Chapter Text
They've barely made it across the state line into Iowa when she begins to think that she's made a terrible mistake.
She looks over at Niles, already dozing in the passenger seat, the wedding ring they'd purchased together glinting in the sun streaming through the windshield and she knows.
Seconds later, she's lurching the car onto the shoulder and scrambling out of it, only just quick enough that she doesn't throw up all over the pristine leather seats.
And she wonders.
What the hell has she done?
—
a few days earlier
"She's a beauty," Niles says quietly, running his fingers across the hood of CC's Mercedes, leaving smears across the cherry-red paint in their wake. She winces, but doesn't chastise. She's trying now, now that they're married, now that she's carrying their child.
She knows what it's like to grow up with parents who don't have a nice word to say to one another, even when it's passed off as a joke that no one ever laughs at.
"And you're sure you don't want to have it shipped?"
"And trust some imbecile with getting her to California in one piece? No, I'm driving. You can come with me, if you want."
She tacks the last part on as an afterthought. She knows he's already got a plane ticket booked, that Fran will probably struggle with the twins without him, that Maxwell will probably complain about being without his butler for the time it takes them to traverse the country. She doesn't expect him to agree, even now they're married.
"Of course I want," he rolls his eyes, swatting at her arm with far more affection than he used to, "Not the honeymoon I was expecting. But then again, I was never going to be able to afford to take you to the Bahamas."
He wasn't. Not that she would have wanted to go to the Bahamas on her honeymoon. She's too pale for two weeks of island sun, and she gets restless after thirty minutes under an umbrella. No, she'd much rather a week in Paris, a ballet at the Opera Garnier, days wandering the Louvre, the D'Orsay, the Centre Pompidou, nights tucked up at some hole in the wall on Montmartre with a martini and air so thick with smoke that she can't see.
Not that there's any reason why Niles would know that.
Not that they really know one another at all.
"We'll leave when the others do," she says quietly, "And pack light."
He salutes.
She sighs.
Maybe this will be good. Some space from the others, some time to get to know one another before they move into the apartment she's sorted out for them in LA.
Maybe, this will be good.
—
July 16th 1999
Ellie,
That's what I've decided you're called. Your father keeps saying we need to wait and see when you're born, but I know. I don't know how, but I do.
I don't know that I'll ever give you this, but I think it'll help me to write to you. To make you feel more real. Because right now, you don't, not…not really. Apparently you're about the size of a plum at the moment. You're so small. So fragile. And it's my job to keep you safe. I still don't know exactly how to do that.
Your dad's doing his best. No drinks. No cigarettes. Trying to get me to work less, rest more. He's a good man, probably better than I deserve. We're leaving for our honeymoon tomorrow — a cross-country drive from New York to Los Angeles. We've never spent that much time together on our own before.
I'm sure it'll be fine.
What's the worst that could happen?
—
July 17th, 1999
"And you're sure you're ok to drive?" Niles asks as CC slams the trunk shut. It's the fifth time he's asked since she arrived to pick him up fifteen minutes ago, and it's grating on her, especially since he's banned too much caffeine along with everything else.
"I'm fine. I don't need you fussing over me this whole trip."
"Isn't that what husbands do?"
CC quirks an eyebrow.
"That's what wives do."
She thinks, anyway. She's never had much interest in being one, until she saw her life flash before her eyes, stuck in an elevator with Nanny Fine of all people.
"Oh, listen to the two of you."
Speak of the devil and she shall appear.
CC rolls her eyes as Fran comes outside, a baby in each arm, her heels dangerously high when she's carrying such tiny little things.
"Although I guess you always argued like a married couple before, so I dunno why I expected it to be any different when you put a ring on it."
CC ignores her, walking around to the other side of the car to check the tire pressure as Niles fusses over the twins. He's obsessed with them. She's glad. At least their baby will have one parent who is. It deserves that at least.
"…an' you'll call me? I wanna know how the trip's goin'."
"I'll call. Maybe send a postcard or two."
She watches them for a moment, as Niles does his best to embrace Fran without disturbing the babies, a bitter coil of jealousy twisting in the bottom of her stomach. They find it so easy to talk to one another, to care. Niles is holding back tears, for god's sake, as if they're moving to Australia, not taking a road trip for ten days.
She's never had that.
Not with anyone.
Least of all with Niles.
"You better get goin', your wife looks like she's getting impatient."
Fran smiles over at CC, a real smile, not like the ones she used to give her before all this. Before the wedding, before the twins. Before they stopped competing for a prize she was always going to win.
"Yes, well, we do want to get going. Beat the worst of the traffic and all that."
Niles nods.
"Well, I'll see you in California then. Provided I make it there in one piece."
He winks at CC, and it softens the blow somewhat. It's all in jest now. She has to remember that.
"You'll be fine," she rolls her eyes, "Now get in the car or we'll never get there."
"Yes, boss."
That, she thinks, feels a little better.
—
July 21st, 1999
"Is that better?"
She's vaguely aware of Niles behind her, his steady hand rubbing circles on her back as she tries her best not to look at her breakfast for the second time this morning.
"Yes. Sorry. I don't know…I don't know what came over me."
He hums, like he's about to say something but thinks better of it. She's glad. She doesn't want his platitudes. Or for him to mention anything like morning sickness. Anything about the baby.
Not when all she can think about is how it feels wrong.
And how she doesn't know exactly what it is.
"No need to apologise," he says, sounding like he means it, "Let's get off the freeway, stop somewhere for a ginger ale."
Suddenly, she's hyper aware of the cars zooming past, the fog of exhaust fumes in the air, the smell of the tarmac hot under the midday sun. Her clothes feel too tight, too much, and she claws at the jacket she'd put on this morning, the one she normally wears for work, the one she thought might make all of this feel even slightly normal. The buttons slip open, and she throws it back onto the drivers seat.
That's better.
"Yes," she nods slowly, her head still spinning a little, "A ginger ale sounds good. And…"
She takes a deep breath.
"I think I need some new clothes. For the rest of the trip. I didn't…this isn't particularly comfortable for driving."
She's pretty sure she hears a hint of glee in Niles' voice when he replies:
"Oh, Cee, I thought you'd never ask."
—
July 17th, 1999
"So…what do you listen to in the car?"
Niles breaks the near silence they've been driving in, looking up from the guidebook he's been flicking through. She'd insisted on it. The silence, not the guidebook. Driving is one of her favourite things to do, when she gets the time, but not in Manhattan. Manhattan drivers, she's sure, were invented by God to punish her personally for something she'd done in a past life. Or perhaps this one; she's not entirely sure.
So. The silence. She needed it to get out of the city, away from the snarl of traffic that always manages to build up on the other side of the George Washington Bridge. But now, they're on the Interstate, and it's relatively smooth sailing. She's let herself relax behind the wheel, asked Niles if he's doing ok, let him open a can of Diet Coke for her. So he must have decided it's ok to talk.
"The radio, mostly. But there are some tapes in the glove compartment, if you wanted to put something on."
He drops the book into his lap and opens the glove compartment.
"Burt Bacharach, Nina Simone," he says under his breath as he runs a finger down the stacked cassettes, "The Indigo Girls? Didn't take you for a folk fan."
He plucks it from the pile, looking at the track list before sliding it into the deck and pressing play. The twangy intro to Closer to Fine fills the car, the volume high enough to drown out CC's thoughts. She's not used to driving with company.
"It wasn't easy to avoid at women's college."
"I don't think I knew that," Niles says quietly, "Where did you go?"
"Bryn Mawr. Pennsylvania."
"I've always wondered what the Phillies connection was."
CC frowns. She's not sure she's ever mentioned that to him before. Or anyone really. Sure, she plays softball with Maxwell, but she doesn't really talk about her deep and abiding love of watching baseball. It's not like she's had anyone to go with since college.
Since her roommate introduced her to long weekends sitting in the sunshine with too much overpriced beer, hot dogs on her lap, the camaraderie of enjoying something together. She doesn't let herself think about it often. How much she'd loved those games. How happy she'd been when the Phillies won, her arms thrown around her roommate in celebration.
She's not been to a game since she moved back to New York. It was never the same.
"You wear a Phillies cap sometimes when you play softball with Mr Sheffield. I never got a chance to ask before now."
He hadn't. It's not like she'd given him one. She's not really given anyone the chance to get to know her since she came back to New York.
"You've got the chance now."
"What?"
"We're going to be in the car for god knows how long. 20 Questions seems like…like a good enough way to pass the time."
—
July 17th, 1999
Ellie,
We made it to our first stop. It leaves a lot to be desired, but there's only so much you can expect from Ohio. I made your father clean the bathroom before I'd use it, but the bed is reasonably comfortable and the walls seem thick enough.
We talked a lot about you today. About what we want for you as you grow up. Your dad wanted to be a barrister, which is just a fancy British word for an attorney. My father wanted me to go to law school. He ended up being a butler, and I never wanted to be a lawyer. We both agreed that all we wanted was for you to be happy.
It's still strange to be agreeing with him on anything. Not everything, mind you. He's put on a very dull history documentary while I write you, but I'm too tired to fight. And he's enjoying it. Turns out he's a huge nerd for history. We're learning so much about each other. It's nice.
It feels nice.
—
July 18th, 1999
"Can I get you anything to drink this morning?"
CC wonders briefly what the overly peppy waitress would say if she asked for a martini, as dry as possible. Niles raises his eyebrow, as if he can read her mind, and answers for her:
"I'll have a coffee. She'll have decaf."
It annoys her less than she expected it to. She's spent years having men talk over her, answer for her, make her decisions like she's not capable. But when he does it, now at least, it doesn't feel like he's patronising her. He knows she knows what's best for the baby — he's just watching out for both of them.
"No tea?"
Niles snorts.
"The coffee's going to be bad enough," he looks around the diner, "I'd never trust an American to make me tea."
"I guess that gets me out of being the first one up then."
They've not talked about this, not really. They knew they were moving, then they got married and found out about the baby, and somewhere along the way, it was just understood that he would move in with her. He's her husband, after all. But she's not sure how she feels about it. She hasn't shared her home with anything larger than Chester since she was in college, and that's the way she likes it. She likes her space, the peace and quiet. Sure, people have come and gone, but none of them have ever felt worth making the change to her lifestyle.
Loneliness suits her.
It's what she's used to.
She fiddles with her wedding ring, her eyes scanning the menu as if she doesn't know what she's going to order. It might as well look like a considered decision.
"And I was so looking forward to a lie-in."
They'd both been up at the crack of dawn this morning, a foot apart on the queen bed, staring at the ceiling. Neither of them are cuddlers when they're sober, thank god. She's never enjoyed that. He's far too British to ask, even if he liked it. The quiet had been almost nice. A silence that neither of them felt the need to fill, until her stomach had turned and she'd had to rush to the bathroom. The doctor had said it might get better now that she's approaching the end of her first trimester.
She knew she would never get as lucky as that.
The waitress comes back with two pots of coffee and pours them both a cup before asking, far too cheerfully, if they've decided what they want to eat.
"I'll get a cheese omelette and rye toast," CC says, "And can I just get one chocolate chip pancake? Please."
"Of course. And for you?"
She turns and smiles at Niles.
"Western omelette and home fries, please. And a bowl of fruit."
When she's gone, he raises an eyebrow at CC.
"Chocolate chip pancakes? What are you? Five?"
She rests one hand on her stomach, tapping her fingers anxiously.
"She's got a sweet tooth. I've been craving them for weeks."
"I would have made them at home," he shrugs, "Well, ordered them."
She sips her too-hot coffee and winces. There's not even any caffeine in it to redeem it from being burnt and bitter, but she still takes another mouthful like there might be a placebo effect.
"Can you imagine Maxwell's face if I'd started eating chocolate chip pancakes?"
"Not really. Then again, I haven't really cared about what he thinks since about…I don't know, 1975. Not that he had many thoughts worth caring about before then," he sips his own coffee, then immediately pours as much sugar as he can fit into the cup, "I mean, he passed on Cats for god's sake. Sure, we all thought it was insane, but that's what people seem to like."
"To be fair to Maxwell, I thought Cats would never sell."
And he's held it over her head since, anytime she's dared to express an opinion that he doesn't like. As if he's not produced his share of bombs.
"He made that decision before he spoke to you about it, you know?"
"What?"
Niles stirs his coffee slowly, cool blue eyes soft as he looks at her across the faintly sticky table.
"I heard him, on the phone, talking to…I don't remember. He laughed about it. Said it was an idiotic show and that he'd rather die than have his name on the playbill," Niles shrugs, "You came in the next day, told him you thought it was a long shot and that you didn't think it was the right fit."
There's a sigh from the other side of the table.
"I'm sorry. He's blamed it on you for decades, and I've just…let him. Even when things weren't good between us, you never deserved that."
There have been a few apologies recently, from both of them. None of them have been easy for her. 'Sorry' has never been a word that came naturally to her, and accepting that maybe she's made her own mistakes on the path that led them here was never going to be without its hiccups. But they both knew that there were some sins they needed to absolve themselves of before they could even begin to think about making this marriage work.
This one feels different.
It's one she never knew she needed.
She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, mourning the head rush she'd normally get, and she smiles.
"Thank you. I…you don't know how much I needed to hear that."
She wasn't the problem.
She was never the problem.
—
July 18th, 1999
"So I was thinking…"
"Dangerous."
She glances over at Niles, her lips curling up in an attempt to show that she doesn't mean it. Not really. Old habits die hard though; he knows that.
He just rolls his eyes.
"It's not necessarily en route, but Chicago's not too far out of our way," his finger traces the roads on the mapbook opened in his lap, "And between here and the Rockies, I fear the closest we'll get to any kind of culture is a barn dance."
CC shudders. The countryside has never held any particular appeal to her. When she'd decided on driving to LA, she'd almost forgotten about the fact that she wouldn't be able to fly over it the way she usually does.
"It might be nice to spend a couple of days there. I've not been in ages."
Niles nods, closing the map.
"I've never been."
"Never?"
He shrugs.
"Mr Sheffield's only ever been on business. I don't travel on business. And when I get time off, I want to be on a beach, doing as little as possible for as long as possible."
That makes sense. Niles has had significantly less freedom than she's had her whole life, his entire existence tied to Maxwell's whims. Well. That part isn't so different — she can't really remember who she is without Maxwell now, without his voice in her ear, his almost awkward presence at her side. She knows part of that is her own fault. She'd thrown herself at him from the first opportunity because her parents had started wondering when she was going to bring someone home. Her deb season had been altogether disappointing, and then she'd moved to Pennsylvania and barely met a man for four years. Maxwell was one of the first men she'd met upon her return, and he was perfect. Her mother loved him, her father respected him, her sister coveted him. She thought she'd hit the jackpot.
And then she met Sarah.
And Sarah had met Maxwell.
And the rest is history. Although, she will admit, she's not sure that she could have imagined that this is where she'd be twenty-something years later when she first set eyes on Sarah at a party one of her college acquaintances had thrown. She's pretty sure Sarah's laughing down at her with a glass of wine in her hand as well, to be honest.
She casts the thought out of her head. It's best not to think about Sarah. Not now.
"Well, I'm sorry we couldn't make it to the Bahamas for our honeymoon."
Niles scoffs.
"This is better. I would have spent the whole time on the beach, begging you to put your phone away and let Mr Sheffield make his own mistakes for a week," he sighs, "Fran said last night that he's planning to be back in the office by Monday. I think she's a bit worried about what she's going to do on her own."
CC doesn't say anything. She's not sure whether it's because she doesn't care or because she doesn't have anything to say; it's only confusing because she's not sure she's ever not had anything to say about Nanny Fine before.
"I could have told her he'd be back at work as soon as he could be. Do you remember when Brighton was born?"
She does. It had been a complete surprise, two weeks earlier than planned, and they'd been in the middle of clinching their biggest deal to date. Despite her insistence that she would be fine on her own, Maxwell had conducted meeting after meeting from the payphone in the waiting room at Mount Sinai. Once Brighton had been born and he'd ascertained that everything was alright, he'd returned back to the house almost immediately. Sarah had said she'd understood. CC had never known how much to believe her.
She's not sure Maxwell will be so lucky with his new wife's understanding.
"I couldn't believe Sarah had another one with him after that. I would have been…" she sighs, "I was. I was furious with him."
"Sarah was always forgiving. Of all of us."
Sometimes, she forgets that Niles had been Sarah's friend as well. That for a while, before the kids, the four of them had had fun. She's not sure she knew what fun was before she'd met Sarah. Or rather, she's not sure she'd really let herself have it. But Sarah loved fun and constantly bemoaned that her closest friends were a couple of Brits and a woman who seemed to have an allergy to smiling sometimes.
CC never believed her on that one.
She's not sure anyone's ever made her smile the way Sarah did.
"She was. She was…a good friend."
CC's not had a friend like Sarah since she died.
She's not sure she ever will.
—
July 18th, 1999
Dear Ellie,
We're in Chicago now, and, the traffic in the city notwithstanding, I have never been so happy to be here. The next few days after this are going to be endless fields of…I don't even want to think about it.
The last time I was here, I was here for work, and I don't think I saw much more than the inside of the theater, a couple of restaurants, and my hotel room. Your father's never been. So we're planning a whistle-stop tour of the sites over the weekend — there's a couple of museums I want to see, your father is insistent on dragging me to Navy Pier, and the Cubs are playing. Sure, it's not the Phillies, but I'll never turn down a baseball game. I'm relatively sure I'll spend the entire time explaining the rules to your dad — he'll understand by the time you're old enough to pitch, I promise.
I hope when you're bigger, we get the chance to bring you here. To lots of places, really. I travelled a bit when I was growing up, but only when my father had to go places for work. Otherwise we summered in the Hamptons, because that's what you were supposed to do. I hated it. I want you to be able to experience so much more than I got to. I can't promise I'll work less, because I'm trying not to make any more promises I know I can't keep. But I will promise that I'll do my best to help you see the world so differently from the way I grew up seeing it, and part of that is not expecting you to tag along on my work trips.
I want so much more for you.
I hope we can give you that.
—
July 18th, 1999
"This might have been the best idea you've ever had," CC says as they walk down the hall towards their room after dinner, "Significantly better than whatever that roadside motel you had me sleeping in last night."
A couple of phone calls from a truck stop phonebooth near Indianapolis had managed to score them a room at the Four Seasons. They'd checked in, and she'd embarrassed herself when the front desk agent had asked her for her travelling companion's full name. She's sure he must have one. No one's just called Niles, that would be idiotic.
He'd saved her by leaning over her shoulder and telling the agent to check him in as Niles Babcock. Which had somehow led to the whole story coming out: the sudden wedding, the honeymoon road-trip, all of it. The hotel staff all thought it was impossibly romantic and had upgraded them to a suite for the weekend. She's not exactly complaining about that. She's already had a bath in a bathtub long enough for her to fully recline in, and they can see the lake out of their window. It's beautiful.
"Well, who am I to stop my wife from paying for a weekend at a five-star hotel?"
He grins with it but she's not sure that makes it any less jarring. Not the paying for it — the wife bit. She's not sure that until the exchange at the hotel desk this afternoon, she's ever referred to him as her husband. It still sounds so strange, so alien. So uncomfortable on her tongue.
"It's not too late to make you sleep in the car, you know."
She pulls the key from her purse and unlocks the door. When she switches the light on, she gasps.
Housekeeping have obviously also been informed that they're on their honeymoon as well, because as well as the mints on their pillows, there are rose petals strewn across the bed and the floor. They've left a bottle of champagne sitting in a wine cooler on the table with a silver cloche next to it.
"Well…" Niles says, looking past her, "That's kind of them."
"Hmm."
She tosses her purse on the couch as she walks through, kicking her heels off as she goes. Niles tuts behind her, so she bends down and sets them straight, under a chair so he doesn't trip over them. If anything comes out of living with him, it'll at least make her a bit tidier. She's not a slob, but she's not as neat as she could be. Her apartment has always had an air of organised chaos: books spilling from shelves, yesterday's clothes tossed over the back of a chair because she was too tired to deal with putting them away. But she's seen how Niles lives, in his ascetic little room at the top of the house, his suits organised by colour, no things to speak of. She supposes they'll get used to one another eventually.
The cloche is covering a plate of tiny macarons. She takes one and pops it in her mouth, humming as the passion fruit meringue melts on her tongue. Maybe it's not just Ellie who's got the sweet tooth. Niles sidles up beside her and pulls the champagne from the bucket, whistling when he sees the label.
"Dom Perignon," he says, ignoring the water dripping onto his pants, "They're spoiling us."
"You should have a glass."
She knows she's eyeing the bottle with a level of desperation she shouldn't. She's not gone this long without a drink since she was nineteen, when her roommate had poured her a vodka soda that tasted like what she imagined battery acid must. She'd had four more and collapsed into bed, head spinning and a smile on her face. She liked who she was when she was drinking — gone was mousy little Chastity Claire. She could be someone else with a drink in her hand.
She's not really sure who she is anymore.
"I'm sure a small glass won't hurt."
"That's…that's not a good idea. But don't let me stop you."
Niles shakes his head and wipes the bottle dry with the napkin folded on the table. Then he walks over to where his shabby leather duffel bag is lying open on the luggage stand and nestles it in amongst the clothes that he hasn't bothered to unpack yet.
"We'll save it. For when they're born."
It's kind of him, the understanding of something she's not sure he fully comprehends. Saying that, he's made her enough martinis in the last two decades that he must understand a little bit. The kindness makes her itch, makes her want to slip out of her uncomfortable skin and run as fast as she can in another direction.
He walks over to her and takes her hand in his, squeezing it gently.
"We should get ready for bed. It's been a long day."
They barely look at one another as they change, he into his ironed and starched cotton pyjamas, she into the satin negligee she'd thrown in at the last minute. It felt right for their honeymoon, however strange she feels in it, the silky fabric catching on every part of her body that she hates.
Niles glances over as he does the buttons on his shirt up, his eyes soft.
"You're a very beautiful woman, you know that?"
And she knows he means it, she does. But it doesn't mean that it doesn't sound alien coming from his mouth after countless years of insults. So she just nods curtly, pulling on her matching robe and practically marching towards the bathroom to wash up. If she's slow, she's just being methodical with her skincare routine and brushing her teeth, flossing each gap meticulously until her gums are sore. And then there's nothing left to do but go out there and face their huge, palatial room, the rose petals, the mood lighting, the California king bed.
She knows she shouldn't feel like this on her honeymoon. And she knows it doesn't mean she loves him any less. It's just all so much. Too much.
Niles takes nowhere near as long to get ready for bed, and all too soon, he's pulling the sheets back and crawling into the bed next to her. And then it's quiet. Almost too quiet.
He leans in slowly, like he's giving her time to back away if she needs to, like she's some kind of rabid animal who'll bare her fangs if he moves too quickly. She doesn't back off, but she doesn't move, frozen in place, her heart thumping as his lips press gently to hers, his chin slightly scratchy against her freshly moisturised skin. It doesn't really feel like her that he's kissing. Sure, she's there, and she can feel it — feel his dry lips on hers, the slick press of his tongue as he deepens it, his hand coming to rest on her hip. But it almost feels like she's floating on the ceiling, watching it happen to her, feeling it happen to her. Her head's not in it.
"Are you ok? Is…is this ok?"
It should be. She knows it has to be. They're married, and this is what married people do, for the first little while at least, before they start doing it with other people.
"I…I don't know," she sighs, "I've…I've never…"
She gulps. This is embarrassing.
"I've never done this sober."
It's not like she has to be blind drunk, although she's pretty sure she was the night they conceived Ellie. But to let things get this far with a man, she's always needed to be a bit buzzed, which hasn't exactly been a problem in the last two decades. She's a better person when she's drunk, she knows that. A person men want sometimes, a person who'll give them what they want.
"Never?"
"I'm…I'm no fun when I'm sober, apparently. The times I tried…they said I felt too stiff. Too cold."
Niles runs his hand down her thigh and squeezes, his hand warm and reassuring.
"I think you're plenty warm enough," he murmurs quietly, "and I'm having the most fun I've had in twenty years with you."
She smiles because he's not exactly wrong. Twenty Questions yesterday had ended up being more like Forty Questions as they sailed down the highway, picking up burgers she'd never normally be seen dead eating in New York at some shack just off the highway, eating them under a threadbare umbrella at a plastic table by the side of the road because she didn't trust either of them to not ruin the upholstery.
And then today, they'd spent a good hour in the car listening to talk radio and laughing at the presenters before Niles insisted on playing I Spy, despite the fact that the view on the I-65 left much to be desired. They'd bickered about dinner as they wandered the city before CC had surprised him by dragging him into a dive bar for a pizza. They both agreed, in hushed tones, that it wasn't a patch on New York pizza, but she'd insisted that it was an important cultural experience as she sipped on root beer and they listened to the jukebox like they were college students or something.
It's not what she expected.
Then again, she can't remember the last time she did anything for fun.
"But we don't…we don't have to do anything. It's been a long day. And honestly, that pizza's sitting heavy."
She reaches for his hand, squeezing it gratefully.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine, Cee. I promise."
Men have said that to her before, sighing, resigned to the fact that they know that they're not going to get what they think they need.
But Niles isn't like that.
For the first time, she believes it.
—
July 19th, 1999
"Ugh, do we have to?"
Niles doesn't even deign to answer her question, tugging her towards the pier. It's loud and crowded, because why wouldn't it be on a warm Saturday afternoon in July? The whole thing just makes CC anxious as she tries her best to keep up with him.
"Come on, it'll be fun," he says, pulling them into the line for tickets. Tickets for what, she's not entirely sure, "Plus, we can't spend the whole weekend indoors, the weather's too good."
The weather's too hot is what it is. She'd thought it was bad enough back in New York, but this Midwestern climate isn't doing her any particular favours, especially now her clothes are starting to feel a little tight, her trousers pinching at the waist, her shirts struggling to stay buttoned. So she'd been happy in the air-conditioned art gallery they'd traipsed around this morning before going for lunch. But she supposes marriage is about compromise, and if this is the compromise she has to make today, then so be it.
Still. She's not above complaining about it. She's pretty sure marriage is about that too.
"We'll be outdoors all afternoon tomorrow."
"We will be sitting at Wrigley Field eating overpriced hot dogs. It doesn't count."
Sighing, she digs around in her pocket for a package of cigarettes she hasn't had in there for weeks. Not that she thinks she'd be allowed to smoke here anyway. People get far too precious about their children's lungs nowadays. She wonders if she'll be like that when the baby's born. When Ellie's here. Not that anyone around them smokes that much, if she discounts Maxwell's obnoxious cigars, which she does.
So maybe she will be.
It sounds so unlike her. But things change. People change.
"Chastity, is that you?"
Apparently, they don't change enough.
She looks up to find a woman standing there grinning, a dozing toddler balanced on one hip. Her red hair falls in loose waves around her shoulders, and she has a tattoo of a snake wrapped around one forearm, the ink bleeding a little now, nowhere near as crisp as it was when CC had held her hand in some crappy tattoo shop in Philly twenty years ago.
"Deb. Hi."
"How are you? It's been…"
Years. It's been years since CC left Bryn Mawr and changed her name and didn't really look back.
"A long time."
Too long, perhaps.
"But I'm good, I'm…well, we're on our honeymoon actually."
She pushes Niles forward slightly, hoping he'll take over the conversation from here.
"Oh wow, congratulations!" Deb somehow grins even more effusively, "Hi, I'm Deb, Chastity and I were roommates at Bryn Mawr."
CC does not like the glint in Niles' eye as he reaches out to shake Deb's hand.
"I'm Niles, pleasure to meet you. So…you knew CC at college?"
"CC…" Deb says it slowly, swirling the two syllables around her mouth like they're a mouthful of wine, "I like it. Chas never really suited you."
It hadn't. CC had never liked it much, but it was only Deb who'd ever used it, because she said she was too lazy for anything more than one syllable. And she liked Deb. Deb was her best friend, sometimes her only friend, at college. She'd never really had a chance once Deb showed up.
Deb turns back to Niles.
"Knew her? I lived with her, all four years. She couldn't get rid of me. The stories I could tell you…" she grins, "But I should let you two get going. I don't want to interrupt your honeymoon. But I am gonna…"
She rustles through her purse one-handed, which CC finds impressive. She struggles enough finding things in her bag with both hands free. Eventually, she pulls out a slightly bent business card.
"Call me when you get back to wherever you're calling home nowadays. It would be good to catch up."
"Yes. Well," CC tries her best to smile as she takes the card, "It was good to see you."
"It was so good to see you too, Chas."
Deb reaches for her hand and squeezes it and suddenly, she's eighteen years old again, staring up at the ceiling as they share a twin bed and discuss what they're going to be when they're done with college. When they're finally old enough to tell their parents where to go.
When they don't need anyone anymore.
CC watches as Deb walks off towards another woman, tall and blonde, who's standing with a boy of maybe seven, his red hair marking exactly who he's related to. Deb passes the sleeping girl off to the blonde, who settles her in a stroller before taking Deb's hand, leaning in and pressing a kiss to her cheek.
CC can't drag her eyes away.
It's quiet for a moment after Deb walks off, before Niles breaks the silence. Obviously. CC would have been more than happy to just sit in it. Stew in it.
"She seems nice."
"She was. She is, I'm sure. I haven't seen her since I graduated. I didn't keep in touch with anyone from college."
He nods as the line advances.
"It's odd, isn't it? All those people you go through this huge, formative experience with and then…I guess sometimes you come out at the end different from who they thought you were."
"Maybe."
Maybe.
Or maybe, you can't be the person they thought you were. Or the person they thought you could be. Because your father wants you to go to law school and your mother wants you to marry rich and it turns out that however old you are, you're never quite old enough to tell your parents to fuck off, not with enough compunction that it actually sticks. So you just do what you think you want and end up a disappointment anyway.
To everyone.
For the first time since they drove away from New York, the silence between them is thick and uncomfortable as Niles buys them tickets for the Ferris wheel and they wander through the crowds to get there. She knows she ought to say something, but she's not sure what there is to say without talking about a person that she's not sure exists anymore.
But Niles is good at this. Better than she is.
"My grandmother used to take me to the fair when I was small. She'd come once a year, take me and my sister out for the day. My parents worked all the time, so it was special," he pauses, "Of course, it helped that we didn't take Mr Sheffield."
"Is this why you wanted to come here?"
Niles shrugs.
"It's nice, being able to share…something like this with you. I know eventually we'll go back to England, but I figured…while we're here."
It's easier after that, even if the Ferris wheel cars wobble a little too much for her liking. The view over the lake is spectacular, just blue for as far as her eye can see. She regrets not bringing anything to swim in. A dip in that might be just what she needs to stretch out, shake off the discomfort she's been feeling. Niles snaps a few more pictures, because he says he knows Fran will want to see the view too, and forces her to pose for one, her eyes narrowed, her lips pursed.
He doesn't bother to tell her to smile.
He does tell her it's perfect.
It sounds like the truth.
—
July 19th, 1999
Ellie,
I saw someone I went to college with today. I haven't seen her in…god, almost twenty years. Long enough that I was surprised she recognised me. She looks almost exactly how I remember her.
I hope when you're older, you have a friend like Deb. Someone who makes you the most you you can imagine being. She was everything to me. She made me laugh, she made me cry, she dragged me out of the library just to get ice cream in the middle of a snowstorm, she'd cook me soup when I was sick.
She was always so much. Too much maybe. She made me into a person I couldn't be when I went back to New York. Not if I wanted my parents' support.
I hope we never do that to you. I hope you never feel like you have to extinguish your spark because someone else doesn't like it. Least of all your parents.
She gave me her number. I haven't decided if I'm going to call.
I guess we'll find out.
—
July 20th, 1999
"Tell me," Niles says, leaning back in the warm plastic seat, his top button undone, a brand new Cubs ball cap propped on his head, "How does a girl from the Upper West Side get into baseball?"
"Deb, actually. She never missed a game the whole time we were at college. She seemed to have a good time. I guess I wanted to see what all the fuss was about."
Niles hums softly, and she can almost hear the questions in his head, the ones she knows he's been dying to ask since they saw Deb on the pier yesterday. But she'd steered the subject away enough each time he almost started that he'd given up.
Thank god.
But now they have a whole afternoon ahead of them, and she knows he'll find the time, in and amongst asking inane questions about the game, to probe her about Deb.
"Why didn't you keep in touch? It sounded like you were close."
Or he'll just dive straight in. She shouldn't have expected less.
"The person I was at college…that wasn't the person I had to be in New York. Deb wanted to keep in touch with Chas," it sounds as alien as it did yesterday, that name she hasn't heard since she drove away from their tiny apartment the day after graduation and didn't look back, "I don't think she'd like CC much."
"More fool her. CC's great," Niles smiles, reaching over and taking her hand, "What was Chas like?"
"She was…young. Really young. She…"
CC doesn't really know any more.
And she thinks that's sad.
"She wanted things. Things she couldn't have. She wanted to write plays, not go to law school. She wanted to spend her weekends watching baseball with Deb, not going to Republican fundraisers with her parents. She wanted…she wanted things."
"And CC didn't?" he pauses, "Doesn't?"
"CC…" she shakes her head. She is not talking about herself in the third person like a child, "I couldn't. There was…too much pressure on me. My brother was off doing god knows what at Yale. My sister…my parents never expected her to amount to much. I knew what I had to do."
And even then, she didn't do that. She dropped out of law school after one semester, met Max a few weeks later and threw herself into the work. Deb probably would have liked that, actually, hearing about the ins and outs of Broadway, the near continual drama of it all, but by then, it felt too late to call her. To write her the way CC knew she was expecting. She hadn't left an address anyone could reach her at, not really on purpose.
Not really by accident either.
There's a cheer as the players come filing onto the field, lining up for the anthem. She stands automatically as the first words ring out. Niles pointedly does not, which she guesses she can't really blame him for. He does mouth along. It's oddly sweet. She's not sure she could do it to God Save The Queen.
They get through the first innings before Niles decides to continue his interrogation, probably because the game might be the least interesting game of baseball CC's ever watched. And she's been doing this for a long time. She's been doing her best to explain the intricacies of it all to Niles, but in hindsight, the intricacies might have been a little too much for what he has admitted is his first ever professional ball game. He's watched them play softball in the park and been to some of Brighton's T-ball games when he was younger, but this is a whole different situation.
One, as it turns out, he's not overly interested in.
"So, what did you and Deb get up to at college? Other than following the Phillies and, one imagines, drinking a not insignificant number of terrible martinis."
She snorts.
"I didn't start drinking martinis until I met Maxwell. College was mostly vodka with whatever we had lying around to mix it with. Or awful beer when we got dragged to frat parties in the city."
"You? At a frat party? You're kidding me."
"It wouldn't have been my first choice. But some of the girls…not everyone enjoyed the atmosphere of a women's college as much as I did."
Her mother hadn't been thrilled when she applied. She hadn't really understood the point of going to college if there wasn't even the chance of meeting a man there, as if they were still living in the 1950s. But CC had been convincing enough, or her mother hadn't actually cared that much, and so she'd got her way and moved to Pennsylvania.
It wasn't even about it being a women's college. She liked that it was small, quiet almost, but still close enough to the city when she wanted to go in. She liked that it wasn't New York, where her father wanted her to stay, where she knew too many people. Where too many people knew her. And she liked that Katharine Hepburn had gone there, having watched every single one of her movies that she could get her hands on until the tapes wore out.
She didn't tell anyone that.
Not even Deb.
But when she got there, she found that it was so much easier. High school had been an absolute nightmare of gender politics and constant bickering about who had a crush on whom, who was allowed to date whom. Not that that changed that much at college, although she found that the politics were somehow easier and harder to negotiate when everyone seemed to end up friends after they dated and broke up. Keeping up was the real pain in the ass, and she lost count of the number of times she put her foot in it by the time she went home for Thanksgiving that first year.
"That…that makes sense somehow."
"What do you mean?"
"You've never had…" Niles pauses to think for a second, and CC finds herself dreading the next words out of his mouth, "that much patience for men. Well, for anyone really, but men in particular."
She's never really met a man worthy of her patience, if she's honest. Except perhaps Niles, and the jury may still be out on that one, at least until they've survived a week together on their own. The rest have all been thoroughly disappointing, which is what she tells her mother and sister every year at Christmas when they pull that face, the one she knows means that they're disappointed she came alone again. They don't listen. Or rather they do, and they tell her that she'll be dead before she meets a man who lives up to her expectations.
Excuse her for having standards.
She can't imagine Niles will live up to theirs.
"You test my patience constantly, and yet here we are."
Niles chuckles, reaching for her hand and squeezing it.
"I'm glad. It's nice, being here with you. I mean, I'm never coming to a game again, this is worse than cricket, but it's nice to do it just the once."
CC raises her eyebrow and rubs her stomach carefully.
"If you think she's not going to baseball games from the minute she's old enough, you've got another thing coming," she twitches her nose, "The Dodgers aren't the worst team for her to grow up watching. Better than the Mets."
"Whatever you say, dear."
She rolls her eyes and turns her attention back to the diamond. The umpire is involved in a heated discussion with the pitcher over something that she clearly missed when she was busy being interrogated by Niles. She looks up at the big screen, hoping for a replay, but instead, the music in the stadium starts booming through the speakers, and she's met with her own face on the screen, Niles smiling next to her.
She freezes for a second, just staring at it.
Until the guy behind her reaches over and clasps her shoulder with what she can only assume is a clammy hand.
"Well, you gonna kiss him or what?"
—
July 21st, 1999
"This…this isn't going to work, is it?"
It's slightly less clichéd than 'it's not you, it's me' but Niles' words still send a spike of something through CC's heart. Fear, maybe. Disappointment. This might be a new record for the Babcocks. They haven't even finished their honeymoon.
"Of course it's going to work. I don't know what you mean."
The roadside cafe they've found is quiet enough that CC can hear the bubbles fizzing in her glass of ginger ale. She sips it slowly through the straw.
"Why did you say yes? When I asked you to marry me?"
It's not the question she expected. Maybe it should have been. They've avoided the topic so far.
And because she wasn't expecting it, she finds she doesn't have an answer. Not one that makes sense, anyway. She'd just been in that elevator, listening to Nanny Fine, to Fran, prattling on about something, and then she'd gone into labour, and they'd been so close. So close that she could smell the cheap perfume she still wears, even though she can afford something nicer now, close enough that she could tell that she was scared. And normally, she'd relish that, because normally Fran's scared of her.
But that night, in that elevator, she didn't.
She wanted to fix it. She wanted to make Fran feel better. Because she looked good in her dress and because she smelt like vanilla sugar and that fake, powdery rose that should have made her nose twitch and her head ache, because, because, because.
Because of a thousand things she didn't want to think about Fran.
So when Niles had yelled through the elevator doors, she'd said yes, even though she hadn't really meant to.
She thought she'd have more time to consider it when they weren't possibly going to plunge to their deaths. Or when Fran wasn't about to give birth to twins.
"Because I love you."
She does, she knows that. She loves Niles in the way he challenges her, she loves him because she can't imagine her life without him, she loves him because, try as she might, she can't imagine that there's another person in the world who is going to understand her as well as he does. And she's damn sure there's not another person in the world who would try.
He's her person. Her soulmate, if she were a person who had romantic ideals. Which she does not.
"But you're not in love with me."
His face is far too placid for a man saying something like that to his wife. Not placid like he's trying to keep his emotions in check. Just…calm. Like maybe he's less surprised about this conversation than she is.
"I've never been in love before," she murmurs, her eyes darting away, embarrassed, "So I don't know. Maybe I am."
She's pretty sure she's lying through her teeth. Because she loves him, but he doesn't give her butterflies. She can't imagine her life without him, but she's having a hard time imagining her life with him, the way Maxwell and Fran have a life, the way Deb and her partner clearly have theirs.
She thinks that's what being in love would mean.
"It's ok if you're not," he sighs, spooning a bite of pie into his mouth and chewing it slowly, "We…I really cocked this one up."
"In what way is this your fault?"
"I've known…for a long time, I've known I wasn't interested in women in the way I should be. Trust me, it's hard to ignore at public school," he licks his lips, nervously, "It never went very far. I wasn't handsome or good at sports, and I lived in Mr Sheffield's shadow the entire time."
It's not like she hadn't always wondered. She works in the theater, she knows more gay men than she does straight ones, and Niles had always had a quality about him. A little camp, a little soft, a little…unknown. She'd put it down to him being British, especially once he set his sights on her.
"And then we went to university, and I knew it was going on, but I just…it wasn't my place, not really. And then…we came here. By the time I'd settled, it was…it was the 80s. And it seemed…impossible."
She remembers. People talked about it, but no one knew what was going on, not really. And she kept her head down, kept quiet, because it was nothing to do with her. She was a woman and she was straight and those weren't her problems. Couldn't be her problems.
"If you…if you're not interested, why did you ask?"
He shrugs, as if her guess is as good as his.
"I saw what Fran and Mr Sheffield had, and I was jealous, I suppose. And I love you, I do. I don't think I've ever loved anyone like this."
She's not sure she has either.
"But I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry."
It's supposed to hurt when someone says that to you, she's sure. But all she feels is her chest loosening, that nauseous feeling in her stomach dissipating enough that she can ignore it for the first time in weeks.
She wants to tell him that he doesn't need to apologise, but she doesn't know how. So she slurps up a bit more ginger ale and steals a bit of his pie. It's cherry, tart and sweet at the same time, the fruit bursting on her tongue like some kind of celebration.
"And then you said yes, and then we were married, what, three hours later. And then with Ellie…"
CC smiles.
"You've never called her that before."
"I've still not made my mind up. There are plenty of good names in my family tree."
"Like Niles? Niles isn't even a name. It's a typo."
He glares at her, but she can tell he's trying not to laugh. And then she smiles, properly, her teeth showing, her eyes crinkling, and he can't help himself. He bursts out laughing with a bark that scares the lone server behind the counter, her empty coffee cup smashing to the ground.
CC barely notices.
She thinks she might be too happy.