The Greens of Jericho

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Different Circumstances: Part 15A of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note:  I am pretty excited to be posting the first new part of Different Circumstances in more than 4 years.  Hopefully with the hiccup of Part 14 behind us, we can keep going on this ride, right on up until the end.  (What is the end, you ask?  Well, somewhere around 2030… unless more of the story occurs to me.)

Thanks, as always, to the world's most wonderful beta reader, Skyrose.  And also to Penny Lane for late night chats, encouragement, and the willingness to always take a random question.

Warnings: As previously established, in the Different Circumstances universe, Jake and Heather are married, and Eric and Jake are twins.  Both of those non-canon facts play heavily into this chapter.  Also, I suppose it's prudent to issue warnings for implied sexual situations, both pre- and post-marital. Shocking, I know.  Lastly… this is long (55 pages, over 20,000 words).  Forget short, I apparently can't even do medium anymore.


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Sunday, January 21, four months after the bombs

"Happy birthday, dear Jaa-ke! Happy birthday to you!" they sang, not entirely in unison and slightly off-key. Stanley punctuated the moment by blowing hard on his noisemaker, while Heather leaned over to offer her husband a chaste birthday kiss, dislodging the cone shaped hat she was wearing in the process.

"Can I eat this now?" Jake asked, gesturing at the lone peanut butter cookie sitting on a rainbow colored Happy Birthday! paper plate before him.

"Not quite yet," Heather contradicted. She started to get up, but Gail waved her off, moving toward the sideboard to retrieve a plate of peanut butter cookies – all much smaller than Jake's – and a small green birthday candle that was already wedged into a white plastic holder. Gail handed the candle to her daughter-in-law and set the plate in the center of the dining room table. "Fingers crossed this will work," Heather announced to the table in general as she worked to gently wiggle the candle holder into Jake's cookie without breaking it. "There," she breathed a long moment later, flashing him a quick smile. Johnston, sitting to her right, passed her a cheap, drugstore lighter. Heather lit the candle and instructed Jake to make a wish.

"Gee, I wonder what I'll be wishing for," he returned before blowing the flame out. There were, of course, hundreds of options if he wanted to be specific in his wishing, but Jake didn't feel the need to be detailed, and settled for simply requesting that 'everything be all right', leaving the interpretation of 'everything' up to God or the universe or some imaginary birthday fairy.

"Even if we can guess, it can still come true as long as you don't actually tell us," Heather reasoned, taking off her birthday hat and setting it on the table. Only Stanley, Gail and Johnston – who'd been coerced by his wife – had been willing to wear the paperboard cone hats and they all took this as a sign that they were now free to remove their own. "So don't tell us," Heather smiled.

"Well, everyone gets a cookie," Gail announced, putting a cookie on a birthday napkin and passing it to April, sitting beside her. April passed the cookie to Mimi, who passed it to Stanley, the last person on their side of the table.

"And the leftovers are your birthday present," Heather explained to Jake, "Along with the rest of the peanut butter, which is actually from Mindy, but I intercepted the jar with her full knowledge and permission."  Mindy, Ted, Russell, and a line supervisor from the brake works had come up to Jericho to meet with the technical solutions team right after New Year's, and while Jake had been aware of the two giant boxes of disposable diapers that had appeared in his parents' living room, he hadn't known there had been peanut butter, too.

"This is pretty good, sis," Michael – sitting on the other side of Johnston – commented as he nibbled at his cookie.

Heather exchanged a quick, relieved look with her mother-in-law. "It has been a three week project," she laughed. "I had to trade Stephanie Hyde for the butter, though all she wanted were some lesson plans for the girls. And we had to choose between getting sugar or flour for our rations from the airdrop supplies, so we decided on flour and substituted honey. Actually," she explained, "The trickiest part was figuring out how to bake 'em in the fireplace."

"Thought I detected a smoky hint," Jake teased, leaning over to kiss Heather. "Thanks, babe. This is a good birthday."

"Well, Mom helped a lot," she reminded, gesturing at Gail. "But since my peanut butter cookies are in the top ten reasons you married me, I'm glad I can still produce," Heather chuckled.

"You married her for her peanut butter cookies?" Mimi repeated, snickering softly. 

"Well, her whole baking repertoire," Jake shrugged, adding, "And rice krispie treats."

"And you'll notice he didn't say my cooking," Heather laughed.  "It's just my baking."

"So, what are the other nine?" Mimi inquired, her tone curious.

Michael and April groaned in unison. "You do not want to ask them that question," April advised, "Because they will tell you. Though actually," she continued, checking her watch, "Just refrain from answering for the next two minutes, and Mikey and I'll be out of here." She glanced at Heather's brother. "We need to leave, or we're gonna be late."

"You got it," Michael agreed, popping the rest of his cookie into his mouth and standing up from the table. He – along with everyone else – was already bundled up in his coat. Even with the fire crackling away in the living room some twenty feet away, the dining room was chilly, though that was downright balmy when compared to the artic-like climes of rest of the house. Fishing gloves and a watch cap out of his pocket, Michael moved to the head of table, where Jake as the birthday boy had been seated, and offered his hand to his brother-in-law. "Happy birthday, man."

April insisted on a hug, echoing Michael's good wishes as she kissed Jake on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," he smiled, catching her hand as he released her. "You okay?" Jake asked, squeezing her fingers. "It's gotta be weird for you, we have the same birthday," Jake reminded quietly.

"Yeah, but I can still celebrate yours and ignore the rest," April sighed, hugging him again. "And, I'm fine," she declared pulling away and beginning to wind her scarf around her neck. "Cold, tired, pregnant, and a little bit hungry," she joked, though her smile was clearly forced and certainly didn't reach her eyes. "But who amongst us isn't?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant," Michael opined from behind April.

Jake handed April one of his five remaining cookies. "That's the baby's," he informed her. "Both of you enjoy it, okay," he ordered, offering her a gentle smile. "Sorry, Mike," he continued, meeting his brother-in-law's gaze over April's shoulder, "But since you're not pregnant, I'm not giving you one of my cookies."

"Hey, I can be pregnant if I get another one," Stanley announced as Jake gave a cookie to Heather.

"Nice try," Jake acknowledged dryly. "Though, Mimi," he added a beat later, "If you've got anything to announce...."

She allowed a somewhat nervous laugh. "Uh, no. Though the cookies are really good," she assured Heather.

"So tell Jeff and Drake to hurry home before I eat theirs," Jake instructed, dropping a cookie on his plate and then shoving the last two toward his mother. "If I put you in charge, you're not gonna eat 'em yourself, right?"

"I think I can be trusted," Gail claimed, fighting a smile and shaking her head at her son.

He pretended to eye her appraisingly. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well, I get a hug, too, April," Stanley decided, climbing to his feet. "Former prom date's privilege," he argued, pulling her into an embrace.

"You're still the world's best hugger, Stanley," April laughed when he finally let her go. She glanced at Mimi, smiling and telling her, "I'm totally jealous of you for that."

"Take care of that Green baby," he instructed, kissing her forehead. "Uncle Stanley's orders. And you," he continued, pointing at Michael, "Make sure she doesn't slip on the ice or anything."

"Will do," Michael agreed, gesturing for April to lead the way.

The two of them headed for the door and Stanley re-seated himself, taking April's chair between Gail and Mimi. Balling up her napkin, Heather chucked it at Stanley, startling him. "What the heck's that for?" he demanded.

"Don't say 'green baby'," Heather commanded. "It makes me think of that creepy reptile hybrid clawing its way out of Robin in V," she said, shuddering visibly. "It had teeth, it was gross, and since I've been pregnant I've had very vivid dreams, so if I start having nightmares about giving birth to a lizard baby, it's your fault."

"You could totally tell it was a rubber puppet," he scoffed. Jake took the opportunity to shoot Heather's birthday hat at Stanley by its elastic string, eliciting a surprised noise from him. "Why'd you do that?" he asked, rubbing his shoulder at the point of impact, though there was really no way he could have felt it through his heavy coat.

"Defending my wife's honor," Jake shrugged. "Besides, if she has nightmares, I'm the guy she kicks all night."

"I believe Heather prefers Baby Green," Johnston drawled, "Isn't that right, darlin'?"

"Yes," she agreed, rubbing her hand over her pregnant tummy. "B.G. Doesn't make me think of aliens."

"Well, sorry I made you think about giving birth to an alien," Stanley said, offering Heather his hand over the table. "Or a lizard."

"Apology accepted," she chuckled, shaking his hand.

"So Jake, man, thirty three," Stanley proclaimed as he sat back in his chair.   "You're gettin' old."

"You are," Heather teased, "Now you're six years older than me."

Jake rolled his eyes. "Still only five and a half," he corrected her with a kiss. "And, Stanley, you're all of fifty five days younger than me," he reminded, glancing at his best friend. "If I'm gettin' old, so are you."

"Maybe," Stanley returned, shrugging. "But for the next fifty five days, I'm still thirty two, and that's younger than you."

"When's your birthday, Mimi?" Gail asked, smiling at her kindly.

"Oh!" she declared, surprised. "Uh, August. The only month without a holiday, that's what my father always said. So he declared my birthday the August holiday. Mimi's Day," she chuckled. "August twelfth."

"That's really sweet," Heather sighed.

"You're right, it was," Mimi confirmed, smiling.  "Plus, we always did something fun," she added.  "And Jake, Stanley, I'm a little bit older than both of you," she admitted, demonstrating 'a little bit' by holding her thumb and index finger about a half an inch apart. "So I hope that makes you feel better. And, Heather Green," she dismissed with a wave, "We're not even gonna talk about what a baby you are."

They had dined by candlelight of course, but even so they could all see the blush that suffused Heather's cheeks at Mimi's offhand accusation.  "I'm not that much younger than all of you," she protested.

Jake laid his hand over the top of hers on the table. "Really?  Because you know, technically, until June six, I am six years older than you… baby," he teased.

"Okay, I deserved that," she snorted, knowing that aside from Jake and possibly his mother, her statement probably confused them. She was vain enough that she didn't want people assuming that she was older than she was, but she also didn't like it when anyone implied that she was too young – too naïve – to keep up with Jake. "You're five years older," Heather declared. "That's what I always tell people."

Jake nodded in acknowledgement, exchanging smiles with his wife before turning his attention to his father sitting next to her. "Hey, so, isn't this the part of the evening when you remind me that at my age you'd been married forever, that you had two… six year old kids," he calculated, "And were already the mayor?"

"Nah," Johnston denied, shaking his head. "No need. You've been married for half of forever," he said, winking at Heather, "You're expectin' your first child, and for all intents and purposes you're the sheriff of this town now. Doesn't seem like you need any reminders from me," his father explained. "Besides, more'n half the reason I started makin' that speech was to keep in my wife's good graces.  'Cause we all know that your mother doesn't want to be the only one pushing."

Heather, Jake and even Gail joined in on the word 'pushing', and the six of them, Mimi included, dissolved into laughter. "Well, when there're babies on the way, it can't be considered pushing anymore," Gail declared, still chuckling softly.  "Okay," she continued a beat later, starting to stand up from the table, "I think I'm gonna get started on the dishes, and Johnston, you may dry."

"Yes, ma'am," her husband agreed, heaving a resigned sigh before slowly climbing to his feet.

"I can help, too," Heather offered, though her in-laws quickly turned her down.

"That's okay, darlin'," Johnston assured, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of her head.  "I know my way 'round a dish towel."

"You four should visit," Gail insisted.  "That's one thing we never seem to have time for anymore.  Just visiting with friends."

"Dinner was great, Mrs. G," Stanley said, "I really liked that cornbread soufflé-y thing."

"Spoon bread," Gail explained.  "Heather and I thought we'd try something a little different – a little fancy – for Jake's birthday dinner."

"Well, if you're sharin' the recipe…" Stanley prompted, earning him a smile from Gail.

"Of course," she agreed readily.  "It's cornmeal, eggs, butter and buttermilk –"

"I traded Stephanie like a month's worth of lesson plans," Heather interjected.

"And green onions," Gail finished.  "Johnston and Drake have some onions growing in the boxes in the garage, so we threw those in for flavor.  And you can use regular milk of course.  It's a little bit of work, but I think it's worth it," she sighed.

"Definitely," Mimi agreed, "Very tasty."

"I'll write it all out for you, okay?" she offered, looking between Stanley and Mimi.

Stanley grinned.  "That'd be great.  Thanks, Mrs. G."

"Yeah, though if it's too complicated, Stanley'll have to make it," Mimi said, chuckling self-consciously.  She glanced at Heather, smiling wryly, "I'm not known for my cooking skills, either."

"Babe, you wanna move into the living room?" Jake asked Heather, reaching for her hand.  She was in her red wool coat, which she could at least button at the top, though – especially when she was sitting down – she had to leave the bottom half of the buttons undone and her pregnant belly – except for the three layers of clothing she was wearing – exposed.  "Closer to the fire?"

She considered the suggestion for a moment before shaking her head 'no'.  "I'm fine, Jake.  B.G.'s fine.  And the sofa's just as far from the fire as right here, I think."  The couch had been moved closer to the fire during Jake's convalescence of course, but the arrangement had proven awkward for the cooks – three quarters of their meals were prepared over the fire now – and so it had been returned to its original location, and even the club chairs that had always flanked the fireplace had been moved farther away in favor of a card table that now served as a "kitchen counter".

"Okay," he acknowledged, getting up so he could assume his father's chair next to his wife.  Mimi also changed chairs, taking Gail's, so that the two couples sat facing one another across the table.  "But, if you change your mind," Jake reminded, squeezing Heather's shoulder as he scooted his chair in, "We can move, okay?"

"Yup, pregnant ladies rule," Stanley concurred.  "Or the pregnant lady's rules.  Whichever you prefer."

"Well, today's your birthday," Heather countered, offering Jake a gentle smile. "So, actually, we should be operating under birthday rules.  But I'm happy here, so I'm using a pregnant lady veto," she declared, folding her hands together over their baby.  "And, speaking of birthdays," she continued, "I hafta tell you Mimi, you may think you've experienced Saint Patrick's Day before, but you haven't really until you've experienced it as Saint Stanley Patrick Richmond's Day."

"Hey, I did Saint Patrick's Day in Boston when I was in college," Mimi argued, "And they know Saint Paddy's Day in Beantown.  But Stanley Patrick Richmond?" she questioned, her expression both amused and confused.  "You told me your middle name is George."

"It is three hundred and sixty four days a year," Stanley agreed.  "Every day but my birthday.  Then it's Patrick, since you know, we have the same birthday."
 
"It's a feast day, not his actual birthday, Stanley," Heather laughed, "That’s not how it works."

"Close enough," he shrugged.

"Anyway, it's quite the party," Heather informed Mimi, her tone conspiratorial as she leaned in over the table.  "Stanley will wear one of his 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirts –"

"You know he owns three of them," Mimi laughed.  She glanced sideways, rolling her eyes at her lover.  "Maybe four."

"My wardrobe horrifies her," Stanley declared proudly, crossing his eyes as he leered at her.

This only made Mimi laugh harder.  "It does, it really does," she agreed.

"So, babe," Jake began, laying his arm across the back of Heather's chair, cupping her shoulder with his hand.  "What do you do when you see Stanley, on his birthday, wearin' a 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirt?" he asked.

She grinned at him. "I give him a great, big smooch of course," Heather giggled.  "A great, big, platonic smooch," she assured Mimi with a quick glance.

"Ha!" Jake declared.  "And now I refer you to our conversation of … seven weeks ago," he decided after pondering it for a moment.  "We were standing next to my car, I was loading salt, you were incubating… ringin' a bell for you yet, babe?"

"Uh-huh," Heather said warily.

"Good," he proclaimed.  They could all tell that he was enjoying himself.  "And, you said that you only ever kissed Stanley if there was mistletoe involve –"

"Okay, so I forgot about his birthday and 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirts," Heather conceded, with an exaggerated sigh.  "So sue me."

"I'm just trying to establish the facts of the case," Jake replied, his tone almost gleeful.  "So Stanley, I have a question for you."

"Okie-dokie," Stanley agreed, "But, Jake, man –"

"Who would you rather be, Chewbacca or Luke Skywalker?"

"Jake!" Heather gasped, "You are not!"

"Uh, that was not the question I was expectin'," Stanley admitted a few seconds later.  However, the question certainly seemed to intrigue him as – forehead wrinkled in concentration – he considered it for a long moment. "Are you talkin' group costume, or what?" he inquired.

"I don't do group costumes," Jake said, rolling his eyes.  "This is just in general, who do you see yourself as?  Luke or Chewie?"

"Jake doesn't really do costumes," Heather reminded.  "The only one I've ever seen him in is his Count Jake-ula costume, and I'm the one who bought that.  To exact some timely revenge," she told Mimi.

"Oh, right.  That was totally classic," Stanley crowed. 

"Of course, Emily claims that back in the day you'd wear three, four costumes in a night so you could re-trick-or-treat all the same houses," Heather informed her husband, smirking.  "She told me all about it while we were setting up for the Halloween party this year."

Jake rolled his eyes.  "That happened once, maybe twice," he insisted.  "Gracie Leigh recognized me, told my dad, and trust me, that was the last year I ever went trick-or-treating."

"You know I take anything Emily says with a giant grain of salt," she sighed, smoothing the fabric of her sweatshirt over her tummy.  "Especially anything she says about you."

"Make it a bowling ball sized grain of salt," Jake advised.  "And no changing the subject," he accused, pointing a teasing finger at her.  "And, you," he continued, aiming his finger at Stanley, "Answer the question.  Luke or Chewie?"

"So who's Han Solo?" Stanley asked, "You?" 

"Yep," Jake confirmed with a nod.  "And Heather's Princess Leia."

"Well, I'm not sure I buy into your scenario," Stanley complained, "But, you know, whatever.  And Luke or Chewbacca?  I dunno, their love lives both kinda suck."

"Chewbacca's married," Heather reminded.  "And he has at least one kid, I think."

Stanley nodded.  "Right.  On Kashyyyk.  And he's got a sister and a nephew too.  'Cause the nephew goes to the Jedi Academy."

"What?" Mimi muttered, glancing at Jake.  "Do you know what they're talking about?"

"You know Star Wars?" he asked.

"Of course I know Star Wars," she returned.  "I saw the movies when I was a kid."

"There's a lot more than the movies.  There're books, and they've read them," Jake explained, pointing first at Heather and then at Stanley.  "And then they have book club sometimes.  Like right now."

"Well, I knew he was a fan," Mimi replied, leaning around her lover – who was leaning over the table, chatting animatedly with Heather – to talk to Jake.  "I found his old The Empire Strikes Back sheets in the linen closet my first week at Stanley's."

"Sad thing is, those sheets were still on his bed the night he took April to the prom," Jake joked.

Mimi chuckled appreciatively, but Stanley was so wrapped up in his discussion of Chewbacca's family tree that his best friend's dig didn't even register.  "Okay, so Lumpawawa – Lumparawoo – Lumpy – whatever his name is – he's Chewbacca's son, and Lowbacca's the nephew, right?" Stanley asked Heather. 

"Yeah, and the two of them take over Chewbacca's life debt thing with Han," Heather reminded, "After he, you know, dies, saving Anakin's life."

"Right, right," Stanley nodded.  "And you know, that Chewbacca / Lowbacca thing is a nice way to honor an uncle," he suggested.  "I'm just sayin'," he continued, motioning at Heather's pregnant belly, "Have you thought about Bradley or Shirley or Lesley?  Names that end in –ley, just like Stanley," he clarified unnecessarily.  "Marley!  That's another one."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Jake declared.  "I'd use my veto on those names," he promised, reaching for Heather's hand.  "Shirley?  Poor kid would spend the rest of her life answering the question 'where's Laverne?'"

"Kids in this generation probably won't have that particular cultural reference, hon," Heather reminded, smiling at her husband.  "And I'm also pretty sure you'll never need to veto those names," she chuckled.  "Sorry, Stanley."

"S'okay," he dismissed with a wave.  "Just a thought.  But back to this Star Wars thing –"

"Don't be Chewbacca," Mimi interjected.  "I just mean, you should pick Luke," she advised, shrugging.  "He's a farmer and you're a farmer, so that makes sense."
 
"And, Luke is Leia's brother," Heather chimed in, "And I always say you remind me of my big brothers."

Stanley pantomimed taking an arrow to the heart and then pretended to twist the shaft.  "That still kinda hurts, Lisinski," he grumbled.

"Awwww.  I feel so bad for you," Heather drawled, even going so far as to stick her lower lip out as far as she was physically able to do.  "But I'm sure Mimi can kiss it and make it all better," she giggled.

"Yeah, that'd probably do it," Stanley agreed before leaning toward Mimi his lips puckered expectantly.

She, however, put her hand up, blocking his advance and earning herself a somewhat sloppy kiss on the palm.  "So," she said, glancing around the table at her companions as she removed her hand from Stanley's lips, shaking it off, "What exactly am I making all better by kissing you?"

"Uh, that Heather told Stanley, on their first and last date, that he reminded her of her brother Andy," Jake explained, smirking at his best friend.  "Before he could even get a goodnight kiss."

"Says the man who didn't take the opportunity to kiss me," Heather complained.

"Excuse me," Jake yelped, throwing her a look that clearly implied she was crazy.  "What first date were you on?  Because I definitely remember some kissing."

"I'm not talking about our first date," Heather argued, blushing.  "I'm talking about our zeroth date, which sure felt like a first date from where I was standin'.  See, I'd gone out to the ranch to meet Gramps – Jake's grandfather," she explained, looking at Mimi and Stanley. "So six, seven hours later, when I'm going home, Jake insists on following me back to town, to make sure I get home safely.   And when we get to my house, he walks me to my door, and I so think he's gonna kiss me because, hello, we'd just spent hours together having a really great time… and I pretty much close my eyes and pucker up, and then nothing.  He says goodnight and leaves."

"Okay, first of all, I was tryin' to be respectful," Jake countered, "And second of all, if you'd actually puckered up – which you didn't – I would have kissed you, so there."

"Really?" Heather grinned, puckering up. 

"Really," Jake confirmed, kissing her.

Mimi too, relented and kissed Stanley.  "I'm still not sure why I'm supposed to kiss you to make up for the fact that Heather didn't kiss you umpteen years ago," she declared as they separated, "Especially when apparently she's been kissing you a couple of times a year ever since to make up for it." Fighting a grin, she shook her head at him, but she didn't pull away when he leaned in again, grazing her mouth with his own.

"Okay, now I'm totally over her," Stanley announced, wrapping his arm around Mimi.  "Sorry, Lisinski."

"I actually prefer Green now," Heather reminded, "I'm old fashioned that way.  And, Stanley," she continued, her expression animated, "There's another reason to pick Luke Skywalker.  'Cause in the books he did have a love life.  He had that whole cat and mouse flirtation thing going with Mara Jade.  You know what I mean, they were enemies but there was all that... tension.  And they did get together in the end."

"Right!" he agreed gleefully.  "She was 'The Emperor's Hand'," Stanley said, pitching his voice low in order to emphasize the seriousness of the title.  "Sure sounds like the job description of an IRS agent to me," he joked, reaching for Mimi's hand.  "So, Uncle Sam, you wanna be my Emperor's Hand?" he asked, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.

Mimi's expression was skeptical.  "I honestly don't know if I should be insulted or flattered," she grumbled.

"Be flattered," Jake advised, "That was actually one of his best pick-up lines of all time."

"How do you know that?" Heather inquired, fighting a giggle.  "Maybe his lines have improved in the last five, six years."

"See, even you think they needed to improve," Jake countered, "Which brings up the question: what line did he use on you?"

Heather sucked a calming breath in through her teeth.  "He didn't use a line on me," she sniffed, "He just asked me to dinner.  That's all," she insisted, rubbing her hand in circles over her pregnant tummy.

"That bad, huh?" her husband concluded.  "What did you say to her?" Jake asked, his gaze focused on his best friend.  "'Oh, Heather, you're so good with my tractor, it practically purrs –'"

"He didn't say anything like that!" Heather interrupted.  "He was very sweet.  And that was a very, very bad line."

"Yeah, that was my point," Jake returned, smirking.

"You know, Jake, I just remembered that you weren't at my birthday last year," Stanley announced suddenly.  "But your wife was, and she had a very good time.  What was that drink you and April liked so much?" he inquired, flashing Heather a friendly and somewhat nervous grin.

"Where were you?" Mimi asked Jake.

"Afghanistan," he answered with a shrug.  He glanced at his wife, taking in the telltale blush that stained her cheeks and was slowly spreading down her neck.  "What the hell was the drink?  Did you – did you get drunk?" he stammered out.  The thought was mind boggling; Heather seldom had more than one drink in an evening, and on the rare occasions when she did indulge, she at the most got adorably tipsy and then promptly fell asleep.  "You never drink enough to get drunk," Jake insisted, though it sounded to them all – him especially – like a question.

She held up three fingers, waggling them in his face.  "Three piña coladas, Jake.  Remember?"  Heather then pointed an accusing finger toward Stanley.  "And you – I was trying to defend you, and you throw me under the bus," she charged. 

"Wait a minute," Jake interjected, "That was you drunk?" He remembered the evening in question quite fondly, and not just because Heather had declared, rightly or wrongly, that it was the night on which they had conceived their baby. It had been their third night in Hawaii, the first occasion on which they'd ventured out for dinner – rather than ordering in – and, simply put, they'd had a great time. Jake remembered it well, how they had talked – flirted – in hushed, low tones, holding hands across the table while playing footsie underneath. He'd ordered her the third drink while she was in the restroom, not to get her drunk, but because he'd wanted them to linger, to enjoy the tropical breeze, the sound of the surf, the field of bright stars above, and most importantly, the time they had together. And later, when they'd slowly made their way back to the condo, laughing, holding onto one another, exchanging kisses and caresses, it hadn't occurred to Jake that she was actually inebriated, just happy and maybe a little more amorous than usual, not that he'd minded.

"I don't know," Heather answered, meeting Jake's eye and offering him an embarrassed smile. "Probably."

"Well, you were definitely drunk at my party," Stanley announced, earning himself a dirty look.

"I was not!" Heather insisted vehemently. "And you wanted to know what he said when he asked me out, well, now I'm gonna tell you," she announced, slapping the table with one hand for emphasis.  Jake recognized the slightly desperate note in her tone as she launched into her account.  Clearly, she wanted off the subject of Stanley's birthday party.  "He said he wanted to take me to dinner to thank me for tuning up his tractor and for everything I'd done for Bonnie at school," she said, glancing between Jake and Mimi.  "But I assumed Bonnie would be coming with us, so then he had to tell me it was a date. Which I was actually glad to hear," she admitted, laughing at herself, "But it was still a little embarrassing that he had to explain it to me.  No bad pick-up lines, just a little misunderstanding."

Jake cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh. "We may just hafta agree to disagree on that one, babe," he told Heather.  "But, what I really wanna know is, what the hell were you drinkin' at Stanley's party last year?"

"Uh-uh," was Heather's only reply though the crimson stain on her cheeks spoke volumes.

"Do you know what she was drinking?" Jake asked, glancing at his best friend.

"Of course," Stanley returned, "But trust me, you wanna hear it from her."

"And that's so not gonna happen," she declared, her lips pressed tightly together as she tried to keep from giggling.  "You'd enjoy it way too much," Heather informed her husband, flashing him a tight smile.  "And I'm not goin' there."

"It's my birthday," he countered, "If I'm not supposed to enjoy things on my birthday, when can I?"

"You can enjoy anything else," she told him.

Every visible inch of her skin was now red, Stanley and Mimi were observing their discussion with a concentration usually reserved for tennis matches, and Jake knew he was pushing his luck, but he decided that he didn't really care.  Catching his wife's eye, he offered her his most winsome smile, cajoling, "C'mon, you know you're gonna tell me…."

"It was a coffee drink," Heather shrugged, "No big deal."

"Like an Irish coffee?" Mimi guessed.

"Exactly," Heather agreed.

"It was more ... specific than that," Stanley asserted.

"What were you drinking?" Jake demanded.  "Babe, you hafta tell me.  C'mon, it's my birthday," he tried again.

She shook her head at him, laughing softly to herself, and Jake knew he had her now.  "I can't believe..." Heather muttered under her breath.  "Fine!" she announced a few seconds later, straightening in her seat and folding her hands together over their baby as primly as the most severe of schoolmarms.  "If you must know, at Stanley's birthday party, I had two Nutty Irishmen."

Her three companions immediately erupted in laughter.  "I'm – I'm pretty – pretty sure it was – was three," Stanley wheezed between chortles.

"Wow," Mimi chuckled, wiping her eyes, "Not really how I woulda put it."

"I swear, that's gotta be the dirtiest thing you've ever said to me," Jake teased, smirking at her.

Fighting a losing battle with a smile, Heather rolled her eyes in return.  "Really?" She questioned, "Outta everything I've ever said to you, you can't think of anything else?"

"Well, definitely the dirtiest thing you've said to me in front of other people," he amended, chuckling.


"Besides, maybe it's not even really a sexual innuendo thing," she reasoned, "Maybe – maybe they're just referring to a man of Irish descent with a little joie de vivre," she suggested before giving up and giving into a giggle.

"Even you don't believe that," Jake snorted.

"If you can see the innuendo in an alcoholic drink's name, it's there," Mimi argued, "That's pretty much a given."

"Thank you," Jake agreed, nodding appreciatively at Mimi.  "And maybe it wasn't the dirtiest thing you've ever said," he continued, leaning toward his wife, "But I did enjoy it."

Laughing, Heather pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.  "Well, happy birthday then," she sighed.  "And, I will have you know, I rather enjoyed my two Nutty Irishmen –"

"Yeah, but it was still three," Stanley interjected with a snicker.  "Coulda been four."

"It was two," Heather insisted.  "Well, two and a half, really.  But not three, and definitely not four.  And they were good," she drawled, "Those Nutty Irishmen of mine."

Her three companions burst into laughter once again, Heather joining in this time.  The door from the kitchen opened, and the elder Greens came into the dining room.  "Okay, you kids, knock it off," Johnston ordered with mock gruffness.  "You're havin' just too good'a time in here," he joked.

The four of them all just laughed harder.  "Somewhere – somewhere in time," Jake chuckled when he was finally able to catch his breath, "My fifteen year old self is feeling an inexplicable sense of validation, 'cause Dad has finally just admitted that he really is the fun police."

Surprisingly, Johnston's response was to chuckle right along with the "kids".  "Now, that was actually funny, Jake, it really was," he said.  "Long as we can all agree that my forty-two, forty-three year old self likely took one look at fifteen year old you smirkin' at him over the dinner table and got the sudden urge to check the lock on the liquor cabinet, for damage on your mother's car –"

"For broken branches in the bush underneath his bedroom window," Heather suggested.

"Thank you, darlin'," her father-in-law acknowledged, "Never did check on that poor bush as often as I should've," he admitted, laughing softly.  "Though, what I was gonna say was t' check your hidin' place in the heating vent over the door in your room," Johnston informed his son.

"Well, me then and me now, we'd both lose a little respect for you if you didn't," Jake assured his father.  "Or hadn't," he amended.  Squinting at his parents, Jake shook his head.  "You guys knew about the vent?"

"Sorry, honey," Gail apologized, squeezing his shoulder.  "But if it makes you feel better, we didn't find the stash in your old footlocker 'til last month."

Jake frowned, looking back and forth between his parents.  He had absolutely no idea what his mother was talking about.  "What was I hiding in there?"

"Most of a bottle of some very smooth Scotch," Johnston answered. "So thank you.  We enjoyed it."

"You're welcome, I guess," Jake returned.

Johnston chuckled in acknowledgement.  "Well," he sighed, "I just hope, for your sake, Heather, that the Lisinski genes can temper some of the wilder Green ones."

For most of his adult life – really, since his early teens – Jake knew that he'd have only heard the censure in Johnston's comment, taken it as an indictment of his character and choices.  But now – whether it was because he was about to become a father himself, or because he'd grown more comfortable in his own abilities and decisions, or simply because they had been forced into each other's company, forced to work together so much, over the last few months – Jake could recognize everything else that was conveyed in his father's statement.  Johnston wasn't attacking him for his failings as much as he was admitting to having a few failings of his own.  His father, Jake realized, was accepting his share of the responsibility for the conflict and misunderstanding that had existed between them for so long.  The least he could do was follow Johnston's lead.  "Hey!  I resemble that remark," Jake complained, pretending to scowl at his father. 

"So've I," Johnston said, meeting his son's eye, "On many an occasion."

"And I happen to be rather partial to the Green genes, even the wilder ones," Heather announced, reaching for Jake's hand. 

"Me too," Gail concurred, wrapping one arm around her husband's waist.

"Though I do have to wonder if there are really alleles for daredevilry and sneaking out of the house," Heather joked.

"See, what you don't know, Dad, is that Heather has a secret thing for rapscallions," Jake informed Johnston.  Brushing a kiss across her knuckles, he winked at his wife.  "Why else do you think she married me?"

"It's true," Heather confirmed, giggling.  "Not that that's the reason I married you," she assured Jake in her next breath, "But that I like rapscallions.  My favorite kinda student.  The goody two shoes kids secretly irritate me, and I say that as a borderline goody two shoes –"

"What?" Jake teased, "Not you!"

She rolled her eyes at him.  "But the rapscallions, with their Rube Goldberg plans … always tryin' to outthink you… I definitely want a few of them in class.  Besides," she sighed, "I will remind you that the same Lisinski genes that gave me to the world, also gave you all my brothers."

"Mike seems like a nice kid," Mimi argued.  "Wants to be – is gonna be a doctor."

"Yeah, well, you haven't met Tommy," Jake returned, "And, I'm pretty sure I can handle it if our kid turns out like me –"
 
"Because you know all your tricks," Heather interjected.

"Half of which you're gonna think are adorable," he predicted, snorting.

Heather grinned at him.  "Probably.  Though, interesting that you apparently won't," she added, nodding thoughtfully.

"The goody two shoes kids irritate you, right?" Jake reminded, "So if our kid ends up having a bad attitude, that'll probably get under my skin sometimes too."

"You know, Grandpa used to talk me down whenever I started threatin' to ship you off to military school," Johnston recalled, "So I can probably do the same for you and my grandchild."

Jake met his father's eye.  "I'll keep that in mind.  Thanks."

"And that only happened a few times," Gail added, "It's not like it was every other week."

"Like I said, I could probably handle a kid who turns out like me," Jake repeated, "But God help me if our kid takes after his Uncle Tommy."

Heather groaned, letting her head rest on Jake's shoulder.  "I love Tommy – all my brothers," she insisted, "But I think I'd rather have the lizard baby."

Except for Gail – who made a face – they all laughed at Heather's pronouncement.  "Let's just assume that that baby is a perfect blend of you both, and not worry about aliens or reptiles," Gail said, moving around the end of the table.  She stopped next to Stanley's chair and handed him a folded piece of notebook paper. "Your recipe," she smiled.

"Thanks Mrs. G," he grinned in return.  "And, speaking of questionable teenage behavior – no offense, Jake –"

"Sure," his friend grunted, "None taken."

"Bonnie's home with Sean Henthorn," Stanley explained, pushing back from the table.  "And I can't stop 'em from seein' each other, but I don't hafta make it easy on 'em either."  Standing, he held his hand out for Mimi.  "But, thanks for dinner," he said, glancing between Gail and Heather, "And happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," Jake smiled.  "Make sure you tell Bonnie she missed out, skipping this year," he added, drumming his fingers on the table.  "Peanut butter cookies – well, cookie," he reminded.

"We will see you out," Heather decided, starting to maneuver herself out of her chair. 
Jake quickly scrambled to his feet, offering her his hand.  "I can still do this," she reminded, even as she accepted his assistance.

"Not saying you can't," he countered, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 

"So, we're gonna swing by to see Eric first," Stanley told Jake and Heather as the four of them made their way into the entry.  "Just to say 'hi' and 'bye' and 'happy birthday'," he clarified.  "You two wanna come along?"

Heather's expression was the picture of distaste.  "Eric and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment, Stanley," she reminded. 

"I already saw him this morning when I was downtown," Jake added, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist.  They stood facing Stanley and Mimi, who were now at the door.  "And, it's not like we get each other cards," he grumbled.  "We have the same birthday, so if I say 'happy birthday' to him it's like I'm askin' him to say it to me.  Pretty lame."

"Okay, well, thought I'd mention it," Stanley shrugged, his tone disappointed.

"Look," Heather began exhaling a frustrated breath.  "You can tell him 'happy birthday' from me, okay?  I mean, I'm not talking to him, but you can tell him 'happy birthday'," she decided, "If only because he drove me home after your birthday party last year and he didn't make a big deal about it."

"I think he drove me home, too," Stanley said, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to work out his hazy memory of how that particular evening had ended.

"He did," she confirmed, frowning softly.  "And he took me to get my car the next day and didn't make fun of me or anything.  So, for that, you can tell him 'happy birthday' from me."

"They're both my friends, you know?"  Stanley sounded aggravated.  "I don't know what you want me to do.  I can't – can't pick sides."

She wanted to argue that, yes, he could pick a side, that, yes, he should pick a side, that it should be obvious – Eric was wrong, and April the wronged party.  But she also knew it wasn't that easy.  They were all in an impossible situation, and they could each only do what they thought was right.  One day, even she would have to talk to Eric again; he was always going to be her brother-in-law, her baby's uncle, her niece's or nephew's father.  Heather pulled free of Jake, stepping close enough to Stanley to place a kiss on his cheek.  "It's okay, you don't have to," she assured, "Just tell him 'happy birthday' from me."

"Will do," Stanley agreed, pulling her into a bear hug.

Mimi had taken advantage of their distraction to move to Jake's side, and just as Heather turned back around, she cupped Jake's face with both her hands and planted a kiss on his lips.  "Happy birthday, Jake," Mimi smiled fifteen seconds later when she finally pulled away, taking a step back.

"Uh, thanks," he returned a beat later, clearing his throat. 

"Okay," Heather muttered, frowning, as she maneuvered past Mimi then slipped under Jake's waiting arm.

"Oh, don't scowl at me like that, Heather Green," Mimi sniffed, clearly not intimidated.  "First, it's his birthday, and second, I'll probably never do that again," she explained, "But still, I figured Jake's earned a little payback.  After all, how long again have you been kissing Stanley?"

Fighting a smile, Heather shook her head.  "Well, half the time, he kisses me, but, yeah, I guess we deserved that."  She glanced at Stanley, "Just so you know, I'm probably not gonna kiss you again, either."

"Yeah, that's cool," he agreed, "'Cause that was so not cool," Stanley complained, wrapping his arm around Mimi.  "Sheesh!  Besides, I have my own someone to drag under the mistletoe now, anyway," he reminded with a grin.

"And, I'm very happy about that," Heather sighed.  "I mean, that you have someone."

"We better get goin'," Stanley decided.  He glanced at Mimi.  "Ready Uncle Sam?"

There was a flurry of goodbyes, and then Stanley and Mimi were out the door, hurrying toward his truck.  Jake closed the door behind them, locking it, and then turned to face his wife.  "You enjoyed that," she accused, chuckling.

Jake shrugged.  "Sure," he agreed, reaching for her hand and drawing her to him.  "What's not to enjoy?  But you're a better kisser," he assured, trying to kiss her.

"Not so fast," Heather grumbled, stopping him with her hand and making a half-hearted attempt to scrub the kiss off his lips.  "I'm not kissing you while you're wearing her lipstick, mister.  Not that I don't like Mimi."

He waited until she was done before he continued.  "I like Mimi, too," Jake told her.  "She's smart, funny, and, you know, she probably saved my life.  Plus, Stanley's madly in love with her –"

"He really is, isn't he?" Heather interrupted, smiling at the thought. 

"Yup," Jake confirmed.  "Like I am with you," he added, wrapping both arms around her waist.  "Wants kids with her, wants to be a hundred years old and sittin' on the porch in rocking chairs with her," he sighed.  Grinning, Jake brushed his mouth across hers.  "And really, you're a way better kisser.  Though, I'm probably biased."

"Probably," she agreed, giggling.  Heather threw her arms around his neck, kissing him in return.  "So, my nutty half Irishman," she began a few seconds later, smiling at him, "What –"

"More like nine sixteenths," he interrupted.  "There's a little bit of Irish on Dad's side, too, ya know."

"Okay then," Heather acknowledged, stroking the back of his neck with her thumb.  "My nutty nine sixteenths Irishman," she chuckled.  "Your party's over, but birthday rules still apply for the next four, five hours …" she reminded, pressing her lips to his.  "So I'm sure we can find something… private … and celebratory… to do…."

"No doubt," he agreed with a grin.  Jake disentangled her arms from around his neck and, after pressing quick kisses to both her palms, laced their fingers together.  "So, whaddya say we take this party upstairs?"

Heather smiled.  "You're reading my mind, hon," she breathed.  "Happy birthday, Jake."


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 21, five years before the bombs


"Okay, from here on out, this is what I wanna do for my birthday," Jake decided, dipping a French fry in ketchup, "Every year."

"Have grilled cheese and chocolate shakes at midnight?" Heather asked, laughing at him over her sandwich. "Well, at least that's a birthday wish I'm pretty sure I can make happen."

"I meant going away for the weekend," he clarified, popping the fry into his mouth. "Just the two of us. I – this has been great, babe," Jake smiled, leaning toward her for a kiss.

Jake had first floated the idea of going away for the weekend to celebrate his birthday two weeks before, as they had traveled home to Jericho from Buffalo. Heather had readily agreed, noting the luck of his birthday falling on a school holiday – Martin Luther King Jr. Day – this year, and confessing that the idea of spending two days alone alone together was rather exciting. He'd refused to tell her where they were going until the night before, and he'd actually planned three possible trips – his preferred destination and two back-ups in case of bad weather – but luckily mother nature had cooperated, and Friday afternoon at four, they had departed Jericho Airfield in a Jayhawk Aviation Cessna bound for Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

"But I like the midnight snack idea, so keep that," Jake ordered, chuckling. "Just hold the tomatoes."

"I like tomato in my grilled cheese," she argued half-heartedly. "However, it's your birthday – and actually, now, it's officially your birthday," Heather informed him, pointing over the back of the sofa at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table that read 12:02. "So happy … official … birthday, Jake," she declared, getting up on her knees so she could wrap her arms around his neck and give him a quite thorough birthday kiss.

Turning in his seat, Jake lay back against the arm of the sofa, pulling Heather to him. "This is so how we're doing my birthday from now on," he assured her, groaning softly as he played with the belt on her bathrobe.

Jake had planned for a romantic ski weekend, booking them into a fireplace room at a hotel that was an easy walk to the Jackson Hole Aerial Tram. Johnston Green had put his boys on skis almost as soon as they could walk, and although he hadn't been skiing in a few years, Jake had always enjoyed the sport. Heather, he had learned in Buffalo, was also a skier, having spent her teenage years joining the Burkes – her sister-in-law Kerry's family – at their condo in Vermont. The only thing was, they were leaving Jackson Hole at lunchtime the next day, and they hadn't yet found time to ski.

"You know," Heather grinned, running her hands through his hair, "It's your birthday, but I feel like I'm the one who got the present. This weekend has been amazing. So, thank you."

"Present for you, present for me… that's pretty much the same thing, right?" he teased.

"Yes!  Absolutely!"  She kissed him soundly and then began to lift herself off of Jake, drawing his protest.

"Where're you goin'?" he grumbled, forcing himself to sit up as well.

"I'm hungry," she whined, giggling at herself. "And the French fries smell really good," Heather sighed, reaching for one.

"Fine," Jake muttered, affecting a put upon air. "Eat." It had been her rumbling stomach that had led him to suggest that they avail themselves of the room service menu one more time in the first place. "Gotta keep you fueled up," he joked, tilting his head toward hers, though at the last second he changed his mind, stealing her French fry instead of a kiss.

Heather squeaked in indignation, but shrugged it off a moment later when Jake moved the plate of fries from the coffee table to her lap. "Tell you what," she began, leaning close, her tone flirtatious, "Let's finish our midnight snack, and then we can do whatever you want. It's your birthday, after all. We should make that a rule," Heather decided, reaching for the remnant of her sandwich. "A birthday rule."

"Whatever I want, huh?" he returned, catching her eye. "Carte blanche?" Jake reached for his milkshake. "Oh, the possibilities," he drawled.

"Well, nothing that will get us hospitalized, dead or arrested," she cautioned, pointing a fry at him for emphasis. "And remember, it'll be my birthday next."

"I can work inside those parameters," Jake assured her. "And, I thought the rule was not dying, not wanted, not married," he joked.

"That's married to other people," Heather clarified, "'Cause you are marrying me, mister, in one hundred seventy … three days," she decided, finishing off her sandwich. "And don't you forget it."

"Can't wait, babe." Jake could also no longer resist the urge to kiss her. Cupping her chin with one hand, he brought his mouth down on hers. Somehow, she ended up in his lap, and when they finally pulled apart, they were panting and grinning and Heather had worked both her arms into his robe. "I also kinda love that you know exactly how many days it is 'til our wedding," he declared, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Not too control freaky of me, I hope," she sighed, her hands roaming over his shoulders and chest.  "I started keeping track to make sure I got everything to Father Reynaldo on time, and now I just know," Heather smiled.

Nodding, Jake caught her hand against his collarbone and extracted it from inside his robe, pressing a kiss to her palm before lacing their fingers together. "Nah, just the right amount of control freaky," he chuckled. "So, I hafta warn you," he continued a beat later, "It's been the same room service waiter all day." They had ordered breakfast, dinner and their midnight snack from room service, only managing to get dressed and out of the room long enough to take the tram up the mountain, have lunch at the snack bar, and then decide that they didn't really want to ski after all. "And this time he didn't even pretend that he wasn't dying to knowing who's in here with me. I betcha anything he's staking out the lobby tomorrow when we check out, just so he can see you."

"So that's why you shouted, 'babe, the food's here', huh?" Heather laughed, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. "Trying to get me out of the bathroom so the waiter could check me out?"

"More like tryin' to make sure he knew I wasn't in here all alone," Jake explained, grinning.  There wasn't much Heather had been shy about this weekend – to Jake's great delight – but she had scurried off, blushing, to hide out in the bathroom each time a room service waiter has shown up at their door.

Lifting her head, Heather cast her gaze pointedly toward the bed, which was in complete disarray. "I sincerely doubt he thought you were alone."

"Well, yeah, okay," Jake conceded with a shrug. "And he heard you say 'just a minute, hon' … just the sound of your voice…. Trust me," he chuckled, "I got the 'lucky bastard' look from the guy."

"The 'lucky bastard' look? This is a guy thing, I take it."

"Yep. Guys know when another guy is givin' them a look that means 'you lucky bastard', and that's the look I got," Jake insisted.

He could feel Heather laughing silently as she kissed the side of his neck, quickly working her way up to his earlobe. "Well, I agree with the lucky part," she whispered, her tone tempting and teasing at the same time. "Not so much the bastard part, especially not on your birthday."

"What – whatever you say," he groaned as she continued to pepper his skin with kisses.

"So, when do we need to leave tomorrow?" she inquired, sighing and letting her hand drift languidly across his chest.  "Or, I guess – technically – today," Heather finished, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Uhhh…. Check-out's at noon," Jake answered, blinking hard and taking a deep breath. "So… noon?" he suggested, reaching for her hand.  "Grab a bite – somethin' – to eat, and be in the air by one?"

Frowning softly, Heather nodded. "And it's a four hour flight home, right?"

"Maybe a little less," he explained, "If we get a good tailwind."

"Would it be all right if we left a little earlier?" she requested. Heather held his hand cradled in her lap and she played with his fingers nervously. "It's just that dinner at your parents' is like six tomorrow –"

"We don't hafta go, babe," he interrupted.

"Yeah, we do," she contradicted. "It's your birthday, Jake. If anyone has earned the right to spend some time with you on your birthday, it's your mother," Heather argued, smiling at him. "It's kind of a significant day in her life, too."

"Well, when you put it that way," Jake chuckled.

"Besides, I'm making you a peanut butter pie for your birthday and that takes three or four hours, so I kinda need to get back to Jericho by like one or two," Heather confessed in an anxious rush of breath. "And, I'm sorry, I knew we were going somewhere, but I didn't know where, and I didn't realize that it was gonna be four hours away by plane –"

Jake cut her off, his expression bemused. "You're – you're making me a peanut butter pie?"

"Uh, yeah," she shrugged, offering him a shy smile. "I mean, I went over to see your mom on Tuesday, to ask if I could make your birthday cake, and she said that you always want peanut butter pie – which made total sense – so now I'm making a peanut butter pie."

"Babe, you don't hafta do that," he argued even though he was grinning at the idea.

"I want to, Jake," Heather informed him, squeezing his fingers. "I love you, and this is what you do for the people you love," she reasoned. "It's what I do, anyway. Bake birthday cakes. Or, in this case, mix stuff together and refrigerate." She brushed her lips over his, repeating, "I love you, Jake. And I wanna make your birthday peanut butter pie," she practically sang.

"So, Mom gave you the recipe?" Jake asked, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Yes," she grinned, "I have the official, sanctioned, Jake Green's birthday peanut butter pie recipe, don't worry. And she was totally nice about it," Heather added, "But I think she was a little bit sad too. Like she was passing a torch or something. Probably didn't think last year was the last year she was gonna be in charge of your preferred birthday dessert."

"Well, it's been a coupl'a years since I celebrated my birthday with my family," he admitted, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist. "Work… and last year, I was in Oklahoma, undercover, makin' a delivery for Jonah. I called her – when I knew my dad wouldn't be there, he wasn't talking to me – but it kinda just made things worse."

Their gazes locked and they stared at one another for a long moment until Heather finally announced, "Okay, new rule. We can go away for the weekend to celebrate your birthday, wherever you want, however you want –"

"Even if it's just to hole up in a fancy hotel room for a couple days?" he teased.

"Yes," she agreed, "'Cause this is a very fancy hotel room, and we both know how quickly I adapted to it," she laughed. "The king-size bed, the fireplace," Heather listed, "The 'his and hers' robes…."

"The jetted bathtub," Jake suggested with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, yeah," Heather laughed, squirming a little in her seat. "That's another highlight," she sighed. The room's amenities – the luxury and elegance of the room itself – had overwhelmed Heather at first, and she'd told Jake more than once that she'd never stayed in such a nice hotel. However, as she said, Heather had adapted quickly. "Anyway," she continued, clearing her throat, "We can go away for the weekend, absolutely. But you're also gonna let your mom make you a birthday dinner for as long as she wants to make you birthday dinners," she ordered. "'Cause I think maybe you owe her that. So agree now, or –"

Jake kissed her, murmuring, "Deal," against her lips.

"Good," she declared, pulling back a few inches and smiling at him.  "And then, when she can't or doesn't want to make your birthday dinners anymore, I'll take over. So hopefully, I'll have learned how to cook by then."

"Or, you know, we can always go to a restaurant," he suggested.

She made a sound then that was a cross between a giggle and a snort, and which Jake found oddly adorable.  "Well, that's probably your best bet," Heather conceded, rolling her eyes at him, "But it's very rude of you to point that fact out, mister.  Therefore, I demand a kiss – a good one – right here," she continued, pointing a finger at her own mouth, "Right now."

"I see," he intoned, gently cupping her chin with one hand.  "So this is my punishment?" Jake inquired, leaning in so that his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.  "Kissing you?"

"Yes!" Heather giggled, "Your punishment."

He pulled back a few inches, smirking softly at her indignant expression.  "You know, when I was a little kid and my aunt Bridget caught me doin' something wrong, she always made me give her a kiss.  Eric too," he added, "But me, more, 'cause I probably got in trouble more," he admitted.  "And I always hated it.  That was punishment," Jake insisted, once again moving toward her.  "And this so isn't," he finished, capturing her mouth with his own.

When they separated a long moment later, Heather had that dazed, glazed, almost drugged look that always made him feel like he was ten feet tall.  "So, am I forgiven?" Jake asked, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together.

"Yeah… think so," she murmured huskily.  "So… you don't like your aunt?  Or you just don't like kissing your aunt?" Heather asked, smiling at him.  They had been doing this all weekend, letting the conversation go where it wanted to go, asking each other anything, from silly to serious and a lot in between.

"I was eight," he shrugged, "I didn't like kissing anybody, especially girls.  I mean, my mom I guess, if no one else could see."

"You're always eight," Heather informed him, leaning in to brush her lips over his.  "When you tell me stories about you growing up, you're always eight."

"Musta been a big year for me," Jake returned, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.  "I don't know," he continued, clearing his throat, "You like eight year olds, so when I try to figure out how old I was…."

"I actually like kids of all ages," she told him, "But I think it's cute that you want me to… I don't know… love eight year old you, too, I guess."

"Hey, I'm really not kidding when I say that eight year old me didn't like girls," Jake reminded.  "Though, my third grade teacher was Mrs. Owensby," he teased, making a face, "Not Miss Lisinski.  So, maybe that's the difference."

"Soon to be Mrs. Green," Heather emphasized.  "And I shouldn't say this about a fellow educator," she admitted, "But you may be right."  She had met Mrs. Owensby just once, but that had been enough to convince Heather that her predecessor had maintained order and discipline in her classroom by instilling fear into her students – she'd even scared the bejeebers out of Heather. That one meeting had been more than enough to make Heather vow that she would not be emulating the other woman's style.

"Can't be soon enough for me," Jake sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  "A hundred and seventy three days," he complained half-heartedly before kissing her.

"Well, we'll find some way to survive," Heather declared a few seconds later, squeezing his fingers.  "I promise.  But Jake, I have another rule, okay?"

"Another birthday rule?" Jake joked.

"No, it's an each and every day of the year rule," Heather returned, frowning softly.  "Jake, I – I can't help thinking about your mom, and how – how awful it was for her all that time when she didn't know you were undercover," she informed him in a rush of breath.  "And – and I don't think I could handle that," she admitted, her tone strained.  "And I get that there're things you can't tell me, things that have to be secret or classified or whatever… but don't lie to me, okay?"

"So, you're sayin', no undercover assignments where I'm supposedly some corrupt, disgraced DEA agent who also happens to know all the weak links in the system?" Jake inquired sourly. 

"Well, I don't see how they could ask you to do that again," she argued, "Thankfully.  And I wouldn't believe that about you, anyway," Heather insisted, chuckling nervously.  At least I really hope I wouldn't."

"But there are gonna be things that I can't tell you, Heather," he reminded.  "Not because I don't want to, but because I just can't."

"Then tell me that," she requested.  "I can't promise I'll be overjoyed, but I'd rather hear that than a lie."  Their gazes locked then, and she exhaled sharply.  "I'm serious, Jake."

"I know," he interrupted, clutching her hand in his own. "Heather, I know.  And you know – you hafta know – that you're more important to me than my job – than any job," Jake sighed, offering her a tentative and lopsided smile. "And I promised your dad that I won't let you get hurt because of my job, so now I'm promising you the same thing. I'll quit, if that's what it takes. And it's not like – like I'm gonna do it forever, okay?"

Heather leaned in, kissing him gently – sweetly. "Okay," she agreed, taking a calming breath. "And I know.  'Cause I trust you, I really do."

Jake flashed a relieved smile. "I love you," he told her, "I really do."

"Love you, too," she grinned.

"Okay, get up," he demanded a moment later, climbing to his feet. He offered her both of his hands and she pulled herself up, allowing him to lead her back toward the bed. "And, forget about the dishes," Jake ordered when she started to glance back at the coffee table.

"If I must," Heather conceded with a put-upon sigh followed by a giggle. "So, what are we gonna do now, birthday boy?"

"Not what you're thinkin'," he chuckled, letting his hands rest – possessively – on her hips. "'Cause if we're gonna be back in Jericho by one, I think we need to be up by eight at the latest," Jake reasoned, his tone turning serious. "And since I'd prefer not to crash the plane and kill us both – especially on my birthday – we probably need to get some sleep."

"Well, I definitely vote for avoiding pilot fatigue," she replied, her nose wrinkling. "And crashing."

"Me too," he agreed. Jake dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling on Heather's hand until she joined him.

"I'm sorry," Heather apologized, rubbing his arm. "First I make the birthday rules, and then I break 'em."

"Hey, babe, it's okay. It's been a great birthday," he assured her with a kiss. "And now I can't stop thinkin' about that peanut butter pie," he joked, reaching for the alarm clock.

"Yeah, but it's back to the real world tomorrow," Heather cautioned, "Completely.  Including the vice and virtue squad waiting up for you every night."

"Hey!  That's only for another hundred seventy two days," Jake reminded, flipping the alarm over and then turning it right side up again. Frowning, he shook it.  "After that, we won't have to sneak away to avoid scandalizing the Jericho masses," he teased, twisting around and grazing her lips with his own. "But we're gonna hafta do this a few more times over the next hundred seventy two days," Jake decided, adding, "Sneak away," just in case she wasn't following.

"Well, that sounds like a plan I can get behind," Heather replied, allowing a contented sigh.  "Though, maybe more like one hundred sixty days, depending on when my dad comes out," she reminded.

"Right," he yawned.  "Avoid scandalizing your dad, too.  That's important.  But you know," he continued, grumbling softly, "Worse than the vice and virtue squad is Tuesday when I hafta go back to Denver and we're back to killing my cell phone every night."

"That is way worse," she agreed, "Darn it."

"Yeah," he murmured distractedly.  "Hey!  Can you – do you know how to set this?" he asked, holding the alarm clock out to her.

Heather attempted – unsuccessfully – to stifle a laugh. Rolling her eyes, she took the clock from him, made three quick adjustments, and then handed it back. "It's a ten dollar – well, this is a really nice hotel," she decided, interrupting herself. "So it's a fifty dollar alarm clock, maybe. But it's definitely not the airplane that's worth who knows how many hundreds of thousands of dollars that you'll be operating in eight and a half hours."

"Yeah, but it's my birthday," Jake defended, bumping her shoulder playfully with his own. "And I hate alarm clocks."

"But you love planes," she reasoned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "So I'm probably pretty safe flying Jake Green Air."

"I like planes," he contradicted, brushing his mouth across hers. "But I love you. And you're definitely safe with me, 'kay?"

"Never doubted it," Heather smiled, "And, I love you, too.  So we're gonna go to bed now?" she inquired.  "I mean, to sleep?" she added a beat later with a self-conscious chuckle.

"Yes, to sleep," Jake returned, rolling his eyes.  "I like – I like sleeping with you," he confessed, looking momentarily past her and chewing his lip.  "Almost as much as I like sleeping with you," he declared, meeting her gaze.  "I like – I like that when I wake up in the middle of the night… that you're there… that I know you're there.  That's – that's the part I'm looking forward to the most, I think, about a hundred and seventy two days from now."

"A hundred seventy three," she corrected gently.  "And me too."  Heather's eyes were bright and she was grinning like an idiot – but then again, so was he, Jake figured.  "Okay, c'mon," she demanded with her next breath, standing and tugging on his hand until he, too, got up.  Together, they stared at the mess of hopelessly tangled bedclothes.  She shook her head, glancing sideways at her fiancé.  "I guess maybe we should make the bed," Heather reasoned, giggling, "Before we go to bed."

Jake's only answer was a satisfied smirk.


* * * * *

"Heather, this is my sister, August," April proclaimed.  Though the truth was, August needed no introduction; she was so obviously a version of April – the same delicate frame, the same porcelain skin, the same luxurious, red hair – that no one could have ever mistaken the two Glendenning sisters for unrelated strangers.  "August," April continued, "This is Heather."

"The girl who stole Jake from me," August declared dramatically as she jumped to her feet.

"August," April and her mother, Karen Winter, intoned in simultaneous disapproval. 


Heather had met Karen – also strikingly beautiful, also quite obviously the mother of April and August – and her husband, Paul, at the Greens' Christmas open house six weeks earlier.  Karen and Paul were a gracious and charming couple who both clearly loved April, respected and approved of Eric, and – as they had declared in unison – had been delighted to meet Heather, were glad to see how happy she made Jake. 

"Your parents are great," Heather had told April a few minutes later, when they had taken their leave of the younger women, Paul, his hand resting in the small of her back, steering his wife toward the McVeighs. 

"Well, we all wish Dad was actually our dad," April had sighed.  "If only he had a different last name," she'd added, with a snort.  "Trust me, we would've all changed ours in a heartbeat.  August was twelve when they got married, and she almost went for it, but Autumn especially was not interested in being 'Autumn Winter'," she'd chuckled.

"But now you've missed your chance to be Doctor April Winter-Green," Heather had teased as they'd ladled up mugs of hot mulled cider for themselves.

"Not helpful," April had complained, allowing a groaning laugh.  "Though April Winter-Green really wouldn't be so bad," she'd conceded after a moment's contemplation.  "But I'm happy with April Green.  And Heather Green has some very colorful possibilities," she'd joked, smirking at her friend.  "I bet you by next year's party," she'd predicted, leading Heather toward the dessert table, "That's in the works – if not a done deal."


"Sheesh!  Can't anyone take a joke?" August grumbled.  She looked Heather up and down and then held out her hand.  "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, August," Heather returned, shaking the younger woman's hand with her free one.

"Heather, Jake, congratulations," Karen interjected then.  "We were so excited to hear your news," she smiled, glancing toward her husband, who was sitting with EJ and Johnston near the fireplace.  "Isn't that right, Paul?"

"Definitely," he confirmed, moving to join his wife.  "Great news.  And, happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," Jake acknowledged from behind Heather.  He squatted down, releasing Baron from his leash.  "Go to bed," he instructed the puppy, pointing at the monogrammed dog bed that was waiting for him in the corner of the room.  "Go to bed," he repeated, adding, "Good boy," when Baron trotted over and settled himself down with a rubber bone.

"And that is my new grandpuppy," Gail informed Karen and Paul.

"Because Heather figured Jake needed some practice for when they have actual kids," April joked.

Eric, who had been sitting with Stanley, Bonnie and August on the couch, got up, crossing the room to join his wife.  "Okay, if that's what pets are for, we may be doomed, doc," he teased, resting both his hands on her shoulders.  "Remember what happened to the goldfish."
 
April made a face, her nose wrinkling.  "Oh, the goldfish," she muttered before declaring, "Well, I hafta believe that we'll be better with a mammal."

"Let's hope," Eric chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

"So, does that mean we're raising the dog Catholic?" Jake inquired as he wrapped his arm around Heather's waist.  "If he's the practice kid?"

She shot him a surprised and slightly suspicious look.  "Yes," she decided a moment later.  "We are.  If only because then we can take Baron to the Blessing of the Animals, and he can be… blessed."  Heather looked at Gail.  Jake's mother had been of invaluable assistance as they had made a flurry of time sensitive wedding decisions – when and where to have the ceremony, who should officiate – over the last two weeks, and she and Heather had also found a common bond in their shared Catholic heritage, though Gail was always quick to remind that she was an extremely lapsed Catholic and her knowledge was rusty at best.  "They've got to do that around here somewhere, right?" Heather asked.

"For sure in Rogue River," Gail answered, frowning in concentration.  "And, you'd think they would have it in some of the little parishes around here, the congregants are all farmers, and their animals are their livelihood."

"Okay, good," Heather smiled, glancing sideways at Jake.  "The Blessing of the Animals is a fun thing.  Well, not always," she corrected with a rueful giggle.  "One year, my cousin Jess and I hauled her two cats to church for the blessing.  Big mistake.  Buster saw this German Shepherd comin' down the aisle, freaked out, and somehow ended up on Father Bouchard's back, but underneath his cassock.  And, that was the first and last time the cats got to go," she sighed.

Everyone laughed at that, though it was kind laughter, the kind that Heather had no trouble joining in on. "Oh, sweetheart," Gail clucked sympathetically.  "Now, my husband and sons insist that I'm a 'city girl'," she continued, casting an accusing glance at the three men.  "But actually, growing up, my brother Dennis – he's a year younger than me – and I did a bustling business raising rabbits.  So one year we loaded, must've been fifteen rabbits, secured in cages, onto a wagon – our baby brother Donald's – and took 'em down to the church," she explained.

By now everyone had vacated their seats in the living room and had gathered in a half circle around Gail, Heather and the others, listening politely, August – who was studying sign language in school – trying valiantly to translate everything for Bonnie.  "It all went well for the first ten or so," Gail continued with her story, "But then this one rabbit, scared out of its mind, poor thing, got away from Dennis.  Somehow ended up kicking Father Timothy in face, bloodied his lip something awful. My mother was ashamed to be seen with us in front of him for a month," she chuckled.  "But Dennis always was a salesman, so he just went to the rectory's housekeeper the next week and offered her the rabbit at a discount.  Now, Father Timothy always enjoyed a good rabbit stew, but I think that night he probably ate his dinner with extra relish."

With the exception of Heather and Bonnie, both of whom wore identical, stricken expressions, the group chuckled in appreciation of the story.  Heather though couldn't help but give voice to her feeling of horror.  "He – the priest ate the bunny?!?" she yelped.

The laughter turned to guffaws now, though it was still kind.  Jake kissed the top of Heather's head before resting his chin there.  "Okay, so Ma, you're not nearly the 'city girl' that Heather is," he conceded.  "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly when his fiancée protested this remark, dislodging him as she turned her head to glare at him.  "Tell you what, babe – I promise you never have to eat rabbit unless you want to," Jake assured her, "'Kay?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that will never happen," Heather huffed, fighting a chuckle.  "I have a pet bunny!" she reminded, "I mean, sure, I foist him on my students for weekends and holidays, but he's still technically mine."

"Classroom pet?" Paul inquired, "Good idea.  You know, we've been having a lot of success with a program that brings dogs into inner-city classrooms for kids who are behind grade-level in reading," he explained to Heather.  "They read to the dogs because dogs don't care if your pronunciation is off, and it's actually working to bring up their test scores.  I'm sure you could use a bunny in the same way."  Paul was high up in the Department of Education in Topeka – he'd met Karen through his work – and he and Heather had talked educational theory for nearly twenty minutes at the Christmas party.

"Bungee is the spelling bunny, right, Bonnie?" Heather asked, smiling at the twelve year old who nodded vigorously in agreement.  "It was Bonnie's idea.  When she takes a group of kids in the back for some extra practice, Bungee goes along to assist."

"Bungee makes the little k-kids think they can spell better," Bonnie said quietly.  "S-so then they can."

"And that's why Sandy McVeigh can't keep herself from singing your praises," Karen sighed.  "The three of us had lunch on Saturday, and I shouldn't tell you this, Heather, but Sandy is very jealous that Gail gets to have you in the family."

"That's – that's very – very nice of her," Heather stammered out, blushing.  She raised the pie carrier she had been holding since she and Jake had arrived at his parents, showing it to Gail.  "I think this needs to go in the fridge, if there's room. It's only had three hours – that's why we were late," she explained in a rush of breath.  Jake and Heather had been the last to arrive, fifteen minutes late, and that was mostly because of his peanut butter pie.  "I don't think it's completely set up yet."

"Well, it looks lovely," Gail said, taking the carrier from her.  "And, actually, we're ready to eat," she announced.  "I'll put this in the refrigerator, and all of you take your seats," she ordered, "Dinner will be right out."

April, Karen and Heather all immediately volunteered to assist with getting the food on the table, though Heather held back a moment to ask her fiancé a question.  "So you've really eaten rabbit?"

"Not like regularly," Jake answered with a shrug.   "But, yeah, I've had it.  Tastes—" and here all the other men – Eric, Johnston, Grandpa Green, Stanley, and even Paul – joined in.  "—just like chicken."

Heather rolled her eyes.  "Of course it does," she agreed, giving him a quick kiss before turning to follow the three women into the kitchen.

Gail had cooked a prime rib – Eric's request – as well as a number of side dishes, favorites of both her sons, and the twelve of them had settled down to dinner with gusto, passing bowls and platters back and forth, exclaiming over the tenderness and flavor of the meat and generally expressing their appreciation for the cook's efforts.  Gail sat at the head of the table, closest to the kitchen, with Jake and Eric seated right next to her on either side of the table, facing one another.  "So how was your ski trip?" Gail inquired of Jake and Heather, seated on his other side.  "Did you like Jackson Hole?" she added, passing a bowl of baked potatoes to Eric.

"Well, the snow was perfect for skiing," Heather jumped in, answering before Jake could.  "Actually, all the conditions were just right," she continued before launching into a rather detailed ski report, one that Jake recognized as the same one given – almost verbatim – by the loudmouth who had been waiting with them in the lobby of the restaurant they had gone to Saturday night. 

Heather had insisted that she needed to take him to a nice dinner over their weekend – going so far as to bribe the waiter into giving her the bill with the promise of a generous tip – as part of her birthday present to him.  He'd been reluctant at first, wary especially of interrupting the amazing, wonderful, magical time they were having alone together with only the occasional intrusion of a room service waiter.  But she'd wanted to go out – she'd wanted to dress up, she'd confessed – and later he'd had to admit that it had been a great idea.  The tension that had built up between them over those three hours they had been out, from the time Heather had stepped out of the bathroom in teal colored lace cocktail dress, holding her hair up with one hand and requesting his assistance with her zipper, through their dinner at a candlelit table in a secluded corner of the restaurant where they'd touched and flirted and enjoyed each other's company, to how they had held hands as they'd hurried back to the hotel room….  That tension had been delicious.  And fraught.  And they had certainly both enjoyed its resolution as they had continued their private celebration of his birthday.

"… yesterday, though, we were both kinda tired and Jake's ankle was bothering him, so we decided to not go skiing," Heather was explaining to the table as he shook his head, trying to clear it.  "Instead, we just walked around the town – it's cute but also kinda ritzy – had some lunch, and then went back to the hotel and spent the afternoon in front of the fire, reading and drinking hot chocolate."

"Sweetheart, is your ankle okay?" Gail inquired, a concerned frown marring her expression.

"Uh, yeah," Jake assured quickly.  "I just wasn't looking forward to putting it in a ski boot," he added truthfully.  Actually, everything that Heather had told his family was technically true, up to and including their afternoon spent in front of the fire reading.  Not that he'd gotten very far in the legal thriller that Heather had loaned him, but still.  He found her hand underneath the table and squeezed it, wondering if she knew what he was thinking.  After this weekend, the chances were pretty damn good that she did.  "No big deal," he continued, "I don't even notice it most of the time."

"You know what that's a sign of," Stanley intoned from his spot halfway down the table.  "It's a sign that you're getting old, man.  You too, Eric," he snorted.  "Twenty eight!" he declared, shaking his head in feigned sympathy.  "So, so old."

Eric rolled his eyes.  "Stanley, you're fifty five days younger than us.  That's not even two months," he reminded.

"Well, when I turned twenty eight, you boys had just turned a year old – were just startin' to walk and gettin' into all kinds of trouble – and Dad and Dick Leigh and Wallace Sherman were startin' to talk about how I should run for mayor the next time 'round," Johnston informed his sons from his seat at the foot of the table.

"The arrival of his grandchildren was an impetus to retirement for your grandfather," Gail laughed.  "He was lookin' forward to playdates before that was a thing."

"Absolutely, Abigail, darlin'," Grandpa Green confirmed with a grin.

"And I'm sure I can convince your father that he has better things to do with his time than run this town," Gail claimed tearing a slice of garlic bread in two, "Once he finds himself a grandfather."

"Like that's not pushing," Eric grumbled.

"Man, you better get on that," Jake suggested to his brother, smirking.

"What, like you're not gonna have kids?" Eric questioned.

Jake glanced sideways at Heather, exchanging quick smiles with her.  "Course we're gonna have kids," he returned easily, "But I'm sure as hell –"

"Jake!" his mother protested, "Not at the dinner table, please."

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh.  "But I'm sure as heck never gonna run for mayor.  You want it, you go get it," he advised.

"Thankfully – for us all – Eric has the temperament to be mayor," Grandpa Green opined from his seat between Stanley and Johnston.

"And Jake does not," Jake assured his family.  "All those council meetings and neighbors fighting over whose leaves end up on which lawn and what color so-and-so repainted their house...."  He made a face and a strangling noise. 

"That's not all there is to the job," Eric argued.  "The mayor works on all kinds of things – economic development, housing, the schools.  Gramps and Dad both worked on getting an ER and birthing center added to the clinic," he reminded, throwing his wife a smile.  As soon as her residency was complete, the Jericho Medical Center would have a new doctor in April Green.  "It's all important."

"It is important," Grandpa confirmed, clearing his throat.  "Though, you know, Eric, you do run for mayor, Gray Anderson is gonna come at you hard with the 'what we need is new blood' argument," he warned his grandson.

"And besides, I'm not quite ready to be put out to pasture yet," Johnston drawled.

"The next mayoral election's still four and a half years away, right?" Karen inquired, leaning around her daughter to catch her son-in-law's eye.  "Eric, just so you know, I vote for a granddaughter first – that'll distract your father, no problem –"

"Then you can slide right on into the mayor's office," Paul joked.  "After that, I figure, county supervisor, maybe state senator, congress eventually, perhaps a small detour to the governor's mansion –"

"And then the presidency!" Karen declared, giggling.  "I think President Green has a very nice ring to it.  And think of all the fun you and I will have," she added, catching Gail's eye, "Visiting our son and daughter at the White House."

Smiling, Gail leaned over to squeeze her son's shoulder.  "Now, that would be wonderful.  Christmas at the White House!  Spring in Washington!  Though, sweetheart, you know that if all you ever do is run for mayor, I'll still be proud."

"Thanks, Mom," Eric smiled.

Jake, though, couldn't suppress a groan.  "No offense, but if you're president, I'm quittin' my job.  I don't need you as my boss," he reminded.

"What, you don't want to be director of the FBI, or somethin'?" Eric asked his brother.  "We could do a kinda JFK – Bobby Kennedy thing," he suggested.  "And, Stanley, Agriculture Secretary?" he offered, "Heather, Education?"

"Shouldn't that be Paul?" she asked, clearly surprised by Eric's vote of confidence, even in jest. 

"Nah," Paul dismissed with a wave.  "Us grandparents get to while away our time takin' the kids to the museums.  I figure you go to the Air and Space museum with the president's kids, they let you sit in the lunar module," he joked.

They all laughed at that, though Eric did caution, "I don't know that it works that way...."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be great as mayor, and in the legislature or congress," April told him, letting her head rest against his for a moment.  "But anything higher than that, we need to talk."

Eric nodded, turning so they could exchange a quick kiss.  "You got it, doc."

"So, Johnston," Heather began tentatively, glancing down the table at her future father-in-law, "When is your birthday?  It's coming up, right?  You said that Jake and Eric were 'just a year old' on your birthday," she reminded.

"Two weeks," he answered, smiling at her.  "February fourth.  Actually, when we thought there was only the one baby, he or she was due on my birthday.  But I think the two of 'em got tired of kickin' each other all the time in there," he teased, winking in the general direction of Heather and his wife.  "Decided to make an early appearance."

"I was getting tired of them kicking me all the time," Gail argued.

"That certainly would have been a memorable birthday," Heather grinned, "If they had been born on yours."

"It was still memorable," Johnston assured her.  "They'd only been home for a week, and it was our first night completely alone with them.  Gail's mom and sister had come to help out, and my mother was over every day, but I guess they all decided that my birthday was a good time to disappear," he chuckled softly.  "But I don't think Jake and Eric liked be abandoned to us, their clearly incompetent parents," Johnston joked, shaking his head. 

"They were both so cranky, and we were up half the night, walkin' 'em around," he continued.  "Finally, at one in the morning, I knew I needed some sleep, even just an hour – I was teachin' school in the morning, and the first bell was at seven forty five.  So, even though it was the middle of the oil crisis, and I only had 'bout an eighth of a tank, and I had an even license plate number so I wouldn't be able to get gas until the day after, we bundled them up in their snowsuits and decided to drive 'em around, see if that helped."

"It worked," Gail said, picking up the story, "Though your father ran out of gas over on Green Street – in front of the Berry's house actually, Heather – and we had to hoof it the five blocks home, each with a baby tucked into our coats," she laughed.  "Which is funny now, but was absolutely nerve-wracking back then.  For the next week I was sure they were both gonna come down with pneumonia."

Jake's and Eric's gazes connected across the table and they offered twin shrugs.  "Sorry," they mumbled in unison.

Heather poked her fiancé in the side, frowning softly at his brother.  "That did not sound very sincere," she informed them. 

It wasn't like when she nagged Jake, Gail realized, watching as he flashed his fiancée a grin that seemed to say 'ya caught me'.  It was almost as if he'd expected her response, like he'd started a joke and she'd filled in the punch line.  Eric, too, seemed both admonished and amused by Heather's reprimand.  "Sorry, Ma," Jake apologized, "Sorry, Dad.  You know, for my behavior when I was two weeks old."

"Our behavior," Eric corrected.  "But you know," he continued, smirking at his brother, "I'm pretty sure it was all his idea."

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before," Johnston returned with a dry chuckle.

Shaking her head at her husband and sons, Gail smiled at her future daughter-in-law.  "Heather, dear, you have no idea how happy I am you're joining our family."

"Me too," Heather smiled in return.  "So, Gail," she continued, stabbing together a bite of her baked potato, "When's your birthday?"

"July thirty first.  And this is rather embarrassing," she admitted a beat later, "But I don't know when your birthday is."  Frowning, she glanced at her son.  "Jake," Gail demanded, worry coloring her tone, "Please tell me that you know –"

"Of course I know when my future wife was born," Jake interrupted his mother, exasperated.  "What kinda jerk do you think I am?" he inquired, not bothering to wait for an answer before he continued.  "June sixth, 1979, at three thirty eight AM."

"Absolutely correct," Heather confirmed, laughing quietly.  "Though I literally have no idea how you know three thirty eight in the morning," she admitted.

"The big book of Heather," Jake returned easily.

"He means my baby book," she translated, recognizing the confusion in his mother's and sister-in-law's expressions.  "The pretty copy of my birth certificate's in there.  My dad showed it to Jake."  Gail, April and Karen all smiled, comprehension lighting their faces.

"She's a Gemini," Jake offered, "And even though she thinks it's hooey, she reads her horoscope every day."

"I read yours, too," Heather reminded, giggling.  "And, yeah, it's hooey, but it's also cheap entertainment, conveniently located right next to the crossword puzzle."

"And Gemini's the twins," August interjected, "No wonder you decided you liked Jake."

"I actually didn't know Jake was a twin," Heather replied, glancing down the table at August.  "Not until he brought me to dinner the first time, and April and Gail showed me his baby pictures," she added, smiling at the two women.  "And I already knew I liked him by that point," she finished, her eyes locking with Jake's.  "A lot." 

His response was to chuckle, and then, shaking his head, Jake cupped her chin in his hand so he could place a chaste but lingering kiss on her lips. 

"I looked up our astrological compatibility, too," she informed their companions once they'd separated, her gaze still concentrated on her fiancé.  "And it turns out that Gemini and Aquarius are a good match.  Of course, I'd have just ignored it if it had said we were completely wrong for each other," Heather admitted with a laugh, "'Cause it really is just a bunch of nonsense."

"Well, Jake and I are a perfect match by the Chinese zodiac," August announced.  "I'm just saying… Ox and Rooster go together great, and Stanley and Autumn are perfect, too.  Tiger and Horse.  I figured it all out just before your wedding," she informed her sister.  "Though, you guys are only so-so.  Ox and Tiger."

"Only, there's no way I'm marrying Autumn," Stanley reminded, adding, "No offense," as he looked between Paul and Karen.  "I don't care what the menu at The Jade Dragon says," he continued, mentioning Jericho's only Chinese restaurant.  "But I'll totally marry you, Augie."

Bonnie had been watching August – she'd continued to helpfully sign the gist of the conversation to the younger girl even after they had all sat down at the table – when Stanley had made his surprise announcement.  August had abruptly stopped translating, leaving Bonnie hanging.  "What did you say?" she demanded, tugging on her brother's sleeve.  "What did you say?" Bonnie repeated, her voice growing louder.

Grinning, Stanley answered his little sister, enunciating clearly so he was sure she could read his lips.  "I said I could never marry Autumn, but I would marry August."

"Yes!" Bonnie crowed, smiling widely as she glanced at August and then back at Stanley.  "Yes!  Marry Augus', marry Augus'.  Please, please, please!" she begged, grinning at August.  "Marry Stanley so you can be my sister."

Paul waved at Bonnie to get her attention.  "August can't get married until she's graduated college," he explained carefully to the young girl.  "But after that, Stanley," he sighed, his gaze settling on the younger man, "You certainly have my blessing."

"Da-ad!" August protested.  "I think I can pick my own husband, thank you very much.  It is the twenty first century, after all."

"Augie, I'm so gonna show up at your graduation with a ring and propose right as you come off the stage," Stanley threatened, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her.  "You just wait."

"You should take him up on it, Aug," Jake threw in.  "'Cause, I'm sorry to say, I'm gonna hafta go with my Gemini," he added, kissing Heather on the temple.

"I'm a sheep," she told him, smiling, "By the Chinese zodiac, I mean.  And Stanley," Heather continued, leaning around Bonnie, "You should bring flowers when you propose."

Stanley nodded.  "Yeah, good idea, thanks."  He rubbed his hands together, contemplating his plan.  "Year and a half from now, right?  You just watch out, Augie."

"And what are you gonna do if I say 'yes'?" August challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Get married," he returned, not missing a beat.  "Which totally works for me.  You'll love farm life," Stanley assured, "Up at five thirty – six in the winter – for a day of hard work and clean living.  Go to bed early, then get up and do it all again.  Hey!" he realized, his grin widening, "You can run the farm stand.  That'll free up loads of my time.  Aw, man.  This is gonna be sweet!"

"Not so much fun when somebody else tries to arrange your life for you, is it sweetheart?" Karen asked her youngest daughter, her tone sympathetic.

August rolled her eyes.  "Well, it's not like I really thought Jake and I would get married," she conceded, "It was just a nice thought – the three Glendenning sisters marrying the three Green twins."

"Marry me, and that's two outta three," Stanley reminded, throwing her a teasing grin.

"I think we should induct Heather as an honorary Glendenning girl, and then it's six out of seven," April laughed.  "Besides," she snorted, "Autumn is officially the lost cause in this equation.  She's pregnant, and she's joined this vegetarian commune."

The rest of the Greens did not appear to be surprised by this news, but Jake was, gaping at April.  "Seriously?  She's a vegetarian?"

"Forget vegetarian.  She – she's pregnant?" Stanley yelped.  "Well, I – I sure as – as heck had nothin' to do with that," he assured Karen and Paul, his eyes wide.

"A fact we are unfortunately quite well aware of," Paul sighed.

"And, she's not living on a commune," Karen protested, "It's a cooperative housing situation –"

"Well, she's still pregnant with no intention of marrying the father, which must seem very cooperative to him since all she'll say is that he doesn't believe in marriage," April grumbled.  "I bet you a – a five course dinner at Harrison's that Autumn's back in her old bedroom by Easter," she told her mother, including Paul with a glance.  "She can't take care of herself – clearly – so how is she supposed to take care of a baby?"

"Personally, I prefer that she move home rather than pile a bad marriage on top of motherhood," Karen argued.  "And, dinner at the steakhouse?" she questioned, shaking her head.  "If you're right, and I'm paying up, that's not really fair to your sister the vegetarian."  Karen paused a moment, letting out a deep breath and then pasting on a smile over her frown.  "But I really don't think that this is a conversation for Eric's and Jake's birthday party," she declared.  "So, Heather, Gail says the wedding plans are coming along nicely?"

"Pretty well," Heather agreed, quickly swallowing a bite of broccoli in cheese sauce.  "I mean, for only being engaged three weeks exactly," she laughed somewhat self-consciously.  "But we have a date –"

"July thirteenth," Jake interjected.  "One hundred seventy two days.  See?" he said, throwing his mother a pointed look.  "I know these things."

Gail smiled at her son.  "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you, honey."

"Well, it's really still one hundred and seventy three days," Heather corrected gently, placing a quick kiss on her fiancé's cheek.  "But I'm glad you know these things, too."

"You said it was a hundred seventy three last night," he argued.

"Yeah, but that was at like two minutes past midnight," she countered, "So I calculated based on today, and it's still today.  Not that it really matters."

"The wedding's at two, right?  It's like seven now, so that makes it a hundred seventy two."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Heather confessed after a few seconds contemplation, "But you are absolutely right." She smiled at Jake, laying her hand over the top of his on the table, squeezing his fingers.  "So," she continued, turning her attention back to Karen, "We are in fact getting married in one hundred seventy two days, on July thirteenth, two in the afternoon, at Main Street Presbyterian Church."

"And next Saturday we go dress shopping," April interjected, grinning.  "That'll be fun.  And actually, you can pick out the guys' tux style too."  She glanced at Gail.  "The joy of going to Auntie Bridget," April laughed.

"Yes, even Jake is scared of my sister," Gail told Heather.  "So whatever the rest of us want him to do, Bridget can make happen," she chuckled.

"Plus, Stanley's totally terrified of her," April laughed.

"Heck yeah," he confirmed, his eyes bugging slightly.  "She's – she's like Cruella de Vil," he argued, "Only short."

"She's not anything like Cruella de Vil," Gail reassured her future daughter-in-law, shaking her head at Stanley.  "Though, she is only five feet tall.  And she can't wait to meet you, Heather.  She's closing the shop down for the day for us," she announced.  Bridget was Gail's younger sister and she owned Bridget's Bridal and Formal Wear, the biggest of the three bridal shops in Rogue River.  "So pity all the other brides in the area this weekend," Gail laughed.  "Bridget says she's having a champagne luncheon catered in, and she's already contacted the shop in Buffalo your sister-in-law recommended so the coordination is all under control…. It's going to be quite the day."

"Well, I guess so," Heather returned, her expression bemused.  "Sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun."  She looked at Karen, smiling.  "So, yeah, things are coming together, I think.  We've taken care of all the Catholic stuff, knock on wood," she chuckled, rapping her fist gently on the table.  "I think we have anyway.  And if something goes wrong with a dispensation, then we'll just work on whatever they want post-wedding and try not to mention it to my dad."

"That reminds me," Gail interjected, "I have your parent forms – or Jake's, rather – filled out and signed, so don't leave without getting them from me," she instructed. 

"Great!" Heather declared, "I'll take 'em over to Saint Elizabeth's after school tomorrow and everything should be fine."

Gail smiled.  "Well, you can always blame the lateness of our forms on your lapsed Catholic future mother-in-law."

 "I'd never do that," Heather protested.

"Then blame it on your never was Catholic future father-in-law," Johnston advised, "And the water main break on Walnut last week."

"It'll be fine," Heather repeated, glancing between Jake's parents and smiling.  "We really only have to get everything started six months before the wedding, and as long as you're using a twenty eight day month, we're gonna have all the paperwork finished up with four days to spare," she reasoned.

"So, Jake, are you gonna be Catholic now?" Eric inquired, swallowing a bite of Jell-O salad. 

"What?  No," his brother answered, throwing him a weird look.  "Why would –"

"Hey, you said you're gonna be raising your dog and your kids Catholic," Eric reminded.  "I just wondered how that worked.  Like, do you need to convert or just sign something or what?"

"Why do you care?" Jake grumbled, rolling his eyes.  He took a breath, his nostrils flaring for an instant, before continuing.  "Look – I'm not religious, and Heather is.  Catholic," he emphasized.  "So, raising our kids Catholic seems pretty logical to me.  But that doesn't mean that I'm gonna convert," he snorted, "Or go to church more, or anything."

The sudden awkwardness between the two brothers was palpable, though some of it was diffused in the next instance by Heather's relieved declaration.  "Thank goodness!" she proclaimed, finding her fiancé's hand under the table.  "I love you, Jake, but I'm pretty sure I can only stand sitting next to you in church a few times a year," she teased, squeezing his fingers.  "Like ten, tops."

"He really is Mister Fidget in church, isn't he?" Gail clucked, throwing her son's fiancée a sympathetic look.

Heather groaned.  "And it's only church," she complained, "Not the movies, not in restaurants, on planes… anywhere else where you sit next to him.  Just church," she grumbled, shaking her head.

"That's 'cause he's always afraid God's gonna smite him down when he goes to church," Stanley suggested, snorting softly.  Jake – who for right or wrong always took Stanley's ribbing better than Eric's – settled for merely rolling his eyes at his best friend.  "He's gotta be ready to tuck and roll outta the way of the lightning bolt," Stanley declared, prompting gentle laughter all around the table

"I'm not that bad," Jake protested as their chuckles subsided.  "I've gone to church with you three times this month, and I've been good," he reminded his fiancée, teasing, "I mean, you haven't killed me yet."

"Well, that's true," she grinned, "And, it's all been Catholic churches." 

In addition to attending mass with her father in Buffalo, Jake and Heather had tried Saint Elizabeth's on the recommendation of Mary Bailey, the only other 'for sure' Catholic Jake knew in Jericho who was anywhere near their own ages.  Unfortunately, the sanctuary itself had seemed too small for the wedding they were shaping up to have – Heather figured that between her extended family and Jake's, plus friends and colleagues, they would end up with a guest list between two hundred and two fifty – but Father Reynaldo had impressed them both, so much so that after attending Saturday evening mass the previous weekend they had decided to skip the two churches they had planned to hit on Sunday and instead had headed back to Saint Elizabeth's to feel out Father Reynaldo on his willingness to help them through the dispensation process.  Luckily, the priest had been more than amenable.  Heather, also, had been relieved to find a church and priest that she liked and that were a reasonable distance from Jericho, as long as she used the back roads that Jake had introduced her to instead of going the long way around by three state highways.

 "Maybe the incense soothes your jitters," Heather joked, stroking her thumb over the back of Jake's hand.

"Shorter services, too," he argued.

"Maybe behaving in church was Jake's New Year's resolution," Grandpa Green offered from the other end of the table. 

"Nah," his grandson returned without missing a beat.  "My only New Year's resolution was to get you to marry me," Jake informed his fiancée, winking at her, "And that's workin' out so far."

"Good answer," Heather giggled before questioning, "Though 'so far'?  There's no 'so far' about it," she insisted, "We're getting married in a hundred and seventy two days, and don't you forget it!"  She punctuated this statement with a quick kiss that drew indulgent smiles from the women and Grandpa Green – and also a pair of good natured groans from Eric and Stanley.

"Hey, I'll be there," Jake assured.

"So, Eric," Heather continued, glancing across the table at her future brother-in-law.  "To answer your question, Jake doesn't have to convert or sign anything.  Now, I have to sign an attestation that says I'll share my faith with our children and that they will be baptized and raised as Catholics," she clarified.  "Jake just has to know that that's what I'm doing."

"See?  No big deal," Jake told his brother.  "And, why do you care anyway?"

"Just curious," Eric replied as he cut a bite of his meat.  "I mean, if you're signing a letter of intent – well, this attestation," he amended, gesturing at Heather, "That's a contract, or at least contract-like.  It's interesting.  Really interesting, because it's not like they can enforce it –"

"They kinda can," Heather interrupted.  "I mean, we're going through all this – this rigmarole because they can enforce it.  The dispensations are required so that I can continue to receive the sacraments of my church, and that's kind of important to me," she explained.  "And it's not like if I didn't do all this stuff that a tattoo that says 'don't give this woman communion' would suddenly appear on my forehead, but still."   Heather took a deep breath and, forcing a shaky smile, continued.  "If I wasn't eligible, I'd know, and that would bug me.  Trust me, I already got indignant over all of this, and I threatened to just get married outside of the church," she admitted, "But luckily Jake and my dad talked me down off that particular ledge," she chuckled self-consciously.  "So now we're dotting all the Catholic I's and crossing all the Catholic T's."

April smiled approvingly at her brother-in-law.  "Way to go, Jake!  Seriously," she continued while the rest of the diners laughed softly at her enthusiastic proclamation, "I'm proud of you.  We all should be proud of you," she added, looking up and down the table.

"Hey, I'm with you," Heather returned, patting Jake on the shoulder.  "I was really kinda freakin' out."

"Well, I just figure, after Heather, her dad is the person it's most important to keep happy," he argued with a shrug.  "And Heather being Catholic makes him happy."

"Gail, Johnston, I can officially declare that you did not raise an idiot," Paul announced, "I congratulate you," he chuckled.

"So says the assistant director for educational instruction in the great state of Kansas," Karen reminded, smiling at her husband.

"And – more importantly – I say that as a man who's dad to three daughters," Paul sighed.  "Two non-idiots… you're a success as parents."

"I believe that calls for a toast," Grandpa Green proclaimed from his seat at the other end of the table.  "So, everyone, raise your glasses, please."  He waited a few seconds while everyone reached for their wineglasses or – in the case of August and Bonnie -- soda cups before continuing.  "First," Grandpa announced, "To Jake and Eric!  Happy birthday, boys!"  There was much clinking of glasses as around the table this toast was echoed by the celebrants, and April and Heather each gave their respective birthday boy a birthday kiss.  "And second," Grandpa continued once some of the hubbub had died down, "To Gail and Johnston, who as Paul pointed out, didn't raise themselves any idiots."

"To Gail and Johnston!" Paul and Karen called out while Jake, Eric and April announced "To Mom and Dad!" 

This was followed by a flurry of 'please pass' requests as Grandpa asked for more meat, Bonnie for the Jell-O, and Stanley for another baked potato, drawing an eye roll from his 'future wife'.  "What?" he grumbled, dropping a dollop of sour cream on his potato and frowning at August.  "I worked today.  Nine hours.  There're no paid holidays on a farm."

"Way to sell the whole marrying you thing, Stan," August teased.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Gail said, passing a three-quarters empty basket of garlic bread to Jake, who took a slice before handing the basket to his fiancée.  "When Johnston and I got married, Heather," she smiled, watching as the young woman selected her own piece of bread.  "Well, the wedding itself was a quick thing.  Johnston only had two weeks of leave, and we didn't decide until he'd been home a few days that we just wanted to get married—" 

"Which is what we did," Johnston interjected.  "In exactly eight days."

"It was eight days plus a few hours, though back then when you made a decision like that at nine-forty-five in the evening, there wasn't anyone you could call to get started that night.  I didn't even tell my parents until the next day." 

"Johnston told us as soon as he got home that night," Grandpa Green informed his daughter-in-law.  "Woke us up – it was after eleven.  I was real happy for you both."

"I was happy that you were friends with a justice of the peace," Gail returned, smiling at him.  She glanced then at Heather, explaining, "Our priest was a good friend of my father's, but he wasn't comfortable marrying us, especially on such short notice."

"The minimum six months' of preparation," the young woman nodded.

"Exactly.  But after that – and with everything else going on….  Well, remaining Catholic just never seemed like an option," Gail confessed, emitting a rueful chuckle.  "I was the first in my family to get married – my brothers Eddie and Stuart are older, and Eddie got married right after we did, but I was still the first.  Plus, my parents still had three teenagers at home, so they were too distracted to really care what I did," she explained.  "But Johnston's mother did seem to care.  My being Catholic was just another thing that made me different from the Greens—" 

Gail broke off then, her father-in-law catching her eye from his seat at the other end of the table.  "Sorry, Dad," she apologized.

"Abigail, darlin', you've no reason to apologize to me," Grandpa Green assured her.  "I know Betsy wasn't perfect," he continued, "She just happened to be perfect for me."

This statement drew a round of aws and smiles from the women at the table, Gail included.  "Now Ricky," April laughed, resting her head against her husband's shoulder, "You should totally feel free to say that about me any time you want."

"You too, Jake!" Heather interjected, grinning.
 
"Well okay, if you insist," he acknowledged, though his tone was skeptical.  "April," he began, his eyes locking with his sister-in-law's, "You may not be perfect –"

"Hey!  I meant me!" his fiancée objected, smacking him lightly on the shoulder and giggling.  "I meant you could say that about me!"

"Oh yeah," Jake said, twisting around to face Heather.  Smirking softly, he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth.  "That makes more sense."

Smiling and shaking his head at his grandson's antics, Grandpa Green cleared his throat, addressing his daughter-in-law.  "Gail, I hope you know that, in the end, Betsy liked how things worked out in this family.  She loved you, and she loved her grandsons, even when they insist on being a pair of comedians," he snorted.

"What?" Eric protested, insisting, "I had nothing to do with this," as he pointed an accusing finger and his wife, brother and future sister-in-law.

"It'd be okay if you did have something to do with it, Eric," his mother informed him.  "I thought it was rather funny."

"And I'm pretty sure my mother would have loved her granddaughters, too," Johnston opined from the end of the table. 

"Even though I insist on being Catholic?" Heather inquired.

"Even though," Grandpa Green smiled.

"And while my mother-in-law was shocked that her son would want to marry a Catholic girl," Gail told Heather, "Your mother-in-law is not so secretly delighted that you are – and that some of her grandchildren will be Catholic, too.  I happen to be looking forward to attending first holy communions and confirmations that look like the ceremonies I went through as a child."

Heather offered her a relieved smile.  "Good!"

"Now," Gail continued, "Unfortunately, Paul, Karen and August need to hit the road, so we should probably move onto birthday cake and pie.  So – and I can say this because we're all family here –" she chuckled, "Everybody grab your plate and follow me."


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday January 21, four months after the bombs


His hands on her shoulders, Jake steered Heather back into the living room where his parents were busy brewing themselves cups of tea. "We're gonna head up," he told them, cocking his head toward the staircase. "So goodnight."

"Yes, goodnight," Heather echoed, smiling.

"You sure you don't want some tea first?" Johnston asked, holding his own cup up in demonstration. "Feels like it's gonna be a cold one tonight."

Heather tilted her head back so she could meet her husband's gaze. She already knew from the way he was impatiently tapping his thumbs against her shoulders that he was eager to continue on upstairs, and it was only his good manners – admittedly coupled with a desire to hang the proverbial 'do not disturb' sign in his parents' minds – that had driven him to stop into the living room and bid Gail and Johnston goodnight.  "I think I'm good," she declared.

"I'm good, too," Jake added quickly, almost before the words had completely left Heather's mouth.

"Well, goodnight, then," Gail said.  "And happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," her son returned, grinning.  "And you know, uh, thanks for the womb and the labor and all that."

Gail couldn't help but laugh.  Jake had certainly never said anything like that to her before, and she knew that it could only be his current and very close-up view of pregnancy that had prompted him to do so now.  She set her mug down on the mantle and crossed the room so she could join the younger couple.  "You are very welcome," she told him, hugging him with one arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  "I think that turned out nicely for all of us," she added, turning to hug Heather.  "Sleep well."

The four Greens exchanged another round of goodnights, and then Gail and Johnston watched as Jake, walking backwards and holding onto both of her hands, led his wife to the foot of the staircase.  She leaned in close, whispering something they couldn’t – and probably didn't want to – hear, but that made Jake smile at her widely.  Holding hands, they climbed the stairs at a surprisingly quick pace.

Gail joined Johnston on the couch, gladly accepting her mug of tea, which he'd carried over from the fireplace for her.  "'Sleep well'?" he asked, his lips twitching beneath his beard and mustache.  "It's not even eight," he reminded as she settled in beside him, pulling a quilt off the sofa's arm and tucking it in around them both.  "I doubt sleep's what's on their agenda right now."

Gail glanced sideways at her husband, one eyebrow arched elegantly in question.  "You'd rather I'd said 'have fun'?" she inquired.  "Probably more appropriate," she conceded, "But it would've left poor Heather blushing for an hour at least."

"It would've left me blushing for an hour," Johnston muttered from behind his mug.  "And 'have fun'?" he quoted, grumbling, "She's seven months pregnant."

"Oh, Johnston," Gail laughed softly.  "I realize it's been thirty years, but you and I both know that being pregnant only makes things different, not impossible," she sighed.  "And I certainly was not left with the impression that Heather was doing anything under duress."

"True," he agreed, allowing an uncomfortable chuckle.  Johnston placed his mug on the coffee table and pulled the quilt up higher before seeking out his wife's hand, cradling it in both of his own.  "Those two," he complained fondly.

"Think of it like this," she advised, "At least we know that one of our grandchildren is going to grow up with the sense of security that comes from knowing that your parents truly love one another.  Whatever else happens, their baby will at least have that."

"Well, I doubt that Heather and Jake were ever plannin' to stop at one," he replied, loath to take the bait.  He was too cold and too unwilling to give up this chance to cuddle with his wife to get into their millionth discussion regarding their younger son's personal choices.  "I'm guessin' – provided we can find some, some sort of stability – that they're good for at least two."

Gail relaxed against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.   "She wants three or four," she confided with a smile, "And Jake's agreed to two, maybe three."

"So that's four grandbabies, pretty much guaranteed," he teased, "Long as she doesn't find childbirth too excruciating."

"Or her doctor doesn't advise against it," his wife replied, offering him a sad smile.  They had both wanted more children themselves, a daughter especially, but it hadn't been meant to be. "And, I'd guess five – April's, plus four from them.  Heather gets her way more often than you think, Johnston," she informed him, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.  "And women's brains are designed to forget about the horrors of childbirth pretty quickly. It's a little thing called 'perpetuation of the species'."

"Still, those two," Johnston moaned good-naturedly, shaking his head. "Sometimes, bein' around 'em, it's just embarrassing!"

Gail shook her head at him.  "Like we were any better," she argued.

"We did not act like that when you were pregnant," Johnston countered, "Or when we were their age."

"Well, that's debatable," she chuckled, threading her arm through his.  "Frankly, it still astonishes me that we both managed to graduate college, Mr. 'Let's Take A Study Break'.  And you made the Dean's List every semester to boot!"

Johnston had the good grace to at least look sheepish as he acknowledged the truth of her accusation.  "You never seemed to object," he reminded.  "And we were younger – a lot younger than Jake."

"We married younger," she returned.  "I'm glad Jake waited 'til he found the right girl, and I refuse to be embarrassed by the fact that they love each other.  No, those two aren't what embarrasses me."

And they were back to that, Johnston realized, his stomach turning over.  The giant, Eric-shaped elephant in the room.  "Gail," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair, "You're gonna hafta forgive him –"

"Our son doesn't appear to believe that he's done anything that requires an apology," she snapped, pulling away from him.

"You hafta forgive him sometime," Johnston repeated, exasperation coloring his tone.  "Or you're gonna lose him," he argued, "We're gonna lose him.  And I, at least, don't want that.  He's our son."

Her eyes bright with angry tears, Gail glared at him, shaking her head.  "You act like –" She bit off whatever she was going to say – going to charge him with – her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.  "Your father would be spitting nails about this," she declared, folding her arms over her chest protectively.  "He'd disown Eric, or at least threaten to.  And your mother!"  She let out a heavy, frustrated breath.  "She'd probably blame me – 'breeding always shows' –" Gail said, mimicking Betsy Green's higher, quieter voice. 

The phrase, too, was all his mother, Johnston acknowledged to himself, one she'd used more than once in reference to Gail during their engagement, hoping to talk him out of marrying her.  The two women had eventually learned to get along, an uncomfortable relationship made somewhat easier by their shared love for two active and entertaining boys, but they had never been the best of friends.   "Sweetie –"

"But the irony is, I'm just as – as – as ashamed," Gail finally decided, "As she would've been."  She covered her face with her hands, groaning in frustration.  "How did this happen?" she complained.

"Does it matter?" Johnston countered, "It's not like things can – can go back to the way they were.  Before."

"I'm not naïve, Johnston," she told him, letting her hands – clenched into fists – drop into her lap.  "I know that April and Eric won't be getting back together.  I wouldn't want them to.  She still loves him, at least a little bit," Gail insisted, "She couldn't despise him – hate him – as much as she does if she didn't.  But she doesn't trust him – could never trust him again, not with her heart – and we both know you need love and trust for marriage to work."  She stared past him, frowning sadly, the stiff way she held herself broadcasting loudly and clearly: 'don't touch me'.  "I don't want them back together," she repeated, "But I do –"

The rattle of a key in the front door cut off her statement, leaving Johnston to wonder what it was that Gail did want – presumably – for Eric to do or say.  She scrambled to stand up, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes and pasting on a smile.  Quickly, Gail moved toward the entry, ready to greet Jeff and Drake as the came in the door, stomping their feet and making chuffing noises about the cold.

"Come in, come in, you two," she ordered, her tone warm and inviting.  It was how Gail had always welcomed her family – those she loved – home.  Johnston could remember the first time he'd been in her parents' house – the only time he was there before they were engaged – and her father and eldest brother had returned home at the end of a long day of working in the family's butcher shop.  The way Gail had greeted them both, with hugs and kisses and fussing, you would have thought they'd been gone a month instead of eleven or twelve hours.  Johnston had known then that he wanted that in his life – that easy affection, that demonstrative love, the beautiful woman to whom it all came so naturally. 

 He had already known that he loved Gail – that he'd known after a week – but it was in that moment that he'd known he had to marry her.  Johnston had grown up understanding that his parents loved him – of course they had loved him – but it wasn't something they went out of their way to express, his mother particularly, especially after his sister's death.  And so, seeing Gail with her family had left him craving such openness, such warmth; it had left him yearning for her and the life he'd been sure they could build together.  Johnston had proposed two days later. It was a choice that he had never regretted, and he considered having Gail as their mother to be the best gift he'd ever given his sons.  Neither was perfect, but when it came to their emotions they were both much more O'Brien than Green, and those that Jake and Eric loved were all the better for it.

Jeff, Drake, and Michael, too were all the better for the mother's love his wife was more than happy to shower upon them, and which they soaked up like sponges.  "Come over to the fire," Gail clucked, linking her arm through Drake's.  "We need to get you boys warmed up.  Did you eat?  There's plenty of dinner left over," she assured before they could answer.  "And Jake left you each a cookie, from his party."

"Mrs. Davis is still bringing venison stew by every evening, for the clinic staff," Jeff answered.  Lindsay Davis had both broken her arm and come down with bronchitis the previous week, and Shannon, Gail knew, was still operating from that jittery, helpless place a mother always ended up when one of her children was in danger and there wasn't much she could do to resolve things.  Providing dinner for the doctors and nurses that had seen her daughter through this scare seemed, to Shannon, like the very least she could do. 

"But April told us to get home quick if we wanted a cookie," Drake added, chuckling, "So we hurried."

"Yeah," Jeff confirmed, turning around in front of the fire, apparently trying to decide whether to warm his back or front first.  "So where is the birthday boy?"

"Jake and Heather have already retired for the evening," Johnston informed them, somewhat gruffly, as he moved across living room to join the two young men by the fire.

"Right," Jeff returned dryly, fighting a smirk.  "Well, good for them."

Drake shook his head at his friend.  "He's just jealous," the young man explained to Johnston.

"Here you go," Gail said, presenting their peanut butter cookies first to Drake and then to Jeff. 

"Thanks," they said in unison.  "And, I am a little jealous," Jeff admitted a beat later, shrugging.  "I mean, they have – what they have, it's worth living for, you know?  We've all survived up to now, and that's great.  But they have a life.  They have each other," he continued, the words practically flowing out of him on their own volition.   "They're gonna – they're having a kid.  Probably scary as hell," he conceded with a humorless chuckle.  He paused a moment, examining his cookie before taking a nibbling bite.  "But still…" Jeff sighed, "I'd take it." 

"He asked a girl out, and she turned him down," Drake reported, glancing back and forth between Gail and Johnston.  "He's not used to it."

"I didn't ask her out," Jeff grumbled.  "I mean, where would I take her?" he inquired rhetorically, frowning.    "I only go three places – here, the med center, and border patrol."  He shook his head, frowning.  "It's just we've been – well, I guess I've been," he corrected, "Flirting with her the last week.  So she cornered me in the supply closet today and told me I'm not her type," Jeff complained.  "Which is fine.  Whatever," he sighed, "But y' know, when I said I was gonna go to med school, everyone said 'don't get serious', that med school and internship, those are relationship killers.  But then the bombs happened, and now… sometimes just surviving … it's – it feels pointless.  I mean, I'm not a doctor, I can't even take a girl on date, and it just – it just sucks."

"Oh, Jeff," Gail clucked, pulling the young man into a one armed hug.  "Honey, I promise you that someday – and probably pretty soon – you're gonna flirt with some girl who's gonna think you're exactly her type," she predicted, while in the back of her mind she ran through her mental roll of med center staff and volunteers, trying to figure out which young woman could have possibly turned him down.   "Don't you worry.  Because any girl is gonna be lucky to have you," Gail assured him, kissing his on the cheek.  "And, Jeff, you are a doctor, we just need to get a little more training into you, okay?"

He nodded, flashing her a muted grin.  "Okay."

"And as for where to take a girl on a date," Gail continued, "Well, you can always bring her to dinner here.  Jake brought Heather to dinner a week after they met," she told him, smiling, "And it seems to have worked out for them, wouldn't you say?"

"He really brought her to a family dinner after one week?" Jeff asked, chuckling.  "Wow."

"I believe it was actually nine days," Johnston interjected.  "Though we still shoulda known that he was plannin' on marrying her after that, doncha think?"  He caught his wife's eye then, and decided to amend his statement.  "Though, I suppose you did know that that's what he was up to, Mrs. Green?  Way ahead of Jake himself."

"I thought the chances were good, that's all," Gail replied, shrugging.  "But I knew better than to push," she claimed.

"Of course," Johnston acknowledged with a nod and a grin.  "Well, Jeff," he continued, "If you're brave enough to bring a date to dinner with all of us, we won't even require that ya marry her later," he promised, clapping the young man on the shoulder.  "You too, Drake."

Drake made a face, drawing gentle chuckles from the other three.  "You can have the first go at that, Jeff," he muttered, blushing.

"Yeah, okay," Jeff agreed, rolling his eyes at his friend.  "And you know what else I'm gonna have first go at?  The shower," he announced, answering his own question.  "'Cause the shower's always colder when you hafta go after someone else."

"You're crazy," Drake informed him.  "The shower's just cold.  And if it got colder it'd be comin' out as icicles."

"Well, it feels colder," Jeff argued stubbornly.  He appealed to Johnston.  "You know what I mean."

"I'm with Drake on this one," the older man replied.  There had been a rash of burst pipes back during the first week of December, after the first hard freeze, and some of the unoccupied houses in town had flooded.  Work crews had been organized – after the fact – to turn off the water at the entrance valves, to pump out swamped basements and storm cellars, and to tear out ruined sheetrock, though it probably hadn't been enough to ward off mold, and the buildings would likely be uninhabitable come spring.  So, for the two months since, they had left all their faucets and showerheads dripping – and Johnston knew that Jake had done the same at the ranch – in order to preserve the plumbing.  Their water was cold, but at least it wouldn't freeze in the pipes.  "Ice water is ice water."

"Okay then, you really won't care if I grab the first shower," Jeff reasoned.  "Besides, my shift starts before yours."

"When do you two need to be back?" Gail asked, frowning at the dark circles under both their eyes. 

"I'm on six to noon at the med center, then one to nine on the border patrol," Jeff answered, frustration creeping into his voice as he added, "I told you I only go three places."

"I go in at noon tomorrow, on 'til six the next morning.  Half the town's sick," Drake reminded, "So whatever April says, we work it." 

"And she keeps insisting on these twelve or eighteen or twenty four hour shifts for herself, too," Gail grumbled, shaking her head.

Drake pained expression mirrored Gail's. "We try to keep her from working too much," he assured, "But she's the boss… and she's April!"

"Oh honey, I know," Gail assured him, squeezing his arm.  "You know I just worry."

"April's glad to have you guys around," Johnston told them, "Allows Gail to spread some of that worry 'round."

"Well, feel free to worry about me, turnin' blue in the shower all you want," Jeff instructed, snorting.  "'Cause I'm goin' in," he declared, taking a step away from the fire.

"I'm going to bed," Drake added, moving to follow.  "I can take a shower in the morning.  Always a chance the water will be warmer then," he joked.

Jeff waited for his friend to catch up, throwing an arm around his neck and noogying his head.  "Oh sure, the shower will be warmer in the morning," he accused, elbowing the door to the kitchen open.

"Ow!  Le' go!" Johnston and Gail heard Drake protest, but he was also laughing and groaning as Jeff dragged him into the other room.

Grinning, Johnston shook his head at their antics.  "It's like having Jake and Eric, circa 1989, around again."  He offered his hand to his wife.

"Yeah," she nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, "It is, isn't it?"  Tentatively, Gail accepted his hand, her fingers curling around his, allowing him to lead her back toward the couch.  "Though," she chuckled, "I could almost see Jake doing that now.  To Michael… or Eric."

A soft bark of laughter escaped Johnston then.  "I bet Jake'll be one of those fathers who roughhouses with his kids right before bed," he predicted as they settled themselves on the sofa.  "Get 'em all riled up," he continued, relieved that Gail allowed him to tuck the quilt in around them both, to wrap his arm around her.

"Aggravating Heather to no end," she sighed, letting her head rest against his shoulder.  "Though… at least Jake will be putting his children to bed," Gail reminded a long moment later, her voice pitched so quietly that Johnston had to strain to make out her words.  "How often will Eric be able to put his son or daughter to bed?" she demanded, "Not often – maybe never."

"It'll be difficult at first, I imagine," Johnston conceded, "While the baby's nursing, especially.  Can't do anything about that – the baby and the mother hafta be together in the beginnin'," he reasoned.  "But after that… we can offer a buffer.  Eric can come here, or –"

"April's not going to let him take the baby home with him and – and Mary Bailey," she interrupted, her mouth puckering as if she'd tasted something that was rancid.

  "The two of them are going to hafta learn to deal with each other at some point," he argued.  "April and Eric, and April and Mary.  For the baby's sake."

Frowning, Gail shook her head, dismissing the idea.  "You know… yesterday, she said if the baby's a boy – though she's hoping for a girl – but if it's a boy, she's going to call him Jason."  She sat up, pulling away from her husband though she did look back over her shoulder, her gaze locking with his.  "Jason," she emphasized, "That's the name of Paul's son, the one who died in the car accident with his wife."

"I know," Johnston acknowledged.  Jason had been Paul's only child, up until he'd met Karen Glendenning two years after he'd lost his family to a jack knifed semi on I-70.  He'd once confided in Johnston that he'd been glad that Karen only had daughters, that he loved her girls and treasured the chance to be a dad again, but that he was also grateful that Jason remained his only boy.  "And that sounds like April," he added, clearing his throat, "To name her child in honor of the stepbrother she never knew.  Paul'll like that." 

"He will," Gail agreed, her voice cracking softly.  "If – if he's alive, he certainly will.  And, if he's alive, if Karen's alive, if Topeka is okay…."  She paused, shaking her head as if to clear it of that thought.  "I want them to be alive, of course I do," she insisted in the next moment, throwing the quilt off and turning in her seat so that her knee bumped his.  "They're our friends, our grandchild's other grandparents – I want them to be okay.  But – but if they're okay, and the government comes back, and – and it's safe….  We will lose our grandchild, Johnston," she predicted, her eyes flooding with tears.

"Gail," he began, reaching for her hand, but she evaded his grasp, balling it into a fist that she ground against her thigh.

"I want it to be okay," she repeated, whispering.  "For all of us, I want it to be okay.  But if that happens, why would April stay?  What reason would she have to stay?" she demanded, not waiting for his answer.  "She lived here one year when she was a teenager, Johnston, and then this town drove her mother out, chose the chauvinist football coach instead.  She only came back here because of Eric," Gail reminded, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes.  "And now he insists on humiliating her on a daily basis, carrying on with that woman," she continued, her voice rising and her tone growing more and more desperate with each word.  "Telling anyone who'll listen how he's never been happier.  So, why would she stay?" she repeated, "How could we possibly ask her to?"

She took a deep breath, though it didn't seem to have any calming effect.  "Autumn and Blake lived with them for nearly three years.  Karen still misses them – Paul too.  They'd want April to come to them, of course they would.  And, she'll apologize profusely, but she will leave," Gail predicted with a sniff.  "She'll – she'll tell us to come visit any time, and the first few years, we'll make the birthday party, maybe manage a trip during that week between Christmas and New Year's….  But we won't be a part of our grandchild's life, not really," she croaked, "Not the way we're supposed to be, the way I always thought we'd be.  Just – just friendly strangers in a photograph."

Tears were rolling, unheeded, down the bridge of her nose, and she looked so forlorn, so torn, so lost, that Johnston couldn't keep himself from hauling her into his arms and onto his lap, holding her close.  "It'll be okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline, insisting again, "It's gonna be okay."  But even as he spoke these words of comfort, Johnston could feel his own chest constricting and growing heavy with dread.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15B.

V was a television miniseries that first aired in the United States in 1983.  V: The Final Battle aired in 1984, and episode 2 ended with the scene of Robin giving birth to alien hybrid twins, one of which was distinctly reptilian and green (and also obviously made of rubber).  DC Heather would have been just about to turn 5 when this episode first aired, and I don't think her mother would have wanted her watching V, let alone allowed her to stay up until 11 PM on a school night, but there are always reruns.  V: The Final Battle was produced by Kenneth Johnson and David Blatt.

Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, Han Solo, and Princess Leia are all owned by Lucasfilm.  Mara Jade, Lowbacca and Lumpawaroo are characters in the Star Wars books, published by Lucas Books a division of Lucasfilm and an imprint of Del Ray Books.  Personally, I have enjoyed many of the Star Wars novels, and would be happy to have book club with Heather and Stanley any time.

Laverne and Shirley is a television sitcom made by Paramount Television and created by Garry Marshall.

The Blessing of the Animals (also known as the Blessing of the Pets) is a special ceremony conducted in remembrance of Saint Francis of Assisi's love for all creatures.  It is commonly held in conjunction with his feast day on October 4th.

John F. Kennedy (JFK) was president of the United States from 1961 until his assassination in 1963.  His brother Robert "Bobby" Kennedy served as his Attorney General, continuing in this post through September 1964, and was also assassinated in 1968.  The Kennedy brothers are perhaps not the best choice for Eric (and Jake) to emulate, but they are a ready example of a political dynasty.
The oil crisis of 1973 ran from October 1973 through March 1974 and resulted in the rationing of gasoline and long waits to fuel up in the United States.  Johnston speaks of odd-even rationing which was the practice of allowing gasoline purchases based on the last number on a license plate: if the last number was even, you could purchase gas on even numbered days; if the last number was odd, you could purchase gas on odd numbered days.

Cruella de Vil is the antagonist in the book and movie 101 Dalmatians.  She kidnaps Dalmatian puppies for their fur and was the movie villain who scared me the most as a child.  I've no doubt that Stanley would agree with me.  I'm sure Jake's aunt Bridget is nowhere near as mean and evil as Cruella de Vil.