Emma

Am I supposed to be happy,

When all I ever wanted, it comes with a price?

You look at the ground as you walk, the toes of your yellow tipped Mary Janes zigzagging across the filthy pavement. Looking ahead would be in your best interest, attempting to ignore the inevitable grime that lines the sidewalk.

But you'd much rather avoid the stares of potentially familiar faces, scrutinizing you with premature judgment. Even the vile ground is more appealing than that.

Downtown Lima is far from interesting, if the quaint collection of shops can even be considered a proper "downtown." In the three years you've lived in Lima, you've hardly had a need to visit the specialty shops down here as opposed to the general stores closer to your condo, but the idea of going to the nearby grocery store, seeing your students and fellow faculty members, leaves you feeling sick.

Your bags of groceries swing at your side, and you let out a sigh of relief that you were able to complete the task with such nonchalance. You're ready to return home, storing the essentials you've put off buying for too long now, then filling up your tub for a hot bath and then perhaps curling up with a good movie. Tucked away from the world in the comfort of your own home is where you feel safe.

The delectable thought has you quickening your pace, gripping your bags tighter as they weigh heavily against your arms, the flimsy plastic stretching to its limits. You know you overloaded the four bags, but you were intent on making only one trip. The nearest parking meter is a block away, and as the plastic straps of the bags dig into your palms, you bite your lip, trying not to think of the fact you could've made this trip so much easier if you had shopped closer to home.

But everything complicated now, so your unnecessarily intricate shopping trip only fits into to what your life has become.

You can see you black Volvo, only a few yards away, when the strap to one of your shopping bags snaps, the pressing weight on your arm suddenly released as your fresh fruit spills forcefully against the disgusting sidewalk.

A sob of frustration escapes your lips as you stare at your spoiled fruit in vain. You blow out a heavy stream of air, trying ineffectively to push away the annoyance that you'll have to take the time to shop again.

Your eyes dart to the building signs, hoping fervently that perhaps there is a store closer to your parking space that you overlooked before. Though you find no grocery store, a shop nestled between the florist and a book store catches your eyes.

The Craft Corner.

From your brief visits to downtown Lima, you are almost certain it used to be an Indian restaurant, and you now find yourself curious about little shop that has taken its place. The lettering on the sign is carefully hand painted, the words laced with delicate vines and flowers.

Intrigued, you forget about your lost fruit, stepping forward as the fairy tale-esque appeal draws you in. You shift your other bags, hiking them up your arm as you carefully push open the door, the toasty interior greeting you as you leave the chilly December air.

As the little bell attached to the door rings pleasantly, the underlying scent of curry mixed with potpourri laces through the air. It's an odd scent, but you find the unique flavor the air holds to fit right into the enchanting little shop.

Behind a crowded shelf filled with wreaths and artificial flowers, you hear the sound of faint humming, just loud enough that you can made out a sweet voice but too quiet for you to identify a tune.

Your bags crinkle as you readjust your grasp on them. The humming stops as you hear shuffling accompanied by a voice, "Give me one minute, and I'll be right with you."

The voice is oddly familiar, sending a chill up your spine as you struggle to place it, unable to do so until an apron clad blonde appears from behind the shelf.

Your need to visit the enticing shop now feels like a cruel trap, bitter irony settling around you as your eyes lock with the person you expected least to see. You grip your bags tighter, instinctively placing them in front of your stomach as you back away.

Her eyes are faster, though, thoroughly assessing your body before you even have time to react. Her eyes flash, bright with pain and anger, but she's quick to compose herself. She's never been one to lose her cool, not with you at least. She uses every weakness you have against you.

"Well if it isn't Emma Pillsbury," she practically hisses, approaching you, her lip trembling from anger, or maybe hurt, or perhaps even both.

Your heart pounds in your chest, and your tongue feels thick in your mouth as you struggle for a refute. You can't form any words, can't even come up with any even if you could. You could run; you're closer to the door, and your car is a mere few yards away.

But you let Terri circle in, your knees growing weak as a strap from another one of your bags snaps, a mixture of cosmetics, toiletries, and the like spilling in front of your feet. A bottle of prenatal vitamins rolls precariously near the step the leads into the store.

Your chest tightens as Terri brushes past you, her eyes flashing once again as she picks up the bottle, her suspicions confirmed.

"So," she spits, her voice acidic. "What can help you with today, momma?"

XXXX

You're almost certain you're having a good old fashioned panic attack as your heart races against your chest, your head feeling light as Terri's words swim through the barriers of your ears.

"Guess I missed the announcement," she continues, turning the bottle of vitamins around in her hands as she examines the label, "Aren't you so special, giving Will everything I never could?"

You lower your flushed face, repressing unwanted memories. The strap to your third bag breaks, and you allow the fourth one to slip from your grasp as well as the rest of your purchases clatter to the floor.

"Look at me, you little whore!" she snaps at you, her angry fingers gripping your chin harshly as she jerks your face level with her. You're frozen in panic, her fingers searing against your skin. This isn't like the other times, the other times she's crushed your hopes. This time, there's nothing to hope for, no good will for you to hold onto. You've reached your lowest point, and there's nothing, nothing at all for you to fight back with. "If you have the gall to get knocked up by my ex-husband, the least you can do is own up and answer my questions."

A wave of anger courses through you, bitterness boiling at your core as you think about just how screwed up your life has become. It's been eight months since Will left you with his declaration of love in the empty corridor at McKinley. More than eight months since he divorced the woman standing before you, her wounds cut so deeply that time has done little to heal them.

But you've been hurt, too, maybe not in the same way Terri has, but you're sick of her walking all over your life each time you manage to glimpse a flicker of hope.

"You know what," you find your voice, jerking your chin away from her nails. "Just leave me alone. You have no right to question me about my personal life. And I don't see how it would be any of your concern. You're not married to him anymore, Terri."

Her eyes flash again, and for a moment, you believe you may have finally put her in her place, using leverage that wasn't even yours to use.

But Terri's quick, and her lips curve into a maniacal grin as her eyes bore into yours. "Neither are you, sweetheart." Her eyes rest proudly on your bare fingers.

You lose it then, your anger slowly falling as tears brim in your eyes. You look at the mess your groceries have made around your feet, and you wonder what you have done to earn such a fucked up life.

"It's not Will's," you tell her slowly, hot tears spewing from your swollen eyes. They pour down your face, tasting salty as they reach your lips.

She snorts as you blubber, and you're not exactly sure how to read her expression. "So you're trying to tell me," she begins, glancing at your slightly rounded stomach, "that you've been seeing another man and you've opened up your pretty little thighs for him...why do I find this hard to believe?"

She thinks you're lying, and really, she has good reason to. It's not like you're the kind of woman to end up pregnant out of wedlock. You're not even the kind of girl who was ready to try a committed relationship, especially with someone who wasn't Will.

"Will and I were never together," you tell her, viciously wiping your tears away from your face. "It didn't work out and it never will work out. I started dating my...dentist at the end of last school year," you choke out. "I didn't see Will at all over the summer, and it's rare I even see him now."

"Well," Terri says, opening her mouth, then closing it again. Her face is considerably calmer, mixed with an undeniable expression of shock. "I guess a congratulations is in order then..." she mumbles.

You realize then that it's not you she hates; what she truly hates it when you get what she can't have. And right now, both of you have nothing. In an odd, twisted way, you feel better for the first time since you found out you were pregnant.

You shrug, unable to thank her for her thoughtful words.

She watches you, her cheeks flushing in embarrassment as she realizes her preconceived judgement was made in haste. Her change in attitude upon realizing you're not with Will is almost startling, and the change in atmosphere suddenly has you wanting to burst into tears again for an unknown reason.

"I need to be leaving soon," you mumble, your eyes watering a little as you look at the mess around the store, your groceries scattered aimlessly.

"Just wait one minute," she tells you. Her voice isn't kind, but its hardly vicious any longer. She appears a moment later, holding a handful of plastic bags.

In silence, she helps pick up the salvageable items, even taking the time to double bag. "So they don't break again," she mutters, almost a little sympathetically.

By the time you make it to the door, you're bawling.

XXXX

The rumors at school cut through you like sharp knives. Your sweaters can no longer hide the slight swelling of your stomach, and your tiny build and lack of weight gain in any other part of your body make the verdict obvious.

You can't walk down the halls without being bombarded with hissing whispers.

"Do you think Miss P is really pregnant...?"

"But Emma's not even married..."

"Is it Mr. Schue's?"

"I don't think so. She hasn't been seeing him. She was dating a dentist who works with my parents, but they already broke up a few months ago now..."

You've taken to coming in later and leaving earlier, trying your best to avoid any confrontation. You spend every moment you can tucked in the safety of your office, only talking to students when necessary and avoiding other faculty members like the plague.

You simply want it all to go away. But in a small school nestled in the middle of a small town, gossip is rare, and rumors spread like fire.

That is why you're not surprised when Will knocks on your office door Monday morning.

You've grown apart. Dating Carl made it hard for you to maintain a friendship—at least a healthy one. It was too hard for you to bear Will's regretful eyes every time you saw him, and slowly you allowed yourselves to drift apart.

But you look at him now, his mop of curly hair, biting his lip, his eyes heavy with concern. You hands fly to your belly automatically, feeling queasy and embarrassed.

"Emma..." he starts, approaching you. You know he wants to talk; he's burning with curiosity, but he has enough tact not to push you.

"I know why you're here..." you start with useless words, filling up the seconds—holding on to what little dignity you have left. "And yes...it's true. Obviously," you both glance down to your swollen stomach at the same time. "It's Carl's," you add for good measure.

"I thought you weren't seeing Carl anymore," he blurts automatically.

So that rumor has spread as well.

You close your eyes, willing for this all to be over. "Yes. I'm, um, not seeing Carl anymore..."

He lets out a breath. You can't look at him. Don't want to look at him.

"Emma, if you ever need anything—" he starts.

"I'm fine, Will," you snap, immediately regretting it. You continue, softer. "I—I can take care of myself..."

He nods. You know he wants to say more, but you both know its not his place. He bites at his lip again, reaching for the door handle.

"Just tell me one thing," he blurts before he can help himself. You look at the floor, swallowing. "He didn't hurt you, did he, Em?"

Its not appropriate for him to be asking, but your heart softens a little. He merely wants to make sure you're okay. "No," you whisper softly, your chest feeling heavy with guilt. "Carl would never hurt me."

He nods. Doesn't say anything else.

When he leaves, he takes the tension with him.

But the guilt still remains.

XXXX

You tell yourself you're going downtown to shop for the items you haven't yet replaced since last weekend, but as you park in the same spot as last week, the deceivingly innocent sign of The Craft Corner looming only a few yards ahead, you know very well you're lying to yourself.

You walk up and down the cold street, pacing aimlessly, finding a reason not to enter every time your hand closes around the door handle. You let out a frustrated sigh, walking down the street with determination, coaxing yourself to finally go buy your groceries. But by the time you've reached the end of the street, you find yourself wheeling around once again.

This time, you find Terri standing outside, leaning against the door frame, raising her eyebrow. "I should put up a sign in my window that says 'No loitering,'" she huffs, clearly annoyed. You blush deeply, staring at your feet. "But lucky for you, I'm bored. Business is slow today, and I'd rather entertain you than no one at all."

Though your face burns, your stomach flops excitedly. It's sick, but you find you're craving attention—craving human interaction so much that you'll even take Terri continually tear you down. You're lonely, and loneliness hurts more than humiliation.

"Well are you just going to stand there, ginger?" she huffs again. "It's freezing out here, and I don't have all day..." she mutters, which contradicts her previous statement, but you say nothing.

She opens the door, and you follow like a pathetic puppy. As you enter the pleasant warmth of the shop, she turns to you. "So why are you really here, Emma?"

You try to read her expression. She puts on a convincing front of annoyance, but you sense a genuine hint of curiosity. Perhaps Terri is craving this as much as you are. Perhaps she'd rather this over loneliness as well. After all, she is the one who invited you inside.

"I..." you find your voice, a little hoarse from not speaking for so long. You clear your throat. "I, um, noticed some, uh, candle...holders here last week that I, you know, really liked..." you trail off, darting your eyes around the store, hoping she sells said candle holders.

"You're even more pathetic than I thought," she tells you, this time sympathy edging her words. "Do you mean these?" She walks over to a shelf with painted candle holders, and you immediately nod. You stare at the shelf for a minute, and she sighs heavily. "Well, take your pick..."

You swallow, reaching for the first one you see, but as you pull it from the shelf, you examine it more carefully. "Did you make these?"

She frowns a little, caught off guard. "Yes. Everything in this section, I make by hand," she tells you.

You smile a little, looking at the intricate angel painted on the one you're holding. "These are really good."

She blushes, and you're not sure if you've ever seen Terri blush before. A look of guilt flashes onto her face, for a brief moment, and you think perhaps she feels a little bad about the way she's been treating you.

Of course, she says nothing. You pick your three favorites, purchasing them in silence.

Before you reach the door, she invites you for coffee next Saturday.

XXXX

She orders a Caramel Macchiato.

You order decaffeinated tea—you've read that caffeine isn't good for the baby.

But beneath your green pea coat, it's hard to even tell you're pregnant, and as you sit at a table for two, across from Terri, sipping your tea, it's easy to pretend you're not. You imagine what you look like to everyone else. Two friends—perhaps even best friends—out to catch up. No pain, no secrets, no loneliness.

"Why did you invite me here, Terri?" you sigh, effectively ruining the moment. You stare intently at the warm liquid in your cup rather than her face.

"Because I feel stupid going out for coffee by myself," she tells you, keeping her cocky front. You know she feels something—something more, just like you do. And perhaps it is only your loneliness bringing you together. You only wish she had the humility to admit it.

"Look, Emma, I don't hate you, despite what you might believe. Well, I can't say I particularly like you either," she cocks her head, raising an eyebrow. "But I digress," she sighs, taking a small sip of her beverage. "You're in a pretty shitty situation right now. No one deserves to go through that alone." She shrugs.

You smile into the brim of your mug.

It's more than you expected to get.

XXXX

She's with another customer when you enter the shop the following Saturday.

You avoid her gaze, walking over to the shelf with the candle holders, examining them intently until you hear the bell on the door clang, signaling the customer's departure.

"You can't honestly tell me you're buying more of those." She comes up behind you, and you turn to catch her gaze. "That excuse isn't going to work this time."

"And why do I need an excuse?" you answer, boldly, perhaps a little jokingly. You're glad when she smiles. "If you'd stop pretending to hate this so much, maybe we could, you know, enjoy this a little..."

"Because my definition of enjoyment is spending time with a mentally ill ginger freak," she rolls her eyes, mockingly, but the smile still tugs at her lips.

"Don't forget knocked-up...mentally ill, knocked-up ginger freak," you state. In ridiculing yourself, you've let her know that her sarcasm no longer affects you.

She's shocked for a minute, and for once, you've taken the words from her mouth. "You're so pathetic that I even I can't be bothered to come up with a retort."

It's not friendship, but its an alliance of some sort. A comfort in the viciousness life has doled out to both of you.

Next week when you stop by, she doesn't bother asking why.

XXXX

"...and I just think that if you moved the ribbon closer to the wrapping paper, you know, you might end up selling more of both."

"I don't remember asking for an opinion on how to organize my store." She folds her arms across her chest, eyeing the ribbon display beneath the candle holder shelf. "I like having the ribbon there."

You blush. You can't help it. Despite that you've formed a relationship of equals, Terri always manages to have the upper hand. "Just a suggestion," you shrug. You have a million more things to say—in the month you've been visiting the store, you've begun to realize just how disorganized and cluttered Terri is. It's a wonder she sells anything at all.

"Perhaps I'll reorganize after Christmas," she mutters, so quietly that you hardly hear.

"Not without my help," you mumble, just as quietly.

She smirks, grabbing your hand suddenly. In the past few weeks, you've been growing more comfortable with each other, and Terri's hardly tactful of your aversion to casual contact. Though the sudden hand grabs, shoulder touches, and arm taps startle you, you can't say you mind. In fact, it's beginning to feel natural. Your hand feels warm in hers as she leads you over to the candle holder shelf, picking one up from the end. "I just finished this one last night..."

She's blushing, and you've found you love it when she blushes. It makes her somehow just a little less intimidating—a little more like you.

You examine the image carefully painted on the ceramic vessel. A little red haired angel, with a golden halo crowning her head. It's your turn to blush. "Oh, Terri, this is gorgeous!"

She shrugs. "A little Christmas gift for you," she mutters, sounding a little embarrassed, and you don't think you've ever seen her this vulnerable and flustered.

"Terri..." you mumble, suddenly feeling terrible that you didn't think to get her a gift. "A-are you sure?"

"Well, I did make it specifically for you, so I'd be a bit insulted if you didn't accept," she puts up her snarky front again, but her cheeks are still flushed.

"Thank you," you whisper, looking at the exquisite handiwork again.

You feel a stirring in your belly, like a ripple rushing through you. "Oh!" you exclaim, bringing your hand to your stomach. It moves again.

"What is it?" You're surprised to hear her sound so concerned.

"The baby..." you mumble, keeping your hand pressed against your stomach. "It's—it's moving."

"Oh," she mutters, looking at you curiously. "How far along are you, anyway?" she asks.

It's the first time either of your have talked about your pregnancy, excluding the first day that you came here. You rub your stomach through the material of your cardigan. "Almost eighteen weeks."

"Right on track," she mutters, glancing at your belly again.

"Excuse me?" you question, your brow crinkling.

"Eighteen weeks...right around when you're supposed to start feeling the baby move." She blushes again. "I read up a lot on pregnancy...last year," she informs you.

Your cheeks color now, a little uncomfortably, but for the first time you really allow yourself to think about how Terri must've felt, about all she lost. About all she wanted. "Do you, um, want to feel?" you whisper quietly.

She doesn't answer, but you take her hand gently nevertheless, pressing it lightly against your swollen belly. "Just wait one second," you mutter quietly, and sure enough, a moment later, you feel the ripple in your belly once again.

She's smiling, and you can't help but to grin too.

"It's kind of funny, in a sick way, that I wanted a baby so much and couldn't have one...and here you are—" but she stops, biting her tongue. For once censoring her words.

You swallow, feeling a little queazy all of a sudden. But her warm hand your stomach calms you. She pulls away after a moment, bagging your gift carefully, handing it to you. "Have a nice Christmas, Emma."

Christmas...you hardly want to think about the holiday you used to love so much, but you take the bag from her, fiddling with the plastic straps. "You too, Terri. Have a Merry Christmas."

She rolls hers eyes. "Yeah...I'll be spending it with my sister and her little monsters..."

"Perhaps spending Christmas by myself isn't such a bad option after all," you laugh, blurting the words before you even consider them.

"You're spending Christmas alone?"

You blush deeply. You don't want her sympathy. "I'd usually, um, go down to Virginia to be with my family, but this year, I thought it'd, um, be best to have as little drama as possible..." you glance down at the swell of your belly again.

"You know, Emma, if you'd like, you can always come over Kendra's with me..." she offers, seeming a little hesitant. You've seen a new side to her today, and you can tell she's hesitant to let herself open up so much.

"Oh, um, Terri's, that's so thoughtful...but I wouldn't want to, you know, intrude. Really, I'm fine on my own..." you're rambling miserably, like you always do when you're flustered.

"Really, Emma, it'd be no problem...I'd actually prefer it. Kendra can be so miserable...even you're better than she is..." she smirks.

You blush again. "Alright," you sigh. "If you're sure..."

"I'm going to un-invite you if you keep this up." She rolls her eyes, reaching to straighten the ribbon rack, which doesn't look like it will be moving anytime soon.

"I'd love to come, Terri."

"You say that now, but you might hate me once I subject you to a night with the crazies."

"I already hate you, Terri," you joke. It doesn't sound as natural coming from your mouth as it would hers. "So I'm not too worried."

She smirks again. "Get out of here."

You pretend to pout as you step out of the store.

But inside you're beaming.

XXXX

You hate maternity clothes, and the black dress you've managed to fit into for the evening would hardly be your first choice. But you accessorize it with a cardigan and jewelry, curling your hair. And as you catch your appearance in the mirror, you find yourself feeling pleased.

You grab your two meticulously wrapped gifts, the green paper folded perfectly and the ribbon curled to perfection. One for Terri, the other a hostess gift for her sister, Kendra.

The door bell rings a moment later, and you hurry down the steps in your heels, finding Terri on your doorstep in a chic read dress.

You clear your throat. "Want to come in for a minute?"

She nods, stepping over the threshold, looking around your abode. "Wow, it's even neater than I thought it would be," she snorts, looking around your condo. Of course, you blush. But she turns toward you after a moment, smiling. "You look great, Emma."

"So do you," you mutter in return. "I, um, have a little something for you..."

You hand her the bag, waiting anxiously for her to open it. As she looks at the gift, you ramble. "I wanted to make you something, but I'm, uh, not artistic like you are. And I'm not sure if you already have these, or if they're even the right kind..."

She surprises you by wrapping her arms around you, holding you against her for a brief moment. Your words fade. "They're perfect, Emma. I don't have a lot of little ones, like these, and they'll be perfect for painting my candle holders."

You hope she's not lying, just to be nice. But then again, what reason would Terri have to fake kindness? You're glad your gift of the tiny bristled paintbrushes seem to please her.

"Ready to go, babe?" she asks, stepping across your tiled floor as she approaches the door.

The nickname sends your heart fluttering, though it makes you feel a little uneasy. "Babe?"

She rolls her eyes. "It's a nickname I get into the habit of using with my friends," she informs you. "I'm not gonna start making out with you if that's what you're worried about."

You're blushing miserably, feeling foolish, but you say nothing as you grab your coat, glad when it still buttons over your stomach. You're out in her car, buckling your seat belt, still pondering, when you say. "I like it."

And she doesn't have to ask what you're talking about.

XXXX

You're a little nervous as you approach Kendra's apartment. Terri slips her hand into yours, seeming to sense this, and you gladly keep your hand nestled in the warmth of hers.

She opens the door without knocking, pulling you inside. The chaos quickly overwhelms you. Three little boys with hair that matches yours swarm you without warning, screaming, latching on, dragging you deeper into the craziness.

The heavy scent of cooking overwhelms you, making you feel a little lightheaded. "Terri..." you manage to mutter.

She fends off her own demon child, wrestling with the two attached to you next.

"Logan! Dylan! Kyle! Get the fuck off!" she growls angrily. "Kendra!" she howls.

"Damn it, Terri, what did I say about swearing in front of the kids?" A heavier blonde woman enters the room, wearing a sleek black dress that's hardly appropriate for her build. She stands in the door frame, holding a turkey baster.

Terri rolls her eyes.

Kendra's eyes fall on you. You hand her the gift—a scented candle. She looks at you like you're crazy. "And who the hell are you?"

You flush. Terri sighs dramatically. One of the boys barrels into her, though she hardly seems to notice as she absentmindedly swats him away. "I only told you about a thousand times, Kendra. This is the friend I invited for Christmas."

She still looks a little blank. "Emma...the friend I see every Saturday at the shop..." Terri sighs. You wonder how much Terri has told her about you.

"Oh!" Kendra's eyes light up. She lazily leans against the doorway of the family room. "Isn't she the one who ruined your marriage?"

You start crying. You don't mean to, but your senses are on overload, and your hormones are constantly out of whack these day.

Kendra scoffs. Terri grabs your arm, dragging you down the hall, and you blindly follow as she drags you into one of the bedrooms. "What do you think you're doing, Emma?" she practically shrieks, making you cry harder.

"I-I'm s-so-sorry," you blubber through your tears, bringing your hands to your face, wishing you could make everything disappear. She sighs, and you're surprised when you feel her arms wrap around you after a moment, and you collapse into her grasp.

"It's okay, Emma," she whispers, her voice softer, as she rubs your back. Your sobs begin to fade, though you make no move to leave Terri's arms. "I'm sorry about Kendra..."

"It's not your fault," you sniffle. "I'm sorry for overreacting."

"You just have to learn to ignore her...or just go along with it. Like you do with me," she encourages, laughing a little, pulling away so she wipe your tears away. "Ready to go back out?"

"I-I think I need a minute," you whisper, your nose beginning to run a little. "Who's room is this anyway?" you mutter, looking at your surroundings for the first time. It's cluttered, filled with piles of clothes, lamps and other knick-knacks scattered about, and a handful of craft supplies.

"It's mine..." Terri mutters, looking a little embarrassed. "Still can't afford my own place yet..."

"Oh," you mutter as you sit down on the edge of the bed. You think about your own two bedroom condo, an offer on the edge of your tongue, but you can't push it out.

Instead, you fall back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Terri joins you a moment later, lying beside you.

"We should just stay in here all night," you laugh, feeling a little better.

"Can't say I'd mind that," she laughs, turning toward you. "Merry Christmas, Emma."

You feel your dried tears on your face as your mouth turns into a grin. "Merry Christmas to you too, Terri."

XXXX

"And I need to take this one in right now...but I think this one can wait—Emma!" She turns abruptly toward you, and you automatically blush, unsure of what you've done to earn her sudden outburst. "What do you think you're doing?"

You watch her eyes stray to the box you're holding, then back to your face suddenly understanding. You let out a sigh, realizing what the commotion is all about. "Terri, it's not that heavy," you assure her. "I'm fine."

She bites her lip, still looking concerned. She has her pregnancy facts down to a tee, and she never fails to share her knowledge when she notices you doing something questionable. Going out to lunch with her has become a horror - she can find something potentially harmful to the baby with almost anything on the menu.

You find the way she frets a little endearing, no matter how annoying it can get. And you know she feels protective - trying to gain control over something she never had power over. It makes you a little sad, realizing how much she wanted this - perhaps still wants it. She's found a way to salvage what she wants, living through you instead.

You shift the box in your grasp, and she lets out a sigh. "Fine...as long as you don't carry anything heavier than that."

You take it—you were beginning to think you were just going to sit uselessly by while she moved in herself, with the way she's been hovering over you.

It didn't take you long after Christmas to work up the courage to ask if, perhaps, she wanted to move in with you. You were shy about the offer, blushing a little as you mumbled the words. But after a few snide remarks, Terri had agreed, and you could tell she was genuinely enthused about the arrangement. You know she desperately wanted to get out of Kendra's cramped apartment, but you can't help to think that perhaps she's as excited to live with you as you are to have her.

You carry the box up to your spare bedroom; the room is already cluttered with boxes, and the mess makes you just a little uneasy. "You have a lot of stuff, Terri..." you mutter, and she doesn't miss the concern laced in your words.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't worry, ginger, I'll keep my clutter contained. You don't have to worry about me destroying the rest of your pretty little house."

You make a few more trips up from her car, with Terri monitoring your every move. As you place the last box precariously on the teetering stack, you fall back against the bed, taking in a heavy sigh.

"Tired?" Terri asks, collapsing beside you, the bed bouncing lightly. You finger an embroidered flower on the comforter as you nod. It seems you're always tired now.

You close your eyes, feeling a slight flutter in your stomach, and you automatically pull Terri's hand to your rounded abdomen, placing it against you're the stretching material of your cardigan. Her lips curve into a content grin as she lets her warm hand rest comfortably against you.

"She always kicks so much when you're here," you smile, looking down at the curve of your belly.

"She?" Terri mutters, raising an eyebrow.

"I just had an appointment yesterday." You can't stop your grin from growing wider.

You hate going alone to the appointments. It's pure humiliation. A reminder of what your life has become, but yesterday was different, watching the distinguishable fetus swim on the screen. Except it was no longer just a fetus...no longer something foreign moving inside you.

It's a baby.

A baby girl.

"That's great, Emma," she tells you. You can't help but to wrap her in a hug, a warm sensation coursing through you as she brings her arms around you as well.

As she pulls away, you catch a hint of regret—a hint of jealousy.

The bitter irony of the situation settles around you again. She wants what you don't.

You move your hands back to your belly. You haven't thought a lot about what having a baby really means. Right now, you feel somewhat safe, somewhat in control, with the baby contained inside of you. You haven't really thought about what you live will be like in a few short months. You haven't thought what it will mean to be a mother.

But Terri has.

Now, as you rub your growing belly, you think about what it means that Terri is going to be living with you. Perhaps she'll still be around by the time your baby is born. Perhaps you can give Terri a little bit of what she lost—and in return, you won't have to do this all on your own.

XXXX

"Don't you need to be at school soon?"

You groggily lift your head from the pillow, moaning in discomfort. Terri's standing in your doorway, eyebrows raised, and if you didn't feel so ill, you might find it unsettling that she's only in a pair of jeans and her bra.

"Go 'way," you groan, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your head pounds as you suppress the nausea.

She sits down on the bed beside you, the mattress creaking a little. You close your eyes.

"Morning sickness?" she mutters softly.

You nod. Your nausea has been relentless. Most mornings you can suffer through it, but today you feel especially ill.

You crack your eyes open as you feel her hand rest lightly against your arm. She's frowning, biting down at her lower lip. "But you're already well into your second trimester...morning sickness is supposed to end after the first..." she muses.

"I don't fucking care," you snap, your hand immediately clamping over your mouth, the vile word tasting bitter in your mouth.

Terri's mouth hangs open, as in shock as you are, a hint of hurt in her eyes.

"I'm sorry..." you mutter, embarrassed. You let out a shaky sigh.

"No, no...it's fine. You're feeling like shit, and I'm being overbearing—as always," she mumbles, casting her eyes down.

You immediately feel terrible, hating to see her like this.

"No, Terri...I'm sorry. And I like having you here...really. It's nice to have someone care so much..." you waver on the last word, another bout of nausea coursing through you. You moan again.

"Here, hon, let me take you to the bathroom," she says softly, rubbing your arm, concern laced in her words.

"No, no, no..." you protest, the thought of throwing up still frightening you, no matter how natural it has become for you. Most days, you're able to suffer through the worst of it, keeping the contents of your stomach where they belong.

She grabs that phone by the side of the bed, beginning to dial. You look at her quizzically. "Who are you calling?"

"The school..." she mutters. And you open your mouth to protest. "You're a wreck..."

She already has the secretary on the line before you can utter a word. She hangs up the phone, resting her head on the pillow beside you, working her hands through your hair softly. You let out a sigh, a wave of comfort washing over you. You close your eyes. "That feels good..." you murmur.

You can feel her smile. "I used to love it when Will did that to me..." she utters softly.

You're silent for a moment longer, letting her touch relax you. "Don't you need to be at work?" you manage to ask.

"You know," she whispers, her hand moving to massage your neck gently, "that's the nice part about having my own business. I get to make my own hours." She chuckles slightly.

You smile. "I'm glad you're here."

She pulls herself closer to you. She doesn't say anything. Doesn't need to.

Just having her here is enough.

XXXX

Shopping—or rather, going out in public settings—is still one of the things you hate most. But Terri has a cold, and she wants soup. And watermelon.

"Watermelon?" you had looked at her with a creased brow, unable to make sense of her request.

She shrugged. "I'm sick, babe...pwease..." her pouty look made you laugh.

Which made her scowl.

You had left the room, muttering. "I'm supposed to be the one with weird cravings."

You're prepared to be back in less than twenty minutes—three cans of soup and a watermelon (even in January) can't be too difficult to find.

You go for the soup first, not wanting to lug the heavy melon around the supermarket. You scan the aisle, row upon row of neatly stacked cans, searching for chicken noodle. Your hand runs gently across the Campbell's label, grabbing three cans. But as you grab the cans, turning sharply on your heel, you find yourself come in contact with a body, the cans flying from your grasp.

"Oh!" you exclaim, immediately bending over to retrieve them.

"Here, let me help."

The voice is familiar, but you can't place it until you glance up. Dark, cropped hair. Gruff stubble on his chin...

You drop the cans again.

"C-c-carl," you stutter, you face flushing, your stomach knotting.

Your stomach.

You eyes fly to your rounded abdomen, cursing yourself for not buttoning your coat.

The can falls from his grasp as well, his eyes finding yours. "Emma."

"I-I n-need to go," you leave the cans, fumbling for your purse. This is one conversation you don't want to have.

"Wait, Ems..." He grabs your arm before you can protest. Your breath catches as you feel his eyes on you, his gaze automatically falling to your stomach.

His eyes widen. You squirm uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than for everything to disappear.

"You're pregnant..."

You swallow.

"Is it...?"

"Yes, Carl," you whisper, licking your lips tentatively, gently tugging your arm from his grasp. "It's yours..."

"Wh-why didn't you tell me...Ems..." He's shaking a little, and you need out.

You need out now.

"Because it didn't matter, Carl—doesn't matter. Doesn't change anything..."

You turn quickly on your heel before he can answer, leaving the store, welcoming the cold January air on your tear stained face.

XXXX

"What the hell did you do at the store for twenty minutes?" Terri practically screeches when you return home with no purchases.

You're in no mood to argue. No mood to talk. No mood to even try to hold yourself together. You ignore her, stumbling down the hall to your room, pulling your knees to your chest as you curl up on the bed, your coat still on. You stare at the wall, your eyes beginning to water a little, trying to keep your breathing steady. The door creaks open a moment later, and you expect another exasperated rant from Terri.

So you're surprised when you feel the bed shift beneath you, her arms snaking around you a minute later. "Are you okay, baby?" she whispers softly, and the sincerity of her words causes your tears to spill over—hot, silent tears streaming down your cheeks. "What happened, Emma?" she mutters, her warm breath against your neck. She begins to gently stroke your hair.

"It's nothing, Terri," you mutter, your voice thick with tears. Her hand slips around your stomach, and you reach to hold it. To hold her.

"Obviously something happened," she sighs, continuing to run her fingers through your locks.

"Really, I'm just overreacting," you shakily answer. "You know me—toilet paper commercials make me cry nowadays." You manage a grin.

She kisses your cheek gently, and you can't even bring yourself to care that she's a germ pit right now. "Just know I'm here if you need to talk," she reminds you, holding you closer.

You snuggle deeper into her arms, letting out a heavy sigh, almost allowing yourself to speak. Almost relieving your burden.

But instead, you close your eyes, rubbing your thumb against her skin, letting your eyelids flutter shut.

For now, you can forget.

XXXX

"Terri, you left your craft supplies out in the living room—again," you sigh, falling back against the couch next to her, rubbing your swollen belly, trying to ignore your aching back.

She looks distracted, but she turns to you, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, babe," she mutters, reaching for your hand, rubbing it gently.

"I thought you agreed you'd keep it in your room," you mutter, hating to sound like a pest, but after a long, stressful day at work you find you hate coming home to her clutter.

"I know, I know," she tells, sounding slightly irritated, causing you to immediately feel guilty. She continues to rub your hand. "I promise I'll clear it out—this weekend at the latest. I just have a lot of stuff I'm trying to reorganize in there," she reminds you.

You grudgingly nod, biting your tongue even though you feel just a little frustrated. Her "reorganization" project has been going for over a week now—and you're curious as to what is taking her so long. She won't even let you in to change her sheets.

"Just relax," she tells you, her lips curving into a gentle smile. "Do you want me to rub your back for you?"

You let out an exasperated sigh, but you nod, slumping against the throw pillow as her gentle hands reach to massage your aching back. You close your eyes as her fingers knead your skin, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. After a moment, she stops, leaning forward to brush her lips against your hair. "Sleep, Emma. I'll be back in a bit."

You don't protest, your curiosity dulled as you succumb to slumber.

XXXX

"No peaking," Terri warns as she ties the blindfold over your eyes.

You let out a groan, whining as you answer. "Terri, this is hardly necessary. I promise I won't look...besides, I can't figure out what in the world you want to show me. Did you finally organize all your craft supplies into bins, and you're looking for a pat on the back?"

"Oh shut up, Emma," she huffs, grabbing your hand and leading you slowly down the hall toward her bedroom. "Just be patient."

The door clicks open, and she guides you in, the smell of fresh paint assaults you. You wrinkle your nose, burning with curiosity as her fingers gently pry the bandanna away from your face.

You blink a couple times as you take in your surroundings. The room is painted with a fresh coat of white paint, the edging done in powder pink. On the back wall, you see that she has taken the time to paint a delicate mural, fluttering butterflies and sporadic pansies.

"Do you like it?" she asks, sounding a bit anxious when you don't speak. "I mean, I don't know if you have furniture picked out for the baby yet...and if you do I can always change it, or..."

You find her endearing when she lets down her prideful front, allowing her insecurities to slip out. "It's perfect," you cut her off, reaching gently for her hand and blushing as you give it a gentle squeeze. "I, um, hadn't really, you know, thought about any of this..." you admit.

"I figured you could use a hand with it...and you know me, I just love projects like this." She leaves her hand in yours, smiling at her own handiwork.

You move your hand down to your belly. "She's going to love it."

XXXX

"No, Terri, you shouldn't sleep in there...give the room a few more days to air out," you beg, feeling guilty that she's already been breathing in the fumes for the past week without your knowledge.

"It's fine, Emma. I think I've already lost all the brain cells I'm going to after sniffing fabric markers all these years," Terri replies, spitting her mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. She reaches for the Clorox wipes, abiding by your strict hygienic rules.

"No, really, please. You can take my bed. I'll sleep on the couch," you state firmly, running a comb through your wet hair.

"Honey, there is no way you're sleeping on the couch," Terri looks at you with raised eyebrows. "If you're so insistent about me not staying in the guest room, then I'll take the couch."

You let out an exasperated sigh, reaching for your nightly moisturizer. "Neither of us are sleeping on the couch, okay?"

"So we're going to share your bed, huh?" Terri raises an eyebrow. You blush.

"Just let me take the couch," you practically plead, stammering slightly.

"Hey, I never said sharing was a bad idea." She comes up behind you, tucking her chin against your shoulder. "It will be like having a sleepover." She winks at you before disappearing down the hall to your bedroom.

She's already curled up beneath the blanket on the right side of the bed. You smooth your pale blue nightgown before slipping in beside her, letting out a heavy sigh as you arrange your aching body.

"Your back again?" Terri mutters sympathetically, reaching to rub your back gently, the motion familiar.

You let out a sigh, scooting closer to her in the darkness. "Thanks, Terri..." you let the words escape from your lips in a soft stream of air. "This is kind of nice..."

She chuckles, and you feel her lips in your hair, causing you to shiver slightly. "Night, Emma," she mumbles. "Love you."

For a moment, your heart thuds in your chest, the words so unexpected. "What?"

She lets out a stream of breath. "I love you." Your eyes widen. "Like a sister. Like a best friend," she clarifies, sounding impatient. "No need to ruin the moment," she whines, brushing your hair behind your ear. "You're so weird about things like this," she accuses you.

"Well, it's just...I've never had a best friend to love before..." you mutter, playing absentmindedly with her fingers.

She chuckles, wriggling closer to you. "Go to sleep, Emma," she whispers softly.

You shiver, a fluttering in your heart that makes you nervous, yet excited. "Love you, too."

XXXX

"I didn't think you were supposed to drink coffee when you're pregnant," Will chuckles as he sits down opposite of you in the faculty lounge, sipping his own steaming beverage.

Your cheeks color slightly as you glance down at your half-filled mug, fingering the ceramic handle. "Well, my doctor says it's fine if I just drink a little. Hence only filling it halfway," you defend. "I've just been so, so tired lately, and I need that kick in the mornings," you sigh. "Don't tell T-" you cut yourself off, remembering that he knows nothing of your and his ex-wife's living arrangements. "Never mind."

He looks at you curiously for a minute, but he tactfully drops it as he sips his coffee. "So you're doing okay?"

His concern is genuine. You nod. You smile, because you are. For the first time in a long while, you really are doing okay.

XXXX

"Home!" you call as you step over the threshold into the front hall, kicking the door shut with your foot as you balance two huge shopping bags in your arms.

You're greeted by silence instead of Terri practically pouncing on you, bombarding you with questions about your day to make sure your or the baby's health has not been jeopardized.

"Hey, Emma," she greets you once you've stumbled into the kitchen. "Here, let me give you a hand."

As she takes the bags from your grasp, you notice she's wearing a low cut purple dress. Her hair is curled and her makeup is edgier than usual.

"Where are you going?"

She begins to put your purchases in their designated cabinets, humoring you by making sure the labels are all facing forward. "A couple high school friends asked me to go out with them tonight," she answers. She turns, and you wonder what expression your face holds. She quickly adds, "I would've invited you, hon, but I have a feeling there is going to be more than a little alcohol involved." She laughs, coming up beside you to give you a reassuring peck on the cheek.

"Well, have lots of fun," you encourage her, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. You understand; you'd just rather not be left alone. You find it ironic that not so long ago, all you craved was solitude. Now, you feel a pit in your stomach at the thought of her leaving for just one night. "You look nice."

"Thanks, Emma," she beams, straightening her dress. She glances toward the microwave clock. "I should get going. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely." Your heart flutters. She gives you another peck on the cheek. Another flutter.

"I'll be home late," she tells you as she grabs her leather jacket, draping it over her arm as she steps out the door. "Don't bother waiting up for me."

You already know you will.

XXXX

You're curled up on the couch, the opening credits of Titanic rolling onto the screen. It's your favorite movie, and you're aware it's the most cliche choice you could have, but you're a sucker for romances, especially ones that make you cry.

You already have a box of tissues, a trash bin, and a squirt bottle of Purell by your side, preparing you for the particularly emotional parts. There's never been a time you haven't cried in this movie, and you know your hormones are only going to cause your emotions to skyrocket. In fact, you're already getting teary and Rose's flashback hasn't even begun yet.

You pull your knees to your stomach, the swollen roundness pressing up against your thighs. Your eyes dart to the clock on the DVD player.

10:32.

It will be eons until Terri arrives home, and the thought leaves you melancholy against your will. You push away the feeling, pulling a blanket up to your neck as you try to find a comfortable position that can accommodate your ever expanding stomach.

Just as you're beginning to feel settled, your cell phone begins to vibrate beside you.

It's from Terri, and you open the message, frowning, wondering what she needs.

i misss oyu

Your heart drops. Flutters a little.

She misses you.

But she's incredibly drunk, and you can't help but to worry a little.

I miss you too. Are you having fun? you text back.

It doesn't take long for your phone to vibrate again. The movie is all but forgotten as you flip open your phone was again.

its fuin but i mis you

You'll see me as soon as you get home, hon, you assure her.

You can hardly focus on the screen as your heart races a little, unable to identify the feeling in your gut. You pass it off as concern, you gazed fix on your phone instead of the television.

i love you. leike al ot.

You swallow, the words she's said a hundred times suddenly making you uneasy.

Go have fun with your friends, you encourage once again, fixing your eyes on the movie once again, the usual panic that accompanies the sinking of the ship intensified as your gaze keeps darting to your phone.

idoeont feel fgood ebma. Barely fifteen minutes have passed when you phone buzzes again, and the garbled string of words make your stomach flip. Your shaking hands page through your contact list, ready to call her. Ready to come bring her home.

"Damn it," you hiss, tossing your phone on the carpet, your eyes stinging with tears, unsure why you are suddenly so upset.

You don't want to feel this way. You want to shut off your phone and let her enjoy her night out. You want to fall asleep without worrying about her. You want your heart to stop pounding, your stomach to stop twisting.

On the floor, your phone lights up again, the message distinct even to your bleary eyes.

i llove you.

You love her, too.

So much more than you should.

XXXX

When the door to your bedroom creaks open, you haven't fallen asleep, but you've reached a catatonic state.

"Emma."

You can see her grinning sloppily in the dull light of the bedroom. She stumbles over toward the bed, bouncing a little as she fall back against it. You shift, tugging your knees to your chest.

"Hi," you swallow. "Did you have fun?"

She nods, but she eagerly reaches for your hand. "But I missed you more." She drags out the end of the word, hiccuping at the end. "I jus'...I jus' love you so much," she giggles a little, snuggling up against you. You feel her lips brush against your neck, her alcohol stained breath overwhelming you. Your heart pounds furiously.

"Terri..." you start, unsure what you even mean to say when Terri lets out a moan.

"I don' feel very good," she whimpers, pulling away from you. The idea of her getting sick makes you panic. Once she's curled up against the pillow, you brush her hair away from her sweaty forehead.

"Just try to get some sleep, okay?" You rise from the bed, your hand lingering in her hair for a moment.

"Whe're you going?" Terri whines immediately. "Don't leave me. I love you."

"I'm just going to the bathroom," you tell her soothingly, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'll be back in five minutes."

She nods, consoled by your words, and you let of a labored breath as you pad down the hall to the bathroom, shaking slightly as you sit down on top of the toilet lid, staring at the delicate flowers on the wallpaper. Once you have calmed yourself you slowly rise from the toilet, padding softly down the hall.

Just as you expected, Terri is completely passed out on your bed. Our bed, you correct. There hasn't been a night since the first time you invited her to sleep with you that you haven't fallen asleep without her curled up next to you.

But tonight you slowly close the door softly, instead pushing open the door to the baby's room. The double bed is still pushed up against the wall—you haven't had time to go shopping for furniture for the baby yet.

You feel lonely and strange as you curl up on the empty bed, but you let out a sigh, staring at the butterflies on the wall until they're blurry, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

XXXX

"Emma, look, I'm sorry," Terri greets you as she stumbles into the kitchen. It's three days later, and you've been brief with her. Anxious, nervous, unable to fall back into your comfortable habits.

"It's fine," you automatically answer, taking your empty coffee mug to the sink. Terri is too distracted to put up a fit about your caffeine addiction this morning.

"You've been sleeping the guest room for the past three nights," Terri says quietly. "I must've done something to make you upset the other night..." she trails off, pulling out a chair and slumping against the table. "And I'm really, really sorry I don't remember."

"It's nothing, Terri," you assure her, your voice still quiet. "I'm not mad a you." You rinse your cup throughly, putting it into the dishwasher, taking a moment to make sure the handle is facing to the right, prolonging the moment until you'll have to catch her gaze.

She lets out a heavy sigh. "Emma, you're acting weird. And I feel terrible. Can you at least tell me what I did so I can at least attempt to make it right?"

"It's nothing you did," you stress again. "It's me. All me. And how I'm reacting to all of this. It's not big deal, really."

Your hands shake slightly as you wipe out the sink.

"It's clearly not nothing Emma, and if it's making you upset, then really, I want to do what I can to fix it. Is it something I said?" she pushes. You continue to wipe the sink.

You let out a sigh, muttering as you speak. "You told me you loved me..."

She lifts her head, looking at you quizzically. "Emma, I tell you that almost every night."

"I know that..." you mumble, trying to put you uncertainties into words. "But it was different Friday night when you said it...like you really meant it. In, um, a way that you've never said it before..." You're blushing now. You scrub at the countertop vigorously with the dish rag, wishing you had kept your mouth shut.

"Emma, I was drunk," Terri states. "You can take anything I said seriously..."

"You know, sometimes that's when people are most honest..." you argue feebly. You drape the rag over the sink divider, turning to face her.

Terri sighs as well. She rises from the kitchen table, approaching you, taking your hand gently in her own. "Emma..."

"I'm sorry," you cut her off. "I'm sorry for assuming...what you meant...and what you were feeling. It's me, Terri. It's me...who feels like there's something more, and I think I have for a long time...and I don't know what it means...and it was probably even a mistake to, you know, tell you..."

She squeezing your hand, looking at you earnestly. "Emma...would it be a terrible thing—if it meant something more?"

"I-" you stop for a moment, startled by her words. "It's just not...I never expected..." It's not what I wanted. "And I'm just not...you know, just not sure about any of this..." you let out a small whimper, feeling frustrated and a little uneasy.

"You don't have to be scared, Emma..." she whispers, brushing your hair away from your should.

"Terri..."

She inclines her face toward yours, a wave of warm breath against your face. Your lips feel dry, and you open your mouth to speak.

"Don't be scared, Emma," she says, barely audible.

Don't be scared, you repeat the words to yourself. Perhaps its not what you wanted, but somehow, Terri has become everything you need.

Her soft lips close over yours; you hand rests naturally against her hip, letting her lips gently explore. And for a moment, you're not scared at all.

XXXX

You smooth your nightgown. Fix your hair. Fidget some more.

Terri steps into the room, wearing an old McKinley High t-shirt. She hops onto the bed, grinning as she snuggles up next to you.

You stiffen.

"What?" she frowns. You gulp. "Emma..." she whines. "You need to relax. And stop over thinking everything."

She kisses your cheek. You know she's itching to do more. You're itching for more.

"This could be really enjoyable if you just let it happen naturally..." she kisses the corner of your mouth gently. You shake, unsure if it's from pleasure or anxiety.

"I'm sorry," you sigh. "You know, this is just all so new to me...I never really, you know, thought about this happening..."

She scoffs a little, clearly not believing you. You blush, because even if not consciously, you have found yourself longing for this before. "Have you ever kissed a girl before, Emma?" she demands bluntly.

"Wha—no! Why would you even...I mean...have you?" you mutter incredulously. You're about to tell her you're not a lesbian, but as her nose brushes past your jaw, your body tells you otherwise.

She pulls away, shrugging nonchalantly. "I was close with the girls on my cheer squad in high school. We spent a lot of time together, and sometimes we, you know, explored a little." You're surprised for a minute, her confession contradicting with Will's version of his faithful high school girlfriend. She chuckles slightly, this time kissing your lips.

Your pulse races, but as you let your limbs relax against the bed, you crave her touch more and more as you relinquish your need for control. She traces your jaw before running her fingers through your hair. She's much more experienced, much more confident than you, her gentle touch eliciting a moan.

She positions her body so she's hovering over you, her kisses becoming more frantic. She shift her knee, accidentally jabbing your stomach.

"Oof," you grunt, shifting under her body.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," she quickly apologizes, pulling away. "Did I hurt you?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine." You sit up, repositioning your body. "I'm sorry...I know it's not, um, exactly ideal to be making out with a pregnant woman." You dare to laugh.

She chuckles as well, curling back up against. "We'll find away to work around it...and in fifteen more weeks, it won't even be a problem." She wink.

You're breathless for a moment, the casualness in which she regards this brand new relationship making you uneasy.

Relax, you remind yourself, instead letting a joke slip from your lips. "Yeah, instead we'll be interrupted by a crying baby every three hours."

She laughs, draping an arm over your abdomen. "So have you been thinking about names yet?"

"Names?" you repeat dumbly.

"For the baby, dummy," she clicks her tongue in disapproval. "Have you honestly not given it any thought yet?"

You've thought about it in passing, but like many other aspects of your pregnancy, you've found it easier just avoid. "Um...maybe Marie. I had a baby doll named that when I was little, and I always said that's what I would name my daughter." You laugh a little. "What, um...what names do like?"

"Eleanor," she answers automatically. "I've loved it for as long as I can remember."

She doesn't say it, but you both know that was going to be the name of her daughter.

You snuggle closer to her, kissing her cheek gently. "I love you."

Because it's easier to patch the hole when there's someone there to sew it for you.

XXXX

You hum along to the radio, squirting a healthy portion of body wash into your palm. It was Terri's idea to buy a shower radio, a habit she had picked up from being married to an extremely musical oriented man for almost five years.

You hear a knock on the door, followed by muffled words. "I can't hear you, Terr!" you yell through the closed door.

You hear the door click open, and you're shocked when the shower curtain flaps open, Terri's face peaking in. "Geez, Terri!" you shriek, instinctively trying to cover your exposed.

"There it is," she ignores you. "Mind handing me my razor?"

You stare at her in stunned silence, the hot water continuing to run down your bare skin.

"You aren't gonna make me come in there and get it are you?" she asking impatiently, a playful tone in your voice.

Beneath the steamy water, you blush. You know she wouldn't mind that one bit. You fumble for the razor, your wet hand brushing past hers as she takes it from you.

"Thank you, dear," she smiles pleasantly before pushing the curtain back into place.

"Try asking first next time!" you call after her, letting out a sigh as you relax, humming along to the radio once again.

When you step out of the shower, you nearly stumble backward, noticing Terri shaving by the toilet in only her panties and a bra. "Gosh, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I thought you'd left."

She turns to smile at you, tossing a towel in your direction. You graciously take it, covering your dripping body. "You need to loosen up, Emma," she tells you. She tells you that nearly everyday. But the fact is, you just can't seem to adjust as naturally as she has to being in love with another woman. Even the words sounds strange as you say them silently.

She places her razor on the vanity top, approaching you with a wry smile, flicking your wet hair away from your shoulder. She presses her lips agains the wet skin, letting her tongue slip out for a moment. You shudder terribly. "Can't I at least get dressed first?" you mutter, feeling vulnerable and naïve.

"And what fun would that be?" she chuckles, kissing up your neck until she reaches your lips. Beneath the feelings of anxiety, your body responds desperately to her touch. The towel drops from your grasp, falling against her leg. She lets out a sigh, pushing you roughly against the bathroom wall, her thigh pressing between your legs. You rub against the towel, consciously aware that is the only barrier between you and her skin.

"I love you," she whispers desperately. "I love you so, so much."

You let out a moan, wondering how something that feels this right can also feel so wrong.

XXXX

"Thanks for dropping me off," you tell Terri as she pulls up in front of the high school. "Hopefully my car will be done by this afternoon."

"Not a problem," she assures you, leaning in for a goodbye kiss.

You quickly dodge it, her lips hitting your cheek instead. "Not here." You can't bear the idea of any of your co-workers seeing you.

She sighs, but says nothing. Instead, she gives your hand a gentle squeeze. "Have a nice day, babe."

XXXX

Your face is white as you step out of the bathroom, and your hands shake as you step into the solitude of your office. You pick up your phone, paging down the list until you reach Terri's name. It rings four times before reaching her voicemail, and your trembling badly as you leave a message.

"Terr, it's me. I, um...I'm just having a little bleeding. It's probably not something to worry about," you quickly add. "But, um, the doctor said I should come in if this happens. So let me know when you get this. Bye."

You click your phone shut, pacing nervously in your office. It takes ten minutes before you can will yourself to sit down, but even then you can hardly focus enough to concentrate on any of your work for the next half hour, growing increasingly anxious when Terri does not return your call.

The door to your office bursts open a moment later, causing you to jump.

"Figgins just wanted me to drop these paper off for-" Will cuts off, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face. "Is everything okay, Em? You're white as a ghost..."

You lick your lips, unable to deny his words. "Will, um..." you pause. He steps closer to you, biting his lip. "Will, I'm, um...I'm bleeding." His eyes widen, taking him a moment to understand. "And it shouldn't be a big deal, but I need to go see my doctor just in case." You pause again. "And my car's in the shop today so I, you know, don't have a way to get there..."

"I can take you," he offers just what you were hoping he would. "I can take you right now." His voice is slightly frantic, and you're hardly in the right frame of mind to tell him to calm down.

"Thanks, Will," you tell him genuinely, letting out a breath. "Thank you so much."

"It's not a problem, Em," he assures you. "I just want to make sure you're alright."

"It shouldn't be a big deal...I'm just, um, a little nervous," you admit, wondering why Terri still hasn't called you back.

"Better safe than sorry," he manages a smile, as you pick up your office phone to inform Figgin's of your emergency. He slips in a joke, easing the tension. "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll be back in time for lunch."

XXXX

You moan.

Everything hurts.

You try to force your eyes open, but you feel like they've been glued shut. You moan again, this time feeling a soft hand against your cheek.

"Baby, can you hear me?"

The voice sounds eons away, but it draws you toward it. Your eyelids crack open.

"Terri," you croak, identifying the figure sitting beside you. Her hand strays to your hair, stroking it softly. Her mascara is smeared, and you want to ask why she's been crying.

"I'm so glad you're awake, babe," she whispers, her voice filled with tears.

"Ever—everything 'urts," you force the words from your dry lips. "What 'appened?"

She takes in a heavy sigh, and you close your eyes again, the pain drawing you back toward unconsciousness. You feel her free hand slip into yours.

"Car crash," she says, her lips pursed. "You and Will got into a crash..."

You push your eyes open again. "Will? Is—is 'e okay?"

She purses her lips, her gentle fingers stopping against your forehead. "Yes...not a scratch." She sounds almost bitter.

"A-an-and the baby?" you voice the concern pulsing in the back of your mind. Your body hurts too much to reach for your stomach—to wrap your arms around the life you vowed to protect.

Terri doesn't answer for a moment, and you hold your breath, assuming the worst. The heavy scent of chemicals around the hospital settle around you as your senses heighten, worrying pulsing through you.

"She's in the NICU," Terri gently tells you. "They had to perform an emergency C-section."

You let out a breath. She's alive. Your baby is alive. "Is she okay?"

"She's tiny, and her lungs are weak," Terri informs you, her hand working at your hair once again. "But she's stable..."

You let yourself relax, the pain easing a little. "Eleanor," you mutter, your eyes closing. "Ellie...I want to see her."

You feel Terri's lips against your forehead. "Soon," she promises you. "Soon..."

XXXX

You wake up to the sound of hushed voice.

"...she okay?"

"...having some trouble breathing...respiratory distress syndrome..."

"...keep me updated."

You push your eyes open, your throat feeling dry as you try to speak. "Who 'as that?" you rasp.

"Just a nurse," Terri assures you, sitting back down beside the bed. It's dark now, and you wonder how long you've been sleeping.

"And?" you ask, your voice a little stronger now.

She looks hesitant to answer. "The baby's just having a little trouble breathing, Emma..." she watches your eyes widen, quickly assuring you. "But it's nothing to worry about - she should end up being fine."

She reaches to brush your hair from your face again. "Just try to get some sleep, baby, okay?"

You nod, exhaustion already sweeping back over you. You allow yourself to drift off, ignoring the knot in your stomach.

XXXX

Terri's not there when you wake up.

You open your mouth to call for her, but your throat is too dry.

You fall back into a restless slumber.

XXXX

"...didn't tell her yet, did you?"

"...she's been asleep, Will! It'd be cruel to wake her just to tell her..."

A heavy sigh.

You try to open your eyes.

You can't.

XXXX

Terri's fidgeting. She's been fidgeting all morning. Or afternoon. Or night.

You've lost track.

You don't think she realizes you're awake. You watch her with heavy eyes, stacking the two plastic cups on the table over and over again. Shifting the water pitcher. Fingering her necklace.

You shift in your bed, and her attention snaps toward you. "Emma, baby, you're awake..."

You nod, shifting yourself up in the bed, pushing through the pain in your stomach and your chest. "I want to see her..." you whisper. "I want to see Ellie. Is her breathing getting any better?"

She doesn't look at you.

A feeling of dread settles within you, and you know what she's going to tell you before she can say the words.

"Emma..." he voice sounds distant, like a far off echo. "Emma, she didn't make it."

You only catch phrases of what she tells your next.

...she developed severe respiratory distress syndrome...

...too weak to fight it...

"Emma?"

But you can't look at her.

Can't breathe.

Can't feel anything.

Nothing at all.

XXXX

She paces, silence gripping the room.

You wish you could sleep, even fitful slumber like before. You would welcome any escape, but instead, your red, swollen eyes stare listlessly at the ceiling. Her eyes are as red as yours. She's hurting just as much as you are—perhaps even more. She was going to be your baby. Both of yours.

But a part of you knows that it was truly hers. In a way, you were giving her the one thing she could never have herself.

She wraps her arms around her chest, continuing her shuffling. You turn away, biting your lip until you taste blood, forcing back tears

You think of all you've lost. All she's lost.

All you can never give her.