"He yielded to her, and his heart was glad."

"The Odyssey," Fitzgerald Translation. Book 24, Line 610. Used without permission.
 

BYERS:

October 3, 2001

I'm disturbed that Juliet couldn't get in to see her physician until today, but that's the way it goes when you're on the economy plan HMO. Domestic partners used to be covered, but not anymore. My plan is somewhat better, and as of our wedding day, she'll be on it.

This would be good, particularly since I think there might be a baby Byers on the way.

She hasn't cycled yet, and it's been nearly six weeks. She is quite regular, as a rule. Not that she can pinpoint the day and hour, but her range is narrow-and two weeks is outside for her.

Today's the day. And it's Friday, and I'm off campus at 2:00. Her appointment isn't until 3. I've offered to accompany her, but she says the idea of me being at the gynecologist with her for an exam is a little unsettling.

I'm actually relieved she said this. I'm more than a little unsettled regarding the concept of viewing an actual pelvic exam, particularly on my wife-to-be. As I've said before, I'm not a new millenium kind of guy.

I'm going to begin doing some research for the November issue and meet her at home around 5. She should be done by then, provided she's not subject to the usual wait, which seems to get longer every time you need medical attention.

In today's health care climate, the best rule is: Never get sick or injured. You'll be fine if you just follow that advice.

I'm totally unable to concentrate during the day. I'm supposed to be coming up with another publishable paper, seeing as the university has threatened me with termination if I do publish.

Well, I am going to publish it, but not in any academic journal.

I'm going to publish it in TMB. Not our usual fare in the past, but we've branched out as of lately. Michael ran a wonderful series on breast cancer in women vets of the Vietnam war. I was very nervous about publishing this. I felt it would be poorly received by the readership, and in the end Langly and I only agreed to publication because we were so short on material.

I was completely wrong. And the mail-heartfelt, anguished letters from readers whose mothers, sisters, aunts, cousins, friends, wives, and girlfriends had been affected by it. Angry letters, miserable letters, hopeful letters.

It's become personal. Not just for me, but for all of us. Here is the level where the micro and the macro come together.

I'm going to have to condense the paper-it's currently over 100 pages, which is an unacceptable length in a monthly our size. I'll have to bring it down to no more than 20 pages.

I should be working on something else to help me hold on to tenure, especially considering today I will probably find out whether or not I'm going to be a father.

But there's that, and also the question of, what kind of world will I bring a son or daughter into? What sort of character should I represent to them? What do I want them to think is important?

I decide to concentrate on reducing my paper.

I can't wait until tonight.
 

MARTHA:

I'm completely exhausted.

Gizzie's been painfully short of help this week, and I've worked every night from Saturday through Thursday.

Tonight I'm off. I'm looking forward to this night with a vengeance.

Looking forward to a night of cooking a nice dinner for Mel...of sitting on the sofa and cuddling while we watch an old movie...

Now if only I could get into bed with him.

He hasn't asked me yet.

He was checked out again yesterday. He's been cleared to do some limited driving and some light work. Little do they know, he's been working already...and not as lightly as I would like. But I've been so tired when I come off shift that I've been falling asleep on the sofa when I get home, and I tend not to wake up until afternoon.

As a nurse, I've been a miserable failure.

But Mel doesn't seem to mind. The kiss I always get when he wakes up and finds me on the sofa...no matter how tired I am, I can feel that kiss. It's so warm and tender it could make me cry.

Maybe it's just because it's been so long since I was touched like a woman that this is so meaningful for me, but I think it goes way beyond that.

And the cuddling. We'll sit for hours just snuggling. He's a fantastic snuggler. He seems to crave body comfort as I do.

We've never done more than snuggle, though. I thought the other day he might get to second base...

All these high school metaphors.

And that's what I feel like. A high school girl.

Something I haven't felt in a long time.

It's positively delicious.
 

FROHIKE:

I'm so looking forward to this weekend.

Michael will be in New Jersey at his mother's wedding.

I confess to feeling a bit odd about the whole thing. I'm happy for Jan, of course. And I'm grateful that she's found someone to be happy with...

Especially since I have. I know it sounds ridiculous, but were I happy with someone, and she were not, I think I'd feel guilty.

Jan and I will always have something of an obligation to each other, because we have these kids between us. They're our kids, and whatever our story is, nothing will change the fact that we produced Leslie and Michael. They were conceived in our bed and born into what was our home.

And we both love them. I think at long last she understands that I really do love the kids. And she accepts that.

So it's a strange feeling I have going into this weekend. But it's not without pleasure that I anticipate it.

Martha and I kissed for the first time two and a half weeks ago. And I haven't been the same since.

Thank God.

I've not done more than the sort of necking you do in high school with her. There are several reasons for this.

One is that I was only medically cleared yesterday for some limited driving and light work. I told this to her.

What I didn't reveal was that I'm now permitted to partake of sexual activities...in moderation, of course.

I'm dying to tell her this. But I'm not sure how she'll take it. She'll probably think I'm just a hormone-crazed maniac with no more self control than that testosterone-soaked son of mine. He reeks of it lately.

And so do I.

As happens with high school boys everywhere, kissing and hugging and touching her has a pronounced effect.

So pronounced, in fact, that I almost had to laugh when I was told I could engage in regular sexual activities again.

I've been engaged in regular ones-regular for me, anyway.

I want some activity that's not quite so regular.

Well, actually, I'd like it to be regular activity...we just haven't gotten that far yet.

I'm hoping this weekend will change that. I don't want to push her, though...
 

ALLY:

I can't believe my good luck sometimes.

Miranda has already set up plans for the weekend-Shelby's sister Mary is taking them for the weekend. Mary's had to travel extensively as of late, and Shelby's spent a lot of time with us. Miranda always enjoys time with Mary and Shelby-Mary is young and there are plans to go clubbing, see live music, dance, go to breakfast, shop, all the things Miranda loves to do.

That left us with only Patrick-until the phone call from Jaleel's cousin. Seems that some of the kids want Patrick to spend the night. I wasn't sure how Patrick would deal with this, but he's formed enough of a relationship with these kids that he was willing to try it.

Two for two. Sometimes you really do get lucky.

No matter how much you love your kids, it's really important to get away from them once in a while. And it's extra nice when they're the ones doing the getting away.

I really need this time with Langly. His normal homecoming is around 10 p.m., and that's been very stressful. It was particularly stressful the first week I wasn't drinking. I found that I was a lot more nervous than usual.

So I started doing something I'd neglected for years. I started writing again. Now, during cocktail hour, I sit down at my computer and write. It's great therapy, at least for me. I get a lot of interruptions-hey, I've got kids, what do you expect-but I'm surprised at the satisfaction I've gotten from it. Not that I'd ever show it to anyone, but that's not the point.

How Patrick has coped with Langly's hours has been a combination of new playmates and a switch in scheduling. I simply let him stay up later and then he sleeps later (yeah, till eight if I'm lucky-but it beats 5:30 any day of the week). And Langly's been better about remembering that he's just a little kid and he needs the cuddling and reassurance when he gets home. Some nights I know he just wants to eat and crash, but he's been good about dealing with the little guy and spending time with him.

And we're no longer completely off the sauce. We each had a beer at Juliet's birthday celebration, and we've been having two a day on weekends. It's still difficult, for both of us. It takes a lot of discipline, and I notice that in the beginning, we were both very edgy. It's getting better.

Tonight, we get to drink again. Just that would be enough reason for me to celebrate. But wait, there's more. I have Langly all to myself tonight-I'm hoping he isn't too late in coming home, because I've got some romance planned.

I'm not much of a romantic by nature, but then, I'm not a lot of things by nature-and I have to do them anyway. And I'm usually pleased with the results in the end.

I have a feeling I'll be quite pleased with the results of this.
 

MICHAEL:

No work today. You'd think I'd be jumping up and down going yay, free day, but trust me, it ain't like that.

Nope, our mission, Kelly's and mine, and we did accept it, is to drive to NJ this afternoon. Ever driven from the DC area to NJ on a Friday afternoon? It's up there with hangovers and getting your wisdom teeth pulled.

Least Ally was righteous and let us use her car. I feel bad that I always gotta borrow from her, but she's cool about it. She's like, I'm not planning to go anywhere this weekend...and then she just smiles this really evil grin...

I'm surrounded by a bunch of sex-crazed maniac old people. Weirdness.

And to top it off, the reason Kelly and me are going to NJ is because my mom's getting married this weekend. You don't think I'd have suffered buying a suit for nothing, do you?

Actually, Mom's been reasonably cool to talk to lately. I think it's because she's all like excited about getting married again, but I finally told her about Dad. She was kind of mad I didn't tell her sooner, but I was like, hey, he's got people taking care of him and all, he's gonna be okay.

Well, I hope he is. Seems like he will be, most of the time. Sometimes he's so damn crabby, but I guess that's nothing new.

The weird thing is, she called him a couple times, and when she did, she talked to Martha, too. This is like too strange for my blood. But I think she was cool to Martha, Martha doesn't seem to have any troubles with her.

She'd probably be the first one. Mom's not a day at the beach. But she's been pretty sympathetic to me when I call when I think he's getting too harsh on me. Course, she's always on my back about my cold, the cold that won't die, and she's like when're you and Kelly coming to see me?

Well, Mom, we're coming now.

I haven't told her about Kelly and me. I think I should, I think she'd be happy. But it's like, if I tell her, she'll probably tell Dad, and then Dad's gonna be all bent and then I got two unhappy parents to deal with. And I can really only do one at a time. If that.

I make sure I got all my stuff to wear tomorrow, and something to change into when it's over-you don't seriously think I can drive back with a monkey suit on, do you? Kelly and me have to study and I got to fix my car, so we're coming back real late tomorrow night. Plus my shaving stuff, Mom's gonna get pissed if I look all scruffy in her pics. I got to pick up Kelly then and get Ally's car and then we're on a road trip. I'm not looking forward to this.

On the other hand, we don't have Mulder with us. That's a win right there.
 

I think I got it all. Dad's on the computer when I'm done tossing my backpack into the living room, and Martha's crashed on the sofa. She's had to go to work a lot this week. And Dad gets all grumpy when she does.

Jesus, grow up, Dad!

Dad tells me to go shave. I'm like, I'll do it when I get there, he's like, do it now, for your mother.

Aargh!

Least he got rid of his beard-no, call it more like massive overgrowth of stubble. Didn't do much for him. He kept it a while, then I think Martha tell him he'd probably look better without it.

Dude was in the bathroom faster than someone who'd done too many shooters.

So I give in, I only cut myself once (pretty good, since I'm rushing here), and then I'm ready to bail.

I tell Dad to behave himself.

He glares at me.
 

Kelly's all jazzed about this trip. She likes my mom. And she doesn't get out of town much.

You can tell. Nobody who gets out much would get excited about going to NJ.

She's like, I think we should tell your mom.

I don't know. I mean, it's kind of Mom's weekend. I think she wants to be the celebrity this weekend. And Mom doesn't like anybody stealing her thunder.

Plus we haven't told Dad yet.

Only person who knows besides Martha is Jo. I told her when I visited her after chemo the other day. She looked so wrecked, I felt like telling her something happy. And when I did, she was genuinely happy for us. You could tell. She might've felt like shit, but she was pleased. She also said she was real happy we were gonna wait till we graduated, she thought that was smart.

She thinks I need to tell Dad ASAP. She actually thinks once he gets used to the idea, he'll be our biggest supporter.

I'm not so sure about that.

Jo and Martha, they're like buds now-wonder what they talk about.

"Do you think your mom let Leslie bring Pam?"

Oh man. I'd forgotten about that one. I mean, I was a good little brother and I talked to Mom about it, I mean, all I really said was, look, Pam's like real tight with Les, and you don't got to tell people they're like, you know. So I'm not sure what Mom did with that. Les is supposed to be her maid of honor, so it'd probably be good if she showed up, but Les can be real stubborn, and if Mom didn't let Pam come, I don't know.

Kelly and me manage to get through the DC-Baltimore corridor without much trouble. Only a little slowing. This is real good, a good sign.

Of course, we haven't gotten to the Delaware-NJ bridge yet. That sucker is murder.

Least I'm not wearing my suit right now.
 

BYERS:

I really didn't accomplish much in all this time. I left work, and intended to go to the offices to try and make up for my lack of effort and results this morning, but instead, I ended up sitting at Ally's kitchen table and drinking coffee with her. And sharing my anticipation with her. I can do this; I know she won't say anything until I've signaled her.

Thank God someone around here knows how to keep his or her mouth shut. With outsiders, we share virtually nothing. If it's the inner circle, news couldn't travel faster via fiber optics.

I'm excited, and nervous, and scared, and happy, and I don't even know anything yet.

I suddenly feel very bad talking to her about this-I'd forgotten that it hasn't been long since her miscarriage. Yet when I say this, she's like, no, she wants to hear it, it's even more fun if done vicariously. I then wonder if she feels more relief or regret that it couldn't happen. And I ask her.

"Both," she admits, without hesitation.

I tell her that if Juliet is indeed expecting, that the thought of telling Langly makes me somewhat uncomfortable. I'm not sure how to approach it.

Her recommendation is simple enough. "Tell him, tell him immediately, tell him directly, and let him take it from there. Not as if we can hide from it forever. Especially not after about the fifth month." She grins wickedly at that. Then she turns serious. "I think it still saddens him. A little. I think having the little guy around helps a lot, although I can't say I'm sorry he's going away for the night." Another evil smile. "Got rid of Miranda, too. Out for the weekend." Her smile keeps getting more and more Cheshire cat like.

I don't need to ask what she's got on her mind. Not that I needed to when I walked in. She's dressed in a pair of tight black pants that she poured herself into-she had to have-and a black tank top, sans brassiere. This is not her usual mode of attire. And she's cooking something that is tickling my olfactories to the point of agony, it's that delicious.

I'm starving. And I only had lunch four hours ago. In fact, I've been really hungry all day. I'm ashamed to admit this, but I had to make two trips to the vending machines for chocolate today. Must be stress.

It's finally late enough that Juliet should be arriving home anytime, and Ally informs me that she's going to do her hair up now, so she's retreating. I ask her if it's curls she's doing.

"Oh yeah."

Langly, you bastard, get your ass home in a hurry. You're about to be one lucky man.

I'm hoping to be one, too.
 

Juliet is there when I arrive. She's at the computer, and she looks at me and smiles before we can even embrace.

It's a big smile.

"Hi Daddy." She grins at me...

And then I fall down in a dead faint.
 

MARTHA:

I finally come to on the sofa, and I realize I was so tired when I came in that I passed out in my scrubs.

I don't have my glasses on and I can't see a thing without them, but I can see a fuzzy outline at the computer.

"What time is it?" I say to Mel, my voice still thick and grainy with sleep.

"She's alive! Five o'clock."

"WHAT?!" I've been asleep from 8 this morning until this time?

This is the longest I have slept in nearly ten years. I can't believe it-I had nine hours of uninterrupted, sturdy sleep.
 
I feel wonderful. Groggy, but rested and comfortable. Except for the kink in my back. The Frohike sofa is not in the most wonderful shape-comfortable enough, but it's dented in all the wrong places.

I've certainly not been very useful to him today. That's for certain. Any day now, I'm expecting him to tell me that my services are no longer required...what will become of us then?

This thought doesn't make me feel happy.

I groan as I try to raise myself from the sofa. "Mel, I know I've been lollying around all day, but if I don't get a shower, I'm going to offend every mortal soul from here to Florida."

He looks at me. "Your back hurt?"

"It's-okay," I lie as a twinge of pain races across it.

I'm getting a look now that I can't identify exactly...

"I need to get in the shower myself."

"You go ahead," I tell him.

He studies me. Hard. Those green eyes are locked on me with an intensity that almost scorches.

"How about we take one together? You know, conserve water."

I only hesitate a second. "Sure."
 

It's a bit awkward at first. I've undressed him, but not the other way around. I start by pulling my scrub shirt over my head, but he stops me.

"Let me."

Oh. My. God.

He's torturing me and tantalizing as he moves to my lace camisole-scrubs are not the most feminine of fashion statements, and I need something to remind me that I'm still female.

In this moment, the lace camisole becomes superfluous-and history. It tumbles to the floor like a leaf in a light breeze.

He buries his head in my chest, and I draw him as close as I can without choking him. He's so warm. The blood rushes to my head, and all I can hear is his breathing.

"I didn't tell you yet...but I've been...cleared for this sort of thing," he says, looking slightly sheepish as he turns his face towards mine. As he finishes his sentence, mouths lock, and not just in the soft kissing we've been doing on the sofa. This is full, deep, penetrating. The kiss doesn't stop as he reaches for the hook on my bra. It's my favorite one, stretch lace, and it's front hook. Easy to remove. And while we may have spent the last couple weeks on the sofa like a couple of high schoolers, he doesn't have a high school touch as he removes it. Every nerve in me lights up like a thousand candles.

Every move is slow and seductive.

And now it's my turn.

I start with the buttons on his henley, unlatching the bottom two that are fastened. I hear a small gasp of pleasure at this simple gesture.

I know he's stiff, so I'm trying to be gentle as I remove it. In spite of my urge to just dive in and cut away everything he has on, such as they do in the emergency room.

But one of the nice things about being older is that it's not an emergency.

Particularly when the child is out of town.

I run my finger lightly down his scar. It's healing nicely and all the staples have long been removed, leaving a thin line of red. The hair around it is coming back in, it's slightly bristly, but the unshaven portions are soft and silky.

He undoes the knot in my scrub pants. Drawstrings are wonderful for this sort of activity. Soon I'm down to my panties, stretch lace that matches my bra. He slides them off slowly, agonizingly sweetly.

I move to unbutton his jeans and slide them off, then the boxers.

We're totally naked in front of each other.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathes to me.

I know I'm not, but in that moment, in spite of feeling a bit shy and awkward, I do feel beautiful. Desired.

And extremely aroused.

As is he. I was somewhat concerned about this. He's also got an abdominal scar, and I trace that as well, very tenderly, which causes him to shiver.

"Does that hurt?"

"No...no. I do sort of feel like I've been through a Cuisinart, though."

I laugh, gently. "No...Mel, you're gorgeous."

He laughs now. "Not even."

"Yes, even." To borrow some of the cadence of Michael's speech.

"So Martha? I have a question for you."

I'm expecting him to ask me about what I use for birth control.

That's an easy one. I had a tubal ligation 8 years ago.

But he doesn't ask me that.

"What do you want to know?" I can barely keep my sentence strung together with his hands touching and teasing all over my skin.

"Before or after?"

"Before or after what?"

"We take a shower."

This is the toughest question I've been asked in a long time.

"I think..." I'm having a great deal of trouble with language right now..."we should...keep it clean."

"Okay." He's got his mouth pressed up against my shoulder.

"And then...maybe take it in the bedroom?"

He laughs tenderly. "You're gonna kill me, woman. But what a way to go."

END OF PART 57