These Questions
Chapter 10 - the Fourth Day
It was the fifth day that he had been with Abby, in her home. Both of them had neglected the fact that Carter was indeed living with her. She had asked him to stay the night for the first three days, then on the fourth day, it changed.
--
"It's too cold," she complained. Her head was turned toward the window, watching as the scenic flakes floated through the air, and finally past her window to where she couldn't see.
"You're from Minnesota," he reasoned with a gentle smile. He approached her with the beverage she had requested. Within the last four days, all she was drinking was hot chocolate and ice-cold water. He grinned as she accepted the cup from his hands. The warm left instantly, and to make up for the loss, he stuck his hands casually into his pockets. "I suspected you'd be used to this."
She nodded, her head still against the glass. Her cheeks were red, with the heat of the apartment. She smiled again. "Just gets boring."
He took her calm tone from her voice and decided to sit down opposite of her. The chair, just parallel from hers, was stiff as he sank into it. He positioned himself to turn toward the window as well. She was right; it was too cold.
She tugged on the collar of her sweater and sighed. She looked toward the mug in her hands, nestling easily. "Thanks," she murmured lightly, sipping it to herself. She looked up at him, to which he delivered a warm smile. Her eyes were smiling, so her face gradually joined the dance.
The apartment was eerily silent. Not in the shame of it being too closed, but rather too open. Neither of them wanted to talk, Carter knew, because they might spoil the moment. It seemed as if it truly was endless. He didn't want it to end, no matter how much he wanted everything to work out for them one day.
Thinking to himself seriously for the first time in a while, he finally understood an unspoken question. Was there any hope for them now that she was having a baby? Luka's baby? How he wished he could turn back time. Anything to reverse the unfortunate spell that had changed his life.
He watched her stare out the window and knew that things would never be the same again. Whether it was in a negative or positive way, he didn't know. But how could things get better from here? No matter what, even if they did end up together, remnants of Luka still stuck. He didn't want to refer to the baby as a "remnant," but he knew Abby would.
No doubt, Abby would make the picture-perfect mother. She cared for kids like no one he'd ever known. Carter, himself, loved children as well. In a way, he believed it was because of the childhood he'd been through; he owed it to every child on earth. Especially, his own. His four kids. From John, Jr. to Emma. He chuckled at himself in his head, and folded his hands in his lap.
She sighed to herself, causing him to look up from his stupor. He was suddenly aware of the genre of his thoughts. He'd never known that he'd thought about Abby so. Or as much. He could only watch her now, reflecting upon recent thoughts. He felt everything for her right now.
But is lips remained sealed.
What would he say to her? She was involved now, with someone else: her baby. It was completely changed. John and Abby would never be, he told himself.
But, another part was screaming out to him. And it totally negated a previous statement. Instead, this side told him there was every chance for him to believe in them. To believe in the "us" again.
"What are you thinking about?" Abby inquired, noticing his affectionate stare her way.
Awakened, he sat with an open mouth, stuttering until he closed it in resolution. He shook his head with his trademark smile. "Nothing. Why?"
She looked away and shrugged. She propped her elbows on the arm of the chair, piled on hand on top of the other, and placed her chin as a final of the heap. She turned her eyes to him and watched him for a while.
He stared back at her. It was yet another gaze for them to get lost in. And that they did.
For a few seconds, their eyes were locked. Everything was forgotten, remarkably: the baby, the tension, Luka. There was nothing more important than that moment then. And to Carter, possibly ever.
Times like these were the worst for him, usually. But in light of recent pondering, he found it even harder to avoid her face. He longed to reach out and touch it, gracefully and lovingly. Like the first night.
That day. It flooded back to him. The day they'd been together in her room. The pleasure, the passion, the feeling.
Then the pain. The roar of it in his ears when he felt her words sting against him. It was the worst. Worse than anything, ever...
But, it was in the past. The past hurt. And normally, you could look to the future for good things. But only half of him could do that now. It wasn't the same as it might've been, had there not been a baby in the picture.
He suddenly told himself to stop.
He looked up at her small form in the chair opposite of his. What was he doing? This was a baby, not an accidental bomb. Sure, it wasn't intentional. And maybe in some ways it was a bombshell. But, it wasn't a misfortune. It was a baby. A beautiful baby. It was Abby's baby.
And maybe, in a way, it was Luka's baby as well. But, he didn't care to focus on this half of his story. It was Abby's baby. His best friend's child. He would be an uncle, in a way.
"Abby," he said, interrupting the thick tranquility.
She looked over to him, rotating only her eyes. Her expression stayed the same, but it acknowledged his question for her attention.
In that instant, everything felt as if it mattered. Everything with Abby. He'd be there for her; it wasn't a time for him to be selfish. It was a time for him to be *there* for *her.* He couldn't care about himself like he had been. She was everything to him; whether she knew it or not didn't matter right now. Whether she knew how he felt didn't matter.
"Will I be the baby's uncle?"
He asked it with a gentle smile, and expected her to giggle in that adorable way.
But instead, she turned away and stood. She picked up the mug near the windowsill where it had been for a while.
He watched in confusion as she sauntered toward the kitchen. Clearly, she was distracted as she rummaged around the small room. He leaned over to catch her frowning toward the counter. She froze against it. Did she know that he could see her?
She threw the handle to the left to bring the sink full of hot water. She began to dump dishes into the basin, lazily throwing in a bit of soap. After scrubbing like mad, with steam lifting around her from the project in her hands. She set each of the newly cleaned dishes into the rack next to the sink and dabbed her hands on a towel sitting on the side.
He sat back, taking her out of view for a second. She was still walking around the kitchen; he could hear her slow, unsure steps from the living room. He sighed lightly, careful to not let her hear him. With a sweep of his hand, he smoothed the hair on the back of his head.
Frustration brought his hand up yet again, and then to the bridge of his nose. With a steady hand, he rubbed it madly. Collapsing into the safety of his hands, he tried to think the rest of the night away, and perhaps if he was successful, he could take away the past.
"Yeah," Abby said, from the corner of the hallway before walking away. "That makes you the uncle, John." Her face was a deep frown, cast to the comfort of the floor. She turned abruptly and left before saying anything else.
He smiled at what she had said. He was an uncle.
But her attitude about it. What was wrong? Again, the question arose. Something was wrong, he was more sure than he had ever been. The frown she wore said it all.
But nothing was meant to be said. She was tired, and vulnerable. She was upset over something. Her situation wasn't an easy one.
Before he had a chance to look down, her voice came again, lifting his head.
"And you might want to bring some clothes over," she remarked. With a trembling hand, she tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. Her face was still loosely hanging toward the ground. As she turned away, she added. "You've been wearing pretty much the same thing for four days."
--
That had been yesterday.
There hadn't been anything else to talk about. And there hadn't been much conversation since that day. She frowned a lot now, hung her head to the ground. He wanted to reach out and help her, but how could he?
[Part 11]