through, whatever she felt right now, Amy felt it more deeply than she probably would have had she merely liked her niece.
At the same time, she felt like Daria was another version of herself. Amy knew that there were plenty of differences between her and Daria, from birth to upbringing to general outlook; but people often said that she and Daria were alike, and at times Amy took it almost too seriously. She saw Daria as a younger version of herself, or representing a part of herself that was prone to giving reality checks. When Daria gazed at her with her deadpan expression, Amy sometimes felt as if she were sitting in judgment.
As if she were trying to get Amy to admit to feelings she didn't want to think were there...
Amy looked at her son and tickled him on the tummy. "Hey, handsome. You feel like going downstairs to see your cousins?"
Ryan pulled the teething ring out of his mouth and gave her a drooly smile.
Chapter 2 - Mother's Milk
"Aunt Amy, why do you keep so much of your milk in the fridge?" asked Quinn, scrunching up her face at the sight of four baby bottles full of cream-colored liquid chilling next to her diet soda.
"In case I get the urge to slam back a couple shots of vodka. A woman can't survive on fruit juice alone, you know." Amy's words were playful, but her expression was that of someone who remembered far too many days without alcohol or any tempting substances whatsoever.
"Does drinking affect your milk that much?"
"Not if I don't mind my son puking on the furniture and filling his diapers with a stink that permeates the apartment for days. It happened once after I drank a couple of glasses of champagne. Not fun." Amy wore a pained, amused expression. "He's not too fond of caffeine and spices, either. Mostly it's just a matter of taste - it sours the milk and irritates his bowels. So it's blandness for Amy until he's on solids. Having an extra supply on hand is always good in case I stray."
"I didn't realize you had to be so careful. I thought you didn't want anything with taste because you were trying to lose your pregnancy fat."
An annoyed expression crossed Amy's face. "Well... that, too."
When Quinn scrunched up her nose at the milk again, Amy sighed. "Quinn, honey, you've seen me breastfeed before."
"Yeah, but the milk, like, went into his mouth so it was all natural and I didn't have to see it. But that... from your breasts -" Quinn's face reddened and her gestures grew wilder as she tried to articulate her thoughts. "-It's like your breasts are in the fridge, or something!"
That did it. Amy could not hold back a fit of surprised laughter. Quinn watched, stunned (though not as stunned as she might have been a year ago), as her aunt guffawed and snickered and giggled and guffawed all over again. When Amy at last regained her composure, she went over to the fridge.
"Here," she said, reaching past Quinn for one of the bottles.
"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, as her aunt unscrewed the top and set it aside. Amy then poured a little breast milk into her decaf coffee.
"AGH! I can't believe you just did that!" Quinn watched with utter horror as her aunt stirred her coffee until it turned light brown.
"Why not? It's not bad." Amy held the bottle toward her. "Far better than freeze-dried Coffee Mate any day. And at least I know where it came from. Don't you ever wonder how much waste goes into your-"
"La-la-la! We are not having this conversation." Quinn tried as quickly as possible to finish up her breakfast so she could flee. However, her outburst was enough to draw Daria into the kitchen, where she looked at her aunt and sister with a deadpan expression.
"Found a new way to torture Quinn? I - is that what I think it is?"
"I swear, they'll market this stuff someday at gourmet food shops. It's got a ton of vitamins and nutrients." Amy shook the bottle gently at Daria. When Daria recoiled a little, she rolled her eyes. "You two are so prudish. You must take after your mother. She would never in a million years taste breast milk."
"That sounds like a clumsy attempt to goad us," Daria told Quinn.
"Well it won't work," Quinn responded defiantly.
"Nope," said Daria.
"You know, last week your Aunt Rita said the same thing," Amy said innocently. "I never would have guessed you two had such a strong, close resemblance to her." Daria and Quinn stared at her, then at each other.
"It worked," Quinn sighed.
"Yep." Daria went over to the cabinet and took out two glasses, which she then laid on the counter. She pushed one forward. "Okay. Breast me."
"Daria!" Quinn gasped, as Amy tried to stifle her own surprise at her niece's blunt language.
"Just say when," Amy said, tipping the bottle over the glass, so a thin stream of cream-colored milk poured in. At about an inch and a half, Daria motioned for her to stop. She picked the glass up slowly and sloshed the milk around a little. It seemed even in texture, maybe a little thicker than regular milk. Daria brought the rim of the glass to her lips, then -
"You know, I'd hate for Quinn to miss out on the excitement."
Amy poured the same amount of liquid into the other glass and pushed it toward Quinn, who spent a long time washing out her cereal bowl before taking it. She sloshed the liquid around, as Daria had, then eyed her sister before bringing the glass to her lips.
"So, which of you first?" asked Amy, brow raised, clearly amused by their discomfort.
"You go, Daria," Quinn said quickly. "Yours was poured first and you don't want it to go sour."
"But it was your twisted fascination that got us into this mess," Daria shot back.
"Fine!" Quinn barked. "Together, then."
Daria nodded. Both sisters held the glasses to their lips for an interminable amount of time, while Amy strained to hold in her laughter. Before either could go through with it, Helen breezed in to make her morning coffee.
"Hi, girls! How are things g -" Helen's eyes narrowed as she took in the scene. "That's not what I think it is. Is it?"
Daria pushed her glass toward her. Helen took it and sniffed the milk, then rolled it around a little.
"I don't remember mine being quite this pale," she said critically.
"Mom!" freaked Quinn.
Helen took a sip. "Mmm. It has a nice flavor. Must be from all those cheese fries you consume, Amy."
"Excuse me," Amy replied, a little indignant, "I just had a wonderful talk with Quinn about all the food I've cut from my diet since I got pregnant."
"What on earth made you girls want to try this stuff??"
"Oh you know your daughters," said Amy, a twinkle in her eye, "always craving the unexplored. I couldn't pour fast enough."
Helen raised a skeptical brow at her sister, but decided not to press. Instead, to everyone's surprise, she took another sip... then another. Daria and Quinn watched her intently, prepared for a violent reaction. When nothing happened, Daria at last went to the cupboard for another glass, while Quinn took hers and tipped it enough to allow a tiny bit of liquid into her mouth.
Several seconds of mouth-swishing later, she pronounced, "This isn't so bad." She took a bigger sip. "I can see why babies like it. It's kind of sweet."
"You two certainly never complained," Helen said with a wry glance.
Quinn rolled her eyes and took another sip. Daria placed her glass on the counter in front of Amy, who smirked before filling it half way.
"Hey! That's too much," Daria said crossly.
"Come on now," said Amy in a sing-song tone, "get with the program. Bottoms up."
Daria watched the cloud of smugness thicken around her aunt as she took another sip of coffee. Prickling with irritation, she took her glass and raised it slowly. "You know I was never a joiner." Then with one swift motion, she emptied the entire contents into her mouth.
Breast milk flooded every crevice, puffing out her cheeks and overwhelming Daria so much with its flavor, it was all she could do to keep from spitting it out. Amy, Helen, and Quinn stared at her expectantly, Amy's smugness replaced by vague astonishment. Daria's cheeks burned until she detected the sweet under taste that Quinn had spoken of, and was able to swallow... swallow... swallow... until finally it was all gone. Daria then looked directly at her aunt.
"It could use nutmeg."
"I'll make note of that," said Amy with a smile.
"You should thank her, Daria," Helen said, her tone amused, but firm. "That's probably the healthiest thing you've consumed all week."
Now Daria rolled her eyes. She glanced over at Amy, and they exchanged a look - a truce. At once the atmosphere in the room relaxed into one of a typical family morning. Daria and Helen went to make breakfast, while Quinn prepared to exit and Amy sipped her coffee. Just then Joel strolled into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and took in the activity.
"Is that...?"
"Breast milk," the four women replied.
Joel shook his head. "Won't ask."
"You want some?" asked Amy, taking another sip of coffee.
"Nah, it's okay." Joel gave her a kiss good-morning, then wiggled his brows. "I got my fill last night."
Amy nodded blandly - when suddenly her eyes widened, and she spurted milky coffee across the counter.
"Aunt Amy??" wondered Quinn, as her aunt gagged and coughed.
Joel pounded on her back while the Morgendorffers looked on, confused and concerned... until at once Joel's meaning sank in.
Daria frowned. "He didn't just -"
"EwwWWWW!!! I so did not need to know that!" gasped Quinn, before bolting from the room.
"For heaven's sake, Amy, even Jake and I had our limits!" Helen glared at her.
"I was kidding, I was kidding!" Joel burst out, laughing a little with embarrassment as he tried to avoid his fiance's evil eye.
"Of course you were," said Daria, before making her own exit.
"Joel?"
Recovered, Amy now spoke in an even, mildly dangerous tone. "Remember that talk we had about keeping certain humor between us because it might not translate well to other people?"
Joel smiled weakly.
"Why do I feel this sudden need for a newspaper?"
"Joel wasn't exactly fibbing earlier," Amy confessed to Helen. "I do... sometimes..."
"It's all right, honey," Helen replied hastily. "You can keep your intimacy habits private, I don't mind."
"I mean last night..." said Amy, smirking with some embarrassment. "We've just been so busy the past few months it's been hard to get to that place where -"
"Amy, please! You're supposed to be the reticent one, remember?"
"Just remember: I promised to pay for any dry-cleaning."
Helen just stared at her, then couldn't resist a little snicker.
"You know if Rita had just said this, you wouldn't have batted an eye. Why the Emily Post routine where I'm concerned?"
"Because she and I grew up together and shared a lot of the same experiences. You've always been the little sister. I spent so many years protecting you, I think a part of me will always see you as young and innocent. Thinking of you having sex is practically like thinking of Mom and Dad -"
"Ugh! I get it now, I get it." Amy smiled.
"Speaking of you and Joel: when are you two planning to set your wedding date?"
"Early this year, probably in the spring. Definitely a good four to six weeks after I get my knee scoped. I still need to set that date."
Helen looked at her with concern. "I noticed you limping a little. What happened?"
Amy's cheeks reddened, as they always did when she had to dwell on her weaknesses. "It was a gradual process. I injured it the first time five years ago and had to have surgery. It was always a little weak after that, and I aggravated it this past year with all the weight I gained during pregnancy and the rush to exercise it off." Amy made a face. "Then a rowdy afternoon on the floor with Ryan sealed my fate. I saw a surgeon right before we went on our trip, and he agreed there was some damage. Not enough to require crutches, but enough for a good cleaning out when I'm up for it." Amy heaved a sigh. "Of course I told Mom it was just a mild sprain so she wouldn't worry."
"Well get that taken care of. Don't wait."
"I'm not trying to put off the wedding, if that's what you're thinking," Amy said with a raised brow and a half smile. "I just don't want to spend one of the happiest days of my life in pain."
"Oh Amy, give me some credit. Of course I know you want to go through with the wedding!"
The instant scorn in Helen's voice and her subsequent eye roll filled Amy with relief, for that meant she was sincere and wouldn't spend a lot of time probing for anything that seemed the slightest bit off. Like Mom.
"If I really wanted to delay things, I could have found something more trivial than having my knee carved into," Amy added with a note of finality.
"Would you be marrying Joel if...?"
The rest of the sentence hung between them, as Amy's face grew thoughtful. "Yes," she said finally. Her lips curved into a small smile. "I knew we were already headed in that direction, months before I learned I was pregnant."
"Then why did you wait so long?"
"Because we didn't want everyone to think that was the reason," came Amy's firm rejoinder. "Plus, call me a lunatic, but I don't feel at my most romantic when reeling from morning sickness."
"Heard from Jake recently?" Amy asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.
"We've been talking more regularly." Helen's cheeks slowly turned red. "He may not live here in the house with us, but that doesn't mean he's out of our lives. I want him to have a relationship with the girls."
"I've been seeing Greg."
Amy's eyes widened. "The Greg who -"
"Yes," Helen sighed. "That Greg." Her cheeks flushed, as she hastened to add, "It's not what you think. We hadn't even spoken to each other for months, then we just... one day I saw him and... we had coffee and... things just progressed."
"So all this time," Amy asked with great care, "you really were in lo-"
"No, I wasn't," said Helen sharply. Her eyes narrowed into slits, and Amy thought for a moment that she would end the conversation right there. "It's complicated. After Jake moved out, I had all of this freedom to see new people, but months passed and I came to realize that with freedom came instability. I hadn't been on the dating scene in thirty years and obviously many things have changed. Starting with the fact that I'm nearly fi..." Helen closed her eyes and pursed her lips together, then slowly exhaled. "I'm forty-nine. You can imagine the challenges for a forty-nine-year old career woman to find a man of compatible age and interests who is... unattached. I hardly knew where to look, and it had been so long since... well, you know... I just wanted to be with someone who could make me feel something, and the only man who had done that, besides Jake, was Greg."
Helen looked deeply ashamed, and Amy felt prickles of sympathy for her, believing the shame was misplaced. Helen had no obligation to stay chaste, and if what she said was true, she had not started seeing her lover until after the separation. Unlike Jake...
"Have you told the girls?" Amy asked.
Helen shook her head. "Not yet," she sighed. "Greg wants me to, but I keep worrying that they might reject him. They know something went on between him and me that contributed to the split."
"So when you go out on dates and -" Amy flushed a little. "-occasionally sleep over, what do you tell Quinn?"
"If I'm on a date, I just say I'm working late. And if I spend the night, I wait until she goes to stay with her father for the weekend," said Helen in a low, even tone, "so I don't have to make up an excuse. She has no idea."
Amy's brow furrowed; she doubted that was true.
"You need to tell them soon, Helen," she said in a soft, insistent tone.
Helen gazed out the window. "I know."
Amy touched her arm, wanting to give some gesture of comfort to ease her sister's guilt. "Do you like him?" she asked.
Helen kept her eyes turned away. "Yes," she said, color spreading across her cheeks. "At first it was a little strange, thinking of him as a regular person and not as a mentor. He's... he's not Jake. He's very self-assured."
"You say that like it's a bad thing," said Amy in a faintly amused tone.
"Oh no, it's fine. It just takes some getting used to. Sometimes I don't know what I bring to the relationship." Helen laughed a bit ruefully.
"What does he tell you?"
"He tells me I'm sweet." Helen smiled, and her lips parted a little. Her skin flushed scarlet, as though she found it silly that a man could get such a simple, pure vibe from her. "When we're together at night, he'll put his arms around me and
Was this really the first time they'd seen each other since...?
"Oh, and what did you come to tell Helen this time?"
"Jake," Amy said, her patient tone masking her dread, "I only came here to help."
"The way you helped her so damn well when she was with you?!" He looked at her, eyes filled with pain. "It's because of you I'm leaving! It's because of you my family's splitting apart!"
Amy felt a sickness in the pit of her stomach. "You know that's not true," she whispered.
Jake opened his mouth to make another retort, but then his face began to tremble and he blinked back tears. Amy felt her own eyes moisten.
"I'm sorry. About everything..."
"So Amy, this is your little fella?"
"What?" Amy shook her head, breaking the memory. Jake was eyeing Ryan, who gazed back at him with the same mixture of solemnity and curiosity that he reserved for most strangers. "Yep, that's my little poo machine."
"You shouldn't talk about him like that," Jake said reproachfully, "He could get a complex!"
Tell me about it, Amy thought, giving her brother-in-law a glance-over. "I don't always-"
"Can I hold him? Please?"
"Sure," said Amy, forcing a smile. "But only if he'll let you. Ryan can get fussy with people he doesn't -"
"Hey there, Little Man!" Jake leaned down and swooped up the baby in his arms.
"...know."
"How's it going? You gotta smile for Uncle Jakey??"
Ryan stared at him with wide-eyed surprise, not sure whether to cry. He turned to his mother for guidance.
"That's just your Uncle Jake, honey," said Amy gently. "He won't bite. He just strangles."
"Hey!"
"Joke, Jake." Amy ran a finger up and down her son's arm. "It's okay, baby. He's like Daddy, only Daria and Quinn's daddy..."
"Gee Amy, you sound just like a mom!"
"Only because my prison guard impression needs work."
"Gak! What's he doing?"
"He just wants to steal your nose," Amy said, breaking a genuine smile. "That means he likes you."
"Wh-what would happen if he didn't?"
"I didn't think the memories would be so strong."
"We've been back more than once since then," Joel reminded her.
"Yeah, but this is the first time with Ryan. I don't know why that would make a difference." Amy sat up a little, ran her hand across the bedspread. "Except that this is the first time Helen's let us sleep in her room."
She had slept in Helen's bed that night, to keep her company. Jake had gone to a motel, while the girls were hidden away in their own rooms. Joel swore he would be all right in the guest room, so Amy knew that she could focus her attention on the person who needed it most.
Helen was convinced she wouldn't be able to sleep. Amy tried to keep the silence at bay with a steady flow of wry observations. As it turned out, she didn't need to for long - her sister, worn down by three nights without rest, was asleep within minutes. Amy listened to her heavy breathing as she gazed at the ceiling... and that was the last she remembered. She, too, sank into a deep sleep.
"I just feel like... we're mocking them."
"How?" Joel looked at her.
"With our happiness. We've started a family just as theirs is falling apart. If you were Jake, wouldn't you take that a bit personally?"
"Amy, we didn't do anything wrong," Joel insisted. "That's just how the chips fell. I'm sure your sister and brother-in-law would rather see you happy than hold a grudge."
Amy sat up. "Jake blamed me for breaking up his marriage."
"When? Yesterday?"
"No - the weekend he moved out. When we stayed here overnight to look after Helen and the girls."
"An unstable time for a not-so-stable man."
When Amy woke up, she immediately felt something was wrong. She tried to shift in bed, but a sharp pain rushed up her left leg. So instead she lay there, gazing at the dimly-lit ceiling, moaning softly and pathetically, not wanting to play to her worst fears by actually calling out to Joel but hoping he would wake up on his own.
Luckily he did, after what seemed like an eternity. He rolled over to face her and opened his eyes part way. "Ame," he mumbled, "Wha's wrong, honey?"
"I don't know," Amy murmured pathetically. "I just woke up and felt this pain in my leg." She touched the area above her knee gingerly - and let out a gasping cry. "Agh! It's hot!"
Joel sat up, more awake, and turned on the bedside lamp. Amy heard rustlings in the crib. Shit, I woke him up. Ryan could sleep through sex but wake when a neighbor's cat meowed too loudly. Amy hoped he wouldn't need to be rocked back to sleep. Joel touched her forehead lightly and tossed back the covers.
"You do feel a little warm." He honed in on her knee.
"Oh God, is it big?? Is it all red and puffy??" Amy knew she sounded melodramatic but didn't care.
"Let's see... not too big... definitely some swelling, but just a little."
Amy groaned, sat up a little, and reached for her glasses. Nearby Ryan lay still - either in sleep or confusion over his mama's outbursts. Amy looked down at her knee, and to her relief, it didn't look as bad as she'd feared. Still, her earlier display made her feel that she had to compensate. "A little swollen? You could fit a nuclear arsenal under there."
"Does it feel like a nuclear arsenal?" Joel asked, an edge to his patient tone. "'Cause if so, we should get you to an emergency room pronto."
"No, no," said Amy quickly, backpedaling. "We don't even know where one is, and we'd have to wake Helen to find out. I'll... be fine until morning."
"You sure?"
"Positive." Amy sat back against the headboard, irritated. "This happened before, when I injured my knee the first time. It's just fluid build-up... it'll either drain on its own or someone will have to do it. All I need right now is a couple tabs of Ibuprofen and a wet washcloth or something cold."
"I've had 'water' in my knee," Joel said doubtfully, "but I never had a fever."
"It's not a fever," Amy insisted. "It's just my body trying to heal itself."
"Which is what causes a fever. Ame, take your medical card and call the overnight advice nurse, just to be safe."
"Fine, fine. Meanwhile my knee is still hot, and I'm in pain here."
"In short, I blew up at her, criticized her kid, insulted her parenting skills, and secured my first-place finish as Ungrateful Niece of the Year."
"Oh Daria," Helen sighed. "Did you apologize?"
"I told her later I didn't mean it, and she said everything was fine." Daria shifted uncomfortably. "But the way she said it didn't sound sincere."
"No." Helen shook her head. "If she's acting distant towards you, that means she's still upset. I speak from experience."
"Then why doesn't she just say so?"
"Because she doesn't like that she's angry with you and hopes that feeling will go away," Helen said expertly. "So she buries her feelings inside in order to avoid a confrontation. Unfortunately, that just causes them to fester, and she winds up lashing out at you."
"And you know this for a fact?"
"I said I speak from experience." Helen arched her brow and looked her daughter over in a way that made Daria roll her eyes.
"So what should I do?"
"At this point," Helen's tone sharpened, "all you can do is be extra nice to her until she comes around. Maybe you could actually take an interest in your cousin instead of treating him like an annoyance."
"You've noticed?" Daria said, guilty.
"Yes, and I hoped that you were grown up enough that I wouldn't have to ask you to behave. For God's sake, Daria: Amy may be family, but she's just as entitled to proper courtesy as any guest in our house. She's done her best not to be a burden on us, and after all she's done for you, the least you could do -"
"Okay, okay." Suddenly Daria had had her fill of talking to her mother.
"Amy, are you all right?"
"I'm angry at your daughter," said Amy in an even tone, her back still turned. "And I'd like to stay angry at her for a while, if you don't mind."
"Of course. What goes on between you and Daria isn't any of my business unless you want it to be."
"Then why did you come in?"
"Because I wanted to see how you were."
Daria opened the door a crack and poked her head through. Her aunt was lying on the bed, propped up against pillows, absorbed in a book. Her left knee rested on a small pillow. This was one of the rare occasions when Amy was alone, and the first time that the visit Daria had seen her reading. Feeling a strong urge not to interrupt, Daria eased the door shut...
"Hey," Amy called out, not looking up from her book.
"Oh... hi."
Daria opened the door all the way and walked in, her stomach churned harder. Amy looked at her with a neutral expression.
"Something wrong?"
"I just thought... do you want to talk?"
"Right now?"
"I mean after you finish your book," Daria added hastily, her face reddening.
Amy turned away from Daria and looked down at her open book for a good long while, before slapping it shut. "I couldn't concentrate anyway." Her face maintained its evenness, but Daria felt as though a smirk lurked just underneath, waiting for the right time to come out. "Stay here, or go out someplace?"
"I thought maybe we could get some pizza."
"That sounds good." Amy scooted over to the edge of the bed and stood up awkwardly, placing her weight on her good knee. "I'll just slip on some shoes, grab my purse, and we can stroll on over."
"Stroll?" Daria gestured at her aunt's knee.
"I'm wearing a brace, I'll be fine," said Amy dismissively. "I can barely feel it right now."
She headed toward the dresser. Daria thought her limp looked worse.
"That's what amputees say."
Amy paused at the dresser, her purse in hand. Daria felt cold prickles in her neck, convinced that she had made a tasteless remark and her aunt would now refuse. Amy's brow furrowed as she considered something, then she turned to her niece with a faint smirk.
"On second thought, let's take the car."
"Look Daria," Amy said, mustering a smile, "I'm sorry I lashed out at you the other day. It wasn't you - what with our trip ending soon, all of the stresses Joel and I left at home are roaring back, and just thinking about them puts me on edge. Plus, with my knee pain, every movement feels that much more difficult, and I'm not exactly looking forward to having it operated on in a few weeks. It's just brought down my whole mood, and I've been feeling upset with everyone. Okay?"
"Don't try to weasel out of giving me the blame I deserve," Daria replied.
"I... er, wasn't." Amy's face took on a mildly puzzled expression.
"You were upset with me for being a selfish, unsupportive jerk, and you were right," said Daria, flushing a little. "I wanted you to choose my needs over your own, and that was wrong."
Amy sat up a little straighter, wearing an amused smirk that threatened to widen into a smile.
"I've never been in this position," she said. "Wanting so badly for someone I care about to like someone else I really care about. I mean before, if my loved ones didn't approve, I could distance myself from them. If my mother didn't like Joel, or even if she ignored Ryan for her other grandkids, I could shut her out of my life. I don't know why, but I can't do that this time."
"And what if I did hate your kid?" asked Daria.
Amy stared down at the fibers of the bedspread for a long time before answering. "It would be... difficult," she said softly. "It would be easier if you said you hated me."
She laughed a little, but Daria could see her jaw tighten as she struggled to weigh her love for her son against that for her niece.
"I don't hate him," Daria said quickly. "Sure, he might annoy me sometimes, and I'll never be able to see a loaded diaper without running the opposite way, but that's far from outright hatred. People have to actually do something for that, like sell puppies to science labs. Or be a quarterback who dates cheerleaders."
Amy glanced up, and a soft whistling sound followed - the sound of slow exhaling.
That morning Amy appeared on edge. As she fed Ryan strained organic peaches, she seemed to not care that more than half of it ended up on his bib. Daria felt her gaze as she toasted sugar-tarts.
"Daria, you're not doing anything this afternoon, are you?"
"Aside from my daily plot to take over the tri-state area, not really, with Jane gone." Daria's sugar-tarts snapped up, steamed and ready. The sound made Amy flinch. "You may have a harder time roping down Mom and Quinn, though."
"Ugh, you're right," Amy said, looking vaguely panicked.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing... I just have a surprise, and I need the family here."
"A surprise? Like another gift?"
"Sort of, depending on how you look at it. Joel's gone to pick it up."
Daria was in her room when she heard the front door open and
"Tim, my sister and nieces, Daria and Quinn. Helen, girls, meet Tim Lantos." A smirk played across her lips. "Or Judge Lantos, as he'd prefer."
Helen's eyes widened. "A justice of the peace? Does that mean -"
Joel handed her a document. Daria and Quinn read it over her shoulder. "A marriage license," Helen whispered, her face flushing.
"I don't know why we didn't think of this months ago," said Amy, her eyes dancing. "It would have saved us a lot of grief."
"But you have to wait forty-eight hours before you can obtain one..."
"Right," said Joel. He glanced at his watch. "And as of an hour ago, it was forty-eight hours since we applied."
"But two days ago you went to the emergency room," stammered a confused Quinn. "Was that just pretend?"
"If only," said Amy. She pried Ryan's fingers out of her nose and cuddled him against her. "We were sitting there for God knows how long, waiting to be seen. My knee wasn't hurting as bad anymore, and we just thought, what was the point of staying? My knee's messed up; seeing another doctor wouldn't change that. But it did give us some much-needed quality time alone."
"And one of the things we decided was to screw worrying about the right time and the right way and just get hitched," Joel grinned.
"It resolves a number of issues. Like being able to say my vows without having a panic attack." Amy's forehead creased with relief.
"And now I don't have to deal with pressure from my folks to hold a Jewish wedding," said Joel, eyebrow raised.
"So you're married," Daria concluded.
"Almost," Amy replied. "This darned license is only good for a couple of months, and we need to get married in the same county we applied in."
"We'll still have the big wedding," Amy said, looking pointedly at Helen. "I won't deny Mom the chance to gloat, nor you, Rita, and Erin the opportunity to get even with me for humiliating you at your weddings."
[Brief talk about how the judge took a shine to them and decided to perform the ceremony - better than doing paperwork in his office.]