The Greens of Jericho

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Different Circumstances Interludes: Long Distance Relationship, Part 8

by Marzee Doats

Author's Note:

I am still working on the first of these Interludes (I think there will be four total, but you never know, it could end up being five).  Once this Interlude concludes (somewhere north of 450 pages and 10 or 11 parts) I will get back to Different Circumstances proper (still working on Part 15).  I'm hankering to get back to that story, and it is always in the back of my brain, bubbling away.

Many thanks to my two fabulous beta readers, Skyrose and Sherry for their feedback and encouragement. 

And thank you to one of my self-identified continuing readers, C.S., for giving me a phrase that Heather and Jake have now adopted as their own. 😊

Also, you may notice that this posting is going up on June 6, 2023, exactly 17 years after this conversation took place.  I must admit, when I realized I could, I decided I had to time this post to happen on Heather's birthday (the one I made up for her a very long time ago).  So Happy Birthday, Heather Green!  Trust me when I say she's happy to share this "not a birthday present" present with you all.

Warnings:

Not necessarily a warning in the content sense, but about how this chapter is structured.

This story is all about how our favorite couple is living and coping during a time when they are in a long-distance relationship.  Keep in mind that Iraq is eight hours ahead of Jericho Kansas, so they are always having to consider what the other person is probably doing during a substantially different part of his or her day.

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Tuesday June 6, 2:25 pm (Jericho KS) / Tuesday June 6, 10:25 pm (Baghdad Iraq)

3 and a half months before the bombs

Heather had just pulled open the front passenger door of her car when her cell phone – once again clipped to her purse strap – vibrated again.  Quickly, she pulled the release bar under the car seat, sliding the seat as far back as it would go so there was room to place the vase containing her roses in its padded box on the floorboard between the glovebox and the seat.

"Jake!" she declared breathlessly, flipping the phone open.  "Don't hang up, and I love you!"

On the other end of their connection, he chuckled softly, and Heather found herself leaning against the Trailblazer's doorframe to keep herself upright. She, honestly, wanted nothing more than to melt into her phone and bathe herself in the sound of his voice.

"I love you too," her husband assured her.  "Happy Birthday, Babe.  And why are you always accusing me of wanting to hang up on you?" he wanted to know.  "When actually, you are the only person I've never wanted to hang up on?"

"Ugh.  I'm so sorry," Heather apologized.  "I hated that I had to hang up on you," she grumbled, "Five times.  Ridiculous!"

"Yeah, so what's goin' on?  Field Day such a disaster that we've had to permanently cancel it, or somethin'?  After what?  Seventy-five years?" Jake guessed.

"No," she giggled softly, "Field Day was fine and will live to see another year.  Or day, I guess.  Third/sixth won the softball tournament, so that was cool.  And my class's butterflies were a big hit.  Besides," she continued, sighing deeply, "I'm pretty sure Field Day is at least an eighty-year tradition.  Gramps had Field Day back when there was just the one consolidated six room school for all twelve grades.  They probably even had Field Day when there was just a one room schoolhouse."

"Prob'ly," he agreed.  "But no softball tournament, I bet.  Not enough kids, right?  I mean when it was a one room school."

Heather laughed.  "Seems reasonable to me.  You are my personal baseball-slash-softball expert, Hon."

"Technically, I'm your personal 'whatever the hell you want me to be', Babe," he reminded. 

"Thank you, I love you, too."

"And good that Field Day isn't cancelled.  'Cause, I'm planning to be there next year," Jake declared.  "And every Field Day for the next thirty years—"

"Wearing your 'supportive husband' hat?" Heather suggested, and he knew, just from the timbre of her voice, that she was smiling.

"Yeah," Jake confirmed.  "But if it's supposed to be an actual hat, I'd probably get one made that said: 'That Guy Principal Green Married' instead of just 'Supportive Husband'.  Or I could get one that says: 'Trophy Husband'," he proposed.  "Or – combine the two – get one that says: 'Trophy Husband: Property of Principal Green'."

"Well, I'd dare you, but you'd probably run out and get that hat made," she chuckled.  "Which would be both awesome and mortifying.  But I meant your metaphorical 'supportive husband' hat.  And I'm not the principal, Jake."

"Not yet, Babe," he countered.  "And I can get two made up.  One that says 'Vice Principal', one that says 'Principal'.  Then I'm prepared."

"Okay….  Or maybe instead, I'll make you a pair of boxer shorts that says: 'Trophy Husband'.  Well, not make – not sew," she corrected, "But take a pair you already have and make the iron-on transfer that I can – well – iron on."  Heather paused a second, looking over her shoulder to make sure she remained alone in the teachers' section of the parking lot.  Satisfied that she wasn't about to embarrass herself in front of a colleague, she lowered her voice (just in case) and completed throatily, "Across the butt.  And then you hafta wear 'em for me."

Jake allowed a low, husky chuckle that sent a delicious tingle up her spine.  "Deal, Babe," he murmured.  "That's definitely a deal.  Fact, you make 'em so they say: 'Trophy Husband: Property of Heather Green' and I'll wear 'em for you every damn day for the rest of our lives," he vowed.  "I'll not wear 'em for you, too."

"And I'll definitely take that deal, Mister," she told him before giving into a slightly uncontrolled giggle. 

"Good," Jake murmured, smiling to himself.  "And now, I've gotta request for you, Babe."

"On my birthday, huh?" she questioned rhetorically.  "Okay, go ahead."

"Just – it seems fair – if you're pickin' out my underwear—"

"You want to pick out mine, huh?" she interjected.  Heather looked quickly back toward the school building.  There was still no one around.  "Well, exactly what are we talkin' about?"

"It's those panties from our honeymoon," he told her.

"Our honeymoon was three weeks long, Jake.  And thanks to my bridal showers, I ended up with a lot of 'honeymoon panties'," she admitted, whispering the last two words.  She cleared her throat.  "You're gonna hafta be more specific."

"More specific, right," Jake agreed, nodding to himself.  He knew he was grinning like an idiot.  He was probably pushing his luck, too, but God, he loved her, and he loved it when she was willing to engage like this.  "So, they're ones that – what – what's the word for it?  Like pretty much see-through – or almost see-through – but in a classy way."

"Sheer?" Heather guessed, giggling.  "And I do try to keep my underwear classy.  Class is better than crass, I always say," she joked.

"Babe, you couldn't be crass if you tried.  You're always classy," he assured her.  "Whatever you're wearing."  'Or not wearing,' he added silently.  "And sheer is the right word.  They're definitely sheer."

"Well, you're still gonna hafta be more specific, hon.  Because I can think of four or five pairs that qualify as sheer," she decided, expelling a long breath.

"Okay, so there's a little bit of writing on one side – glittery writing."

"More specific," she insisted, "But that does narrow it down to three pairs."  Heather inhaled audibly.  "So, what does the writing say, Jake?  We need to figure this out before I blush myself to death over here."

"Hey, you're not allowed to blush yourself to death, Babe," Jake reminded, frowning to himself.  Once again, he'd gone too far.  "And I don't wanna turn this into another hmm – hmm on the hmm – hmm thing.  I'm sorry.  Let's – let's just drop it."

"Jake, we're not talking about being hmm – hmm on the hmm – hmm.  We're talking about very specific articles of clothing on the phone," Heather argued.  "I'm probably always gonna blush about some things," she admitted, sighing softly.  "Doesn't mean I'm not enjoying this particular conversation.  I love talking to you.  And now, I really need to know exactly which pair of panties I should be wearing when you finally come home."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," she confirmed.  "And it's not like somebody's gonna hear us, right?"  Luckily, Jake didn't even have time to panic that she might mention his communications being monitored because she continued, saying, "I mean unless my cell's somehow been picked up by a – a baby monitor or – or—" 

Heather stopped abruptly.  She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks over her choice of words, and the truth was, she wanted nothing more than to ask him about his letter.  He'd written that they should have a kid – a baby, her heart corrected – and it was such a stunning proclamation coming from him – one that she truly had not expected – that she'd almost been able to convince herself that she'd imagined it.  But now it was once again front and center in her mind and in her heart and hanging in the too large distance between them.  All she wanted to do was to read the rest of his letter and then talk to him about it, but she had no idea how to even broach the subject. 

She took a deep breath, and then exhaled it, not sure how to voice all that she was feeling in the moment.  "I don't know," she muttered.  'I don't know what to think, what to say, how to say it.'  "Maybe – maybe a radio somewhere could pick up my call.   Maybe Jimmy Taylor's radio could pick it up.  Because – let's face it – if any radio is going to pick it up, it would be his."  Heather recognized that she was babbling now, but she just couldn't seem to stop herself.  "That would totally be my luck.  Though at least he probably wouldn't record it and take it to the school board," she decided.  "And you don't have a bunch of guys listening in on our conversation, right?"

"Babe, you know I don't," he grumbled. 

He'd thought for a moment that she was going to finally mention the note he'd sent her but that was probably wishful thinking, he realized.  If she'd seen the note, no way she could have mentioned "baby monitor" without saying something, he argued to himself.  And knowing Heather, she'd gotten caught up talking to another teacher – Amber Duncan came to mind; she had been floundering all school year, and Heather had taken her under her wing. She probably hadn't even made it to the school's office yet, he decided. 

"And not just because I only have one friend in this whole damn country," Jake exhaled in exasperation.  "But in the interest of full disclosure, Freddie did see some of the kissing pictures you sent me.  It just sorta happened, I'm sorry," he apologized, making a frustrated noise.  "I think they put me in too good a mood, and he noticed."   

"Jake, it's okay.  I'm glad they made you not grumpy for a bit," she teased.  "Besides, the fact that each of those pictures even exists means that at least one person saw us kissing," she reminded, "And for the wedding kiss pictures it was like three hundred people.  Kissing – kissing is not hmm – hmm, and it's not my…."  She paused a second to lower her voice.  "Not my panties either," she murmured.

"Right.  And I wouldn't do that to you, you know that," he repeated.  "This conversation is just between us.  I'm all alone.  And hey—"

"Hold on a sec, Jake," she interrupted.  Heather had looked up, over the hood of the Trailblazer, to see Edna Walker paused a few feet away, throwing her a quizzical look.

"Hi!" he heard her say to someone else.  "He called again, before I could actually get in the car, and I didn't want to hang up on him one more time, and I still should have just gotten in the car, huh?"

Mrs. Walker laughed at that.  "I'm glad you two were finally able to connect.  Happy Birthday, Heather.  And tell Jake 'Hello'.  I'll see you in the morning."

"Thank you, Edna, I will," Heather returned, "I'll see you tomorrow.  Have a nice evening."

"You need to get in the car, Babe?" Jake prompted.  "You're in the parking lot?"   He frowned to himself, now wondering whether she'd skipped going to the office entirely and didn't realize he'd sent her roses – and a rather consequential note.

"Yeah," she chuckled, but he could hear the strain – nerves or stress, he identified – underneath her laugh.  "I was not going to hang up on you one more time, so I answered right where I was, right next to my car," she informed him, finally closing the passenger door.

"Babe, get in," her husband ordered gently.  "And there's no way I just heard you calling Mrs. Walker 'Edna', right?" he inquired, a few seconds later, feigning astonishment – feigning interest.  He was interested of course, but what he really wanted to know was if she'd picked up her flowers.  And what she thought of what he had written.  Still, he asked, "How'd that happen, Babe?"

"Yeah, I did," she groan-laughed.  "So, that's something I do now.  Mrs. McVeigh – Sandy – told me I needed to, and when I called Mrs. Walker 'Edna', she said it was about time," Heather explained, walking around the vehicle to the driver's door.  "Edna said that, I mean.  And Edna says 'hi'.  To you."  She sighed loudly, pulling the door open.  "The last hour has been very strange," she admitted, leaning into the car to put her purse and tote bag on the passenger's seat while also being careful of her roses.  "Just some crazy politics – well, school politics – including a personnel matter, and I'm sorry I couldn't answer the phone, but it's my job now.  Or at least it will be.  So yeah, now I call Mrs. Walker 'Edna'."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Jake suggested, hoping that she wouldn't, at least not right now. 

"No," his wife grumbled.  "I mean there's a lot going on, and I do want to tell you, but not on the phone and not on my birthday," she complained, finally climbing into her car.  "I'm not gonna waste my bonus calls on talking about work.  Probably not tonight – actually, definitely not tonight – but tomorrow, I'm gonna send you one heck of an email, tell you all about what's going on.  But it's just work," she repeated, "Totally not important."

"Okay," he replied, sounding a little doubtful.  "But you did – you went to the office, right?"

"Yes," she responded, somehow drawing that one word out for three syllables.  "Thank you for my roses, Jake.  They're amazing and ridiculous – in a good way, kinda like our bathtub – and I love them.  I love you."

"You're welcome, and I love you too," he assured her.  "And Happy Birthday!  But, uh," he continued, suddenly feeling nervous.  This was, after all, the moment of truth.  "Did you get the note—"

"You mean the love letter in the envelope with the airplane drawing?  The best airplane drawing you've given me in a long time?" Heather teased gently.  "Yeah, I got that.  But I haven't read it yet—"

"Whaddya mean you didn't read it yet?" her husband demanded.  "And how do you know it's a love letter if you didn't read it?"

"Well, I read the first two paragraphs, so I know it's a love letter, but I just—"  Heather groaned.  "Look, I opened it in the office and there were a lot of people there.  Well, not really," she amended quickly, "But still.  I didn't want to read it in front of other people, Jake."

"Okay," he acknowledged.  "You wanna read it now?"

"Yes, absolutely," she declared, reaching for her tote bag.  She extracted the letter, stopping for a second to admire the drawing once more before she pulled Jake's note from its envelope.  She paused then, unwilling to unfold the page before she asked an important question – the important question.  "Do you mean it?"

"Yeah, I mean it.  I don't say things to you that I don't mean," he reminded quietly.  "And I don't write 'em either."

"Good.  I'm glad that you mean it," she murmured, feeling her eyes suddenly flood with tears.  But they were definitely happy – ecstatic – tears.  "I'm really, really glad you mean it," she repeated emphatically, and he could hear the warring emotions – a perfect match to his own, suddenly turbulent feelings – in her voice.  "I wanted to talk to you and read the rest of this love letter, but you got us off onto a tangent and—"

"I got us off onto a tangent?" Jake snorted, although he recognized what she was doing, trying to inject a little levity into the conversation.  Once more he damned the distance between them.  They should have been having this conversation in person, so they could see each other, so he could hold her hand, so he could hold her. He wanted to be able to kiss his wife and to offer to get right to work on the decision they were on the cusp of making.  And while he was still hoping he'd be able to pull off one more surprise Skype session later, he also had to acknowledge to himself that he hated not being able to look her in the eye at this very moment.

"I just wanted to make sure Field Day was still a thing," he argued, forcing an equanimity into his tone that he truly didn't feel.  "You're the one who started talking about staking your claim literally on my ass, Babe," he joked.

"You added the property clause, not me," she groused in return.  "And it is my birthday, so I say we are equally responsible for the tangent."

"Fine by me."

"I'm gonna read the whole thing now, okay?"

"'Kay," he agreed.  "And then we're gonna talk about it, right?"

"Apparently we're gonna talk about it for the next ten years—"

"Rest of our lives is more like it, Babe," Jake interjected. 

There was a serious note in his tone, one that Heather was familiar with, but that still always made her sit up and take notice.  And there was another note – a more emotional note, she decided – that she'd only heard a few times before: as they had made up after their first fight and he had assured her that he loved her and wanted her in his life; when he'd asked her to marry him on top of the water tower, telling her how she had "woken him up"; when they had first seen each other after her car accident and he'd held her so carefully – so gently – pressing kisses to her hairline and crooning words of comfort; as they had exchanged their wedding vows, holding hands, both of them beaming, but also both on the verge of happy tears; and in the hours they had spent together the first night after his grandfather had died, clinging to one another while memory after memory had poured out of him.

"Of course, Jake," she acknowledged finally.  "This is kind of a lifelong decision."

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice cracking softly. 

"I was glad that you wrote that we like talking to each other.  Because it's really true."

"Read your letter, Heather.  Then, we'll talk for as long as you can."

"Okay," she murmured.  "Reading now."

Heather –

What's taking us so long?   You want a kid.  I want a kid.  Specifically I want OUR kid.  That's a decision right?  Yes we should talk about it.  But 10 years from now I bet we'll still be talking about it.  Because we like talking to each other.  And we'll have kids that we'll probably need to talk about. 

We should also do something about it. 

We had good reasons to wait.  But those are gone or not important anymore.  What is important is that you're going to be an awesome Mom and I'm going to be an ok Dad.  Maybe a good Dad because you'll help me figure out how.  So I'm in.  For the fun stuff, the gross stuff, the boring stuff.  All of it. 

You've been patient waiting for me to say something – to be ready for this.  So I'm saying/writing it.  We should have a kid. 

Don't take another pill ok?  Throw them out.  (Or dispose of them responsibly since you're you.)

Then when we see each other we can see what happens.  Deal?

I love love love you.

Jake

PS: This isn't actually a birthday present but I thought it paired well with roses (those are a present).  And add this page to the pre-nup ok?  That's how you can know I'm serious, Babe.  Because I am.

"Wow Jake," Heather exhaled quietly.  She was stunned.  And thrilled.  And apprehensive.  And nervous.  Exhilarated.  Dazed.  Elated.  "I have so many thoughts, so much to say, and I don't even know where to start," she claimed.  "Well, that's not true.  I love, love, love, love you too.  I definitely want to say that."

"I only wrote you three 'loves', not four," he reminded. 

"This is one time we're definitely not keeping score, Jake," she declared.  "Because no matter how many 'loves' I say, I really mean infinity."

"Me too," he murmured.

"So, you remember that you only wrote three 'loves' or—"

"Well, it helps that I've got your letter—"

"—love letter—"

"Okay, love letter," he corrected with a chuckle, "Sittin' right here in front of me.  While you were reading," he admitted, "I was reading too.  Re-reading."

"I want it, Jake," she returned immediately.  "To go in the pre-nup.  That is a great idea."  He laughed at that. To his wife's ear, it was a pure sound – full of hope and joy and love – and she couldn't help but join in.  "I know that's silly—"

"It's not silly.  I know you, Mrs. Green," he informed her, his voice somehow simultaneously smug and full of affection.  "And I knew you'd want the original.  I even went and bought a manila envelope—"

"No, don't mail it to me, okay?" Heather requested.  "Just bring it home with you when you come.  I don't want it to get lost between Iraq and Kansas.  Just use the envelope for safekeeping until then."

"You got it."

"Thanks!  And you've got my airplane drawing too, right?" she demanded with her next breath.

"Have 'em both," he confirmed, "And they're both goin' in the envelope.  I'll bring 'em to you whenever I manage to solve the seven-thousand-mile problem, Babe.  Promise."

"I really hate the seven-thousand-mile problem," she grumbled.

"Yeah, me too.  But I am gonna solve it," he vowed.  "Somehow.  So, what's the first thing we hafta talk about now that we're gonna have a kid?  I mean, besides the seven-thousand-mile problem."

"I don't know," Heather laughed, "I honestly wasn't expecting this.  So, I'm not sure what part to talk about – what part I want to talk about.  All of it of course, all at the same time, which is ridiculous and impossible.  But wow…."  She trailed off, deciding finally, "I need a minute, I guess."

"Okay."

Despite her request for time, Heather plowed on.  "I – I told your mom yesterday that I didn't think you were ready for this," she continued.  "To have a baby.  So, I just – maybe I need to – to adjust, I guess."

"Well, I am, Heather," he assured her.  "As ready as I'll ever be."

"Okay," she muttered, suddenly feeling like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water on her.  She'd had such a nice, warm, loving feeling from the moment she'd first opened his letter and read those initial words.  'I want OUR kid,' he'd written and then 'We should do something about it.'   It had been wonderful – like a dream, and then he'd said that he meant it – that he was ready to have a child – and her heart had soared even farther into the heavens.  But now – maybe – that wasn't strictly true.  Maybe he really wasn't ready for 'all of it'.  Maybe he was only "as ready as he'd ever be".

Heather took a deep breath, and then let it out, forcing herself not to overreact.  "So, what does that mean?" she demanded, not quite able to prevent her voice from turning squeaky.  She exhaled in frustration.  "Jake, 'ready as you'll ever be' doesn't exactly equal actually—"

"It means I'm ready," her husband declared, cutting her off.  "It means I – we – don't need to wait six or twelve months and check in about it later.  This isn't hard," he complained.  "I'm ready, Heather," and suddenly she was sure that he was clenching his teeth.  "And more time isn't gonna mean I'm more ready.  I'm. As. Ready. As. I'm. Ever. Gonna. Be."  He inhaled forcefully, trying – and failing – to calm the tension in his tone.  "Okay?"

"Okay," she sniffled a long moment later.  "I'm sorry, I just…" but whatever she'd been thinking of saying was swallowed up in a pensive sigh.

She was chewing on her lip now, Jake guessed.  Her go-to move when she was nervous or worried about something.  This was supposed to be a momentous occasion in their life together, one he was sure she'd anticipated for years, only now – against all reason – she'd clammed up, unwilling – afraid – to tell him what she was feeling.  He hated it.  "Babe, you're gonna bite through your lip," he predicted, "Or your tongue.  And then eating spaghetti for dinner will not be fun."

"I was planning to get the linguine carbonara, but yeah," she acknowledged wearily, "Not fun.  And how did you know—"

"I know you, Babe," he reminded.  "And I could hear you biting your lip," he claimed.

"Yeah, right," she scoffed.  "Jake…" she began a beat later, "It's okay – I'm okay waiting."

"No, you're not," he returned immediately.  "And even if you are – which you're not – what if I'm not okay with it?  We're already gonna hafta wait some because – seven-thousand-miles – but as soon as we solve that, we should have a kid.  All the reasons to wait, they're gone now," he said, paraphrasing his note.  "I mean it, Heather.  I meant what I wrote.  We should have a kid.  Our kid.  I want us to have our kid."

"Baby, Jake," she corrected.

"Fine.  Baby."  He paused for a moment before asking, "You really wanna quibble over my choice of words?"

"You're really gonna try and distract me by using the word 'quibble'?" she retorted. 

"I was tryin' to distract you by saying 'baby'," Jake countered.  "But if 'quibble' did the trick, okay."

Heather closed her eyes and took another long breath.  "They both did the trick," she admitted grudgingly.  He was being sweet, and he sounded sincere.  "'Baby' maybe a smidge more," she sighed.  She wanted to believe him – with every fiber of her being, she wanted to believe him.  "But – but what's one reason why you want to have a – a child?  One reason that has nothing to do with me?"

"I can't – I don't have one for you, Babe," he answered truthfully.  "Because – for me – having kids has everything to do with you.  I like kids – you know that – but I never really thought about it – them – having them – before you.  It was never a dealbreaker—"

"It's not a dealbreaker for me either," Heather protested, and a sharp bark of laughter escaped her husband.

"Yeah, it is," Jake argued, "And I'm glad it is.  God, Babe!  You should have kids.  If anyone, ever, was meant to have kids, it's you, Heather," he declared.  "So yeah, I want kids because I want you to have kids.  And I don't even wanna think – I refuse to think – about you having kids with anyone else.  You only get to have kids with me.  Sorry."  He laughed again.  Softly.  Nervously.  "I never thought about having a kid – just randomly having a kid.  But your kid – our kid?  I want that."

"Jake," she sighed.

"Is that a 'Jake, I love you' Jake?" he asked a long moment later.  "Or a 'Jake, stop being so possessive' Jake?  Or a 'Jake, you're so far off base it's not even funny' Jake?  Or some other 'Jake' that I can't think of?" 

Heather was also slow to respond.  "It's like ninety-five percent 'Jake, I love you' – which I do – and five percent …."

"Possessive jerk," he filled in for her.

"No," she denied quickly.  "I mean, yes, it's a little possessive, but I agree with you, and… I like that you said it, I guess.  I only want to have kids with you too, Jake.  I just …."

"You just what?" he inquired gently.  "C'mon, Babe.  What's the five percent?"

"Baseball.  Or hunting.  Teaching your kids to ride," she listed.  "I'd feel better if – I just want to know that there's one thing you're looking forward to about having kids that isn't because I want to have kids.  Just one thing."

"That's what this was all about?" he snorted.  "That's what you need me to say?  Okay.  I'm gonna coach the Little League.  I wanna teach our kids to ride horseback.  And maybe I'll take 'em hunting, or maybe we'll just go camping so you'll come with us."  He expelled a noisy breath.  "Is that what you want to hear?  What you need to hear?  Or is that still the wrong answer?" he complained.  "That I want to spend my time with our kids – and with you?  At the same time?  That for me, that's all one thing?"

"Actually, that's a really great answer," his wife assured him.

"Good," Jake mumbled.  They were both quiet but finally he started again.  "You – you know the chessboard?  That's something I see us doing with our kids."

Heather caught herself suddenly grinning ear to ear, her heart beating a little faster.  "Tell me more about that, Hon," she demanded, clearly pleased.  She did this – "thinking ahead" she called it – and Jake would too, on occasion, if only to indulge her, to make her happy.  But this was the first time he had ever mentioned chess.  "I wanna hear all about that."

"It's just something we could do," he told her, suddenly sounding a little uncomfortable.

"We totally could do that.  So, what're we gonna do exactly?"

"I dunno.  I mean, you can't teach chess to babies, but Gramps started teaching us to play when we were seven, maybe?" he guessed.  "Could've been eight."

"Oh, you were seven and you know it," Heather teased, giggling at him.  "There really aren't enough hours in a year to fit in everything you try to convince me that you did when you were eight.  And – news flash," she announced, "I'm gonna love our kids when they're babies, and when they're two and when they're seven and when they're seventeen.  Not just when they're eight.  Their whole lives.  The rest of my life.  Just like I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life.  So, you don't hafta always be eight," she concluded, "In every story you tell me about yourself when you were a kid."

"Okay," he chuckled, "And I love you too.  For the rest of my life."

"Besides, you actually come off as more precocious if you learned to play chess when you were seven," she joked, "Because I didn't learn to play until I was ten."

"Well, for you I'll be precocious, okay?"

"Thanks.  And you know, Jake, I don't want random kids either.  I – I always thought I'd have kids, but you're the only person I've ever actually imagined having kids with."

"Sure about that, Babe?" he asked.  "Because I remember you once saying something about how ugly your hypothetical and imaginary kids with the 'M and M' boy would've been."

"I didn't say they'd be ugly," his wife grumbled, "Just not nearly as beautiful – or as smart – as our babies.  Beautiful, brilliant, genius babies," she proclaimed enthusiastically.  "But I also never thought about Mark and me having kids.  Or getting married.  And I thought about doing both with you, after about two days of knowing you."

"Two days, huh?"

"Who'm I kidding?  It was more like two hours.  But Jake…."

"Yeah, Babe?"

 "This isn't my biological clock ticking.  My wanting to have a baby now," she clarified unnecessarily.  "I'm not afraid that I'm – that we're – gonna run out of time to have kids."

"I didn't think it was, Heather," he returned.  As he'd told his mother, sometimes it was a challenge to keep up with Heather in a conversation – she did tend to shift subjects without warning – but he was usually up to the task.  "But, so, what is it?  Not that you hafta justify why you wanna have a kid to me," he continued a beat later.  "You – we – can just wanna have a kid."

"Well, can I still tell you what it is?"

"Babe, you can tell me anything you want," he reminded.  "Always."

Heather smiled at that, swiping a hand across her suddenly damp eyes.  "I know, Hon.  And it's – it's my heart," she sighed.  "And it's ticking.  I mean, obviously it's ticking – or beating—"

"Your heart better be ticking," her husband told her.  "For the next seventy years.  That's our deal."

"Hey, I'm planning to keep my part of the deal," she insisted.  "Don't worry 'bout that.  But I love you, Jake.  So much.  And I know that when we have a child – when we—"  She paused a second, giggling, "Make a baby—"

"'Make a baby', huh?" he chuckled along with his wife.  "That what we're callin' it now?"

"That's what I'm callin' it now.  Least until we actually make a baby," she teased.  "And maybe I'll still call it that until we make two of 'em.  Because that might be the only way I can get you to say 'baby' every once in a while."

"Pretty sure I've said 'baby' at least twice in this conversation.  Now it's three times," he argued. 

"Five times, actually."

"I thought we weren't keepin' score on this," Jake reminded.    

"We're not," she confirmed.  "Because you can't keep score about love.  Or you shouldn't.  Things yes, love no.  That's what I was trying to say.  It's not a biological clock thing," she repeated.  "I can have babies for ten more years at least, and you can have 'em forever, probably.  This is about love," his wife declared.  "I love you, and I love our children who don't even exist yet."  She paused, inhaling deeply.  "But I want them to, Jake, so much.  As soon as we can make—"

"A baby?"

"I was gonna say: make that happen," she laughed.  "But yeah.  Make a baby."

"Well, that's what we're gonna do, Heather," he said, laughing quietly along with her.  "Make a baby, soon as we can."

"See?  I was right," his wife announced.  "Now you're up to seven.  Suddenly you can say 'baby'.  Just needed to give you some incentive.  And a code word, apparently.  Well, phrase."

"You're not s'posed to use your teacher jedi mind tricks on me, Babe," he scolded mildly.  "We have a rule about that."

"True."

"And FYI, everyone knows what 'make a baby' means.  Not really a code word," Jake opined.  "Still I'm pretty sure if – for example – it was our turn to do dishes at Sunday night dinner, and I told Mom that we could do that, or we could just go home and make a baby…. She'd probably tell us to go make the baby."

"No way," Heather countered, giggling.  "Your mom's smarter – savvier – than that.  She'd just pat you on the cheek, tell you that you're a smart guy and that she's confident that you can find the time to do both," she predicted.  "Besides, I don't think you're factoring in my blush … factor."

"Right," her husband grumbled.  "And then Mom'd drag you off to look at my baby pictures and leave me to do the dishes all by myself, I bet."

"Poor Jakey."

He groaned at that.  "I don't want to embarrass you, Heather.  So, I'll try to avoid telling Mom when exactly we're tryin' to make a baby, okay?"

"Thanks."

"But, uh, she does know that – in general – we're gonna be trying," he continued.  "Or will be.  She, uh – I had to fax the note—"

"—love letter," Heather interjected.

"Mom called it that too," Jake laughed.  "A love letter, I mean," he clarified.  "But I had to fax it to somebody, and I figured it was better to send it to her than directly to the florists."

"Sending it to your mom was definitely the right choice as far as I'm concerned.  And thanks for telling me.  But God, Jake," she moaned softly a moment later, "I was goin' on and on about how you weren't really ready to have a baby yet, and she'd already seen this?"  She looked down at the letter in her lap, complaining, "She must think I don't know you at all."

"She doesn't think that.  You know that, Babe.  My mom loves you," he reminded.  "And she knows you know me.  On the deepest level."

"I do know you on the deepest level, Mister, and don't you forget it," his wife teased, her voice momentarily shedding its anxious undertone.  "But I didn't know you were gonna decide that you were ready to do this." 

"'Cause you thought I wasn't," he declared, "Which is okay, Heather.  I told Mom that you thought I wasn't – that you were afraid I wasn't.  She told me I should've written 'baby', and I told her I wanted you to believe me, so I stuck with 'kid'," he admitted, allowing an exasperated chuckle.

"I believe you, Jake," she assured him.  "I'm still a little surprised, but in the best way ever, and I believe you," she repeated.  "Honestly, I just can't wait to get started."

"Yeah, me too," he sighed.  "So don't forget and take a pill tonight, okay?"

"I won't," Heather confirmed, giggling softly.  "And trust me, if you were home right now, we would not be going out to dinner for my birthday."

"Still gotta eat, Babe."

"We haven't starved yet," she countered.  "I'm sure we could figure something out.  And it is Birthday Rules."

"Yup," Jake agreed.  "Whatever you want to do that doesn't get us dead, hospitalized or arrested.  Though, we have a kid, you might hafta spend a night in the hospital."

"The birth center is not the hospital, and anyway, having a baby is the exception to the rule," she decided.

"What came first, birthdays or the Birthday Rules?" he joked in return.

"Exactly."

"Also, pretty sure I am contractually obligated to agree with everything you say on your birthday." 

"You are," she confirmed, giggling quietly. 

"Good news is I agree with that rule – or I guess – that exception," her husband informed her before clearing his throat.  "But if I were home, I promise you, we would've talked this through before now.  We would've just talked about it," he insisted.  "Right after you realized you only had one pill left.  And you would've never had to get the refill.  So, tonight we could go out to dinner and then try to make a baby."

"Yeah, that would be nice.  But – hey – at least this way I got it in writing," she teased.  "And we get to add it to the pre-nup, so there's that."

"There's that," he echoed.  "But I'm – I'm sorry I let you down, Babe," Jake apologized, frowning to himself.  He hated disappointing her, and he knew he had, even if she was making jokes about it now.  "And you can hold me to it."

"What?" she responded, confusion coloring her tone.  "Jake – no, that's not what I meant," she protested a beat later.  "I don't need to hold you to anything.  I know – I know you're gonna hold yourself to it," she declared confidently.  Heather glanced down at the page in her lap.  "Yeah, I'm glad this is in writing, but not because I think I'm gonna need to wave it in your face and remind you that you've agreed to have a child.  I'm glad it's in writing because I love seeing this – these words – in your handwriting, written to me.  'We should have a kid'," she quoted.  "'I love, love, love you'.  This love letter is just so, so special to me.  That's the major silver lining in this whole—"

"Mess," her husband offered.

"I was gonna say 'situation', but 'mess' works too, I guess," she laughed.  "And you know how your mom says it's good to know that you're loved, but better to hear it?" she asked rhetorically.  "Well, turns out, it's also nice on occasion to get a love letter from your husband saying he loves you and is ready to have a child.   Or – you know – make a baby with you."

"Okay," he murmured, grinning to himself.  "Makes me kinda wish I'd put that in your love letter.  That we're gonna make a baby."

"And then sent it to your mom?" Heather giggled.  "I mean, I'm glad that you sent this love letter through her, and I don't mind that she knows that we're…."

"Ready to 'start our family'," Jake supplied, his voice taking on a husky quality.  He was quoting her back to herself, and while he hoped she recognized that, he also needed to be sure.  "Not as a consolation prize," he emphasized, "But because that's what we wanna do.  What we both want."

"Yeah," she acknowledged, sounding – somehow – both confident and shy at the same time.  "Our kid."

"Exactly.  We're gonna have our kid," he assured.  "So, that means I better get to work on makin' enough money so I can get outta here and come home."  He clenched his teeth for a moment.  It was too good an opportunity to not insert his cover story into the conversation, but still he hoped that he was being paranoid – he hoped that Ravenwood wasn't listening. "So, then we can make a baby."

"That's a good plan, Hon," Heather sighed. 

'Thank you, Babe,' her husband offered silently, before giving voice to the part he could say.  "Mrs. Green approved?" he teased gently.  "I always like to get her seal of approval."

"One hundred percent 'Mrs. Green approved'," she agreed.  "Though I can't believe that your mom knew about this yesterday – she did know about this yesterday, right?"

"I faxed it to her on Sunday morning – Sunday morning in Kansas – before she went to church."

"So, she's known about this letter for three days?" she inquired, groaning softly.  "But – but she's been so calm about everything."

"Well, more like two and a half – two and a quarter, really.  But I told her that she couldn't be excited until you got the note," Jake explained, amending in unison with his wife, "Love letter."  They both chuckled.  "I told her that she needed to act normal," he continued, "Be calm until you got the note.  I – I just wanted you to have some fun surprises for your birthday, Babe.  Since I'm not there.  And, you know, Happy Birthday."

"Thank you.  But this is a lot more than a 'fun surprise', Jake," she informed him.  "This is a great surprise.  The best surprise ever.  But it's more than that, really.  This is – this is everything."

"Yeah, it is," he acknowledged softly, a serious note ringing in his tone once more.  "It's our life."

"Exactly," his wife agreed.  "So," she started a beat later, the slightest hint of hesitation in her voice.  "When did you write this, Hon?  I'm just curious.  Like, really curious.  Because a week ago, you really seemed to think this was an 'in-person' conversation."

"There's still lots to talk about, Heather," he reminded, adding with a suggestive chuckle, "And it's still always gonna be an in-person activity." 

"Right," she giggled in return.  "Very much so.  But really," she persisted, "When did you – when did you change your mind, Jake?  When did you write me this love letter?"

"Well, first draft was Tuesday—"

"So, there were drafts," Heather interjected, sounding very pleased with this information.  "How many drafts were there?"

"All right if I tell it my way, Babe?" Jake requested, "Even if it is your birthday."

"Yes.  Sorry.  Tell me the way you want to tell me."

"First draft was Tuesday," he repeated, "Or Wednesday.  Kinda both, actually."  He paused for a second, exhaling nervously.  "But then Thursday happened, and I wrote something else, just in case.  You said you didn't want this decision – me agreeing – to be a consolation prize," he reminded.  "But that wasn't why I said we would just go and have a kid.  I knew there was no way Mrs. McVeigh was ever gonna lay you off.  I think – well, I know – I was tryin' to work my way up to sendin' this note," he admitted.

"Love letter," she corrected softly.  "And I can totally see that now."

"Fine.  Love letter," he grumbled, but they both knew it was for show.  "But since my trial balloon went over like a lead balloon, and since I was waiting for you to call me back and tell me what was going on, I wrote a second, 'not a consolation prize' draft."

Heather looked down again at the letter in her lap.  "So, this is the second draft, or…" she prompted.

"Third and final draft," Jake answered.  "And really it's the first draft, moved around some, with like one thing from the second draft.  And you don't get to have the drafts," he informed her, anticipating her next request.  "Mostly because I already threw them away.  Sorry."

"It's okay, I'm just really glad that I get to have this."

"Good.  And I mean what I said – what I wrote – Heather.  We should have a kid.  And when I say 'kid', I mean 'baby' just so we're clear."

"That works," she sighed.  "As long as I'm allowed to translate 'kid' to 'baby' in my head."

"You can do that," Jake agreed.  "And I don't know when I changed my mind," he confessed with his next breath.  "I just – the more I thought about it, the only reason I could see to not have a kid is that we hadn't had a kid.  I don't know if that makes sense."

"It does, I think," Heather murmured.  "It's a big step – a big change.  That's why I wanted us to talk about it," she pretended to grumble. 

"Well, we're gonna talk about it," he griped in return, feigning annoyance.  "Every time we talk 'til I can come home, I bet.  I mean, we like talking to each other, right?"

"Right!" she declared.  "And this might just be my new favorite topic of conversation."

"This is definitely your new favorite topic of discussion," Jake laughed, "I know that for sure.  And – you know – I almost told you when we talked on Sunday," he admitted.  "You'd had a really bad day, and then you said you were afraid to talk about us having kids too much because I might say something you were afraid to hear.  I hated that.  That you didn't—"

"I trust you Jake," she interjected.  "Trust me," she chuckled, "I trust you, especially on this."

"I hope so, Babe," he returned.  "And I really did almost tell you," he repeated.  "But I'd already sent this to Mom, and like I said, I wanted to give you one more fun surprise on your birthday.  Even though this is not a present."

"Fun surprise, great surprise, best surprise ever," she practically sang in response.  "And way bigger – more important – than a present," she confirmed, continuing, "Not that I'm against presents.  Just so we're clear.  I mean, I like getting flowers sometimes.  Or every time you get them for me.  But still.  This is way better." 

"Not gonna stop gettin' you flowers, Babe," he promised.  "Even if we are gonna turn into the married with kids kinda people." 

"Good."  Heather expelled a long breath – a contented and satisfied sound that Jake let wash over him. 

She believed him – finally – he realized.  When he said he was ready, she believed him, and she trusted that he was.  Jake allowed a sigh of relief.    "I love you, Babe."

"I love you too," she assured him brightly.

"And Happy Birthday, Heather."

"Thanks," she murmured.  "So, Jake," she continued a few seconds later.  "Finish telling me about how you're gonna teach our kids to play chess.  I might've gotten us off on a tangent this time—"

"We got off on a tangent, huh?" he teased, "Well, I probably share some of the blame."

"Tell me about how you're gonna teach our kids to play chess, Hon," she requested again.

"Not me – we.  We're gonna teach our kids to play chess," he corrected immediately.  "Using Gram's chessboard."

* * *

The chessboard was in actuality an antique table with the gameboard inlaid on top.  EJ had built the table for his wife for their fifth anniversary, he'd once explained to Heather, beaming at her when she'd correctly guessed that it was his way of observing the "wood anniversary".  The table stood in a small nook at the end of the hallway that sat between the family room and the kitchen in the ranch house, and there was almost always a game in progress.  Betsy and EJ had played a running succession of games for years – both before and after their marriage – followed by EJ and Johnston once he was old enough, then EJ and Betsy had resumed their game when Johnston had departed for the Army. 

EJ had introduced his grandsons to chess one weekend when they were staying at the ranch, and that series of games had continued into their high school years. Eric had dropped out of the game around fourteen or fifteen in favor of a weekly round of golf with his grandfather, but EJ and Jake had stuck with chess until Jake had left for college.  The game had ceased for a bit – EJ hadn't been able to coax Betsy back to the chessboard during the last few years of her life – but had restarted the day that Jake had moved in at the ranch.

Then, when they had first started dating, Jake had recruited Heather as his partner against his grandfather.  "We're white, he's black," he'd told her, "So, you switch the horse statue – don't ask – to face the other side when you've made your move.  That's how we know whose turn it is.  And there's a pad of paper in the drawer where we write down who wins.  'Kay?"

"'Kay," she'd agreed, grinning at him as she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and backed him into the corner so she could kiss him.

And this team configuration – EJ versus Heather and Jake – had continued when the newlyweds had moved into the ranch house following their honeymoon. 

The game had stopped again for a while near the end of EJ's life, but Jake had started it back up the evening before he'd gone back to work at the end of his bereavement leave.  Heather recalled how, after they'd come home from a day in Rogue River, he'd steered her into and through the family room, directing her to the chess table.  "We should finish the game," he'd suggested, seating himself in his grandfather's chair.  "It's gotta be what?  Five, six moves?" he'd asked rhetorically before moving EJ's knight for him, putting Heather's – and his – queen in danger.  "Check," he'd announced, turning the horse figurine around and looking at her expectantly.

Silently, Heather had moved her queen out of danger from the knight – and directly into danger of EJ's – now Jake's – bishop. 

"Still check," he'd grumbled before complaining, "Babe, you can't just give 'im the game.  Gramps'd hate that."

She'd shaken her head.  "Just this once," she'd argued, turning the horse around to face her husband.  "Since it's his last game."

Frowning, Jake had waited a full minute before making his play.  Finally, he'd moved the bishop, picking up her queen and laying it on its side across the board.  "Checkmate."

Heather had retrieved the notebook – a composition book that hailed (she'd guessed) from the early nineties, give the discoloration of the pages – and a pen from the drawer, handing both to Jake.  He'd accepted it, but hadn't made any move to enter the win, instead watching her as she'd begun to reset the board.

"We're gonna keep playing," he'd said, though it had been hard to tell if he was asking a question or making a statement.  Heather had nodded.  "I'll take black, and you'll play white."

* * *

"Ah, so more of your Green family togetherness plan," she decided.  "Like going camping instead of hunting.  I really love this idea." 

"We're already playing, Babe," he reasoned. "So, we'll just bring them into our game when they're old enough.  That's what Gram and Gramps did.  Even when Eric and I knew how to play, we still consulted with Gram sometimes.  She knew how to beat Gramps.  Course, the two of them, they played a really long time – a lot longer than Gramps and I played."

"I know.  He told me that they used to play chess by letter when he was in the Army," Heather chuckled.  "In Europe.  Fighting a war.  By letter." 

"Worse, Gram had to draw the whole board out for him, every letter that she sent him."

She nodded, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't see her.  "I can't even imagine that," she said after a beat.  "Waiting for two, three, four weeks for my letter to get to you and then for you to write me back with your next move," she sighed.  "Well, except that this time, I actually have been waiting three weeks for you to tell me your next move, Hon."

"I've been busy," Jake defended himself, "And it hasn't been three weeks."

"Two and a half then."

"Well, take a picture of the board and send it to me," he instructed.  "I'll let you know my move, okay?  And be glad that we have email and digital cameras, so you don't hafta draw it for me."

"Trust me, I'm grateful for that.  Even if we can't talk every day, at least we have email," she declared brightly.  "And I'll take a picture as soon as I get home," she promised, not bothering to remind him that she'd sent him a photo of the board more than two weeks before.  "Though that doesn't seem fair," she continued, observing, "You and Eric and your grandmother versus Gramps.  Three against one."  He could hear the frown in her voice.

"Gramps just pretended that Gram wasn't helping us," Jake told her.  "And we don't hafta do it exactly like them.  That's why we need to have a boy and a girl," he decided.  "It'll make figuring out the teams easier."

"Well, I like that idea," his wife said, holding her hand over her suddenly pounding – in a truly wonderful way – heart.  "Not at the same time, hopefully.  And not that we have any control over that.  You more than me—"

"Pretty sure I don't actually control that, Babe," he interjected, grinning to himself at the delight he could hear in her voice.  "You know that biology and genetics control that.  And you take what you get, right?  But I – I'd like to have one of each," he murmured, his tone deepening.  "A boy and a girl.  But yeah.  One at a time is good," he added a moment later, chuckling self-consciously.

He'd never told her that, and Heather couldn't keep from saying so.  "You have never said that before, Jake.  I just always figured you wanted boys.  And I can handle boys, no sweat," she laughed.  "But I hope we have a daughter too."

"We've talked about it," he argued.  "We said if we had a girl, we'd name her 'Abby'," he reminded.

"Not quite the same as saying you want to have a girl," she reasoned.  "A daughter.  But it's good, Jake.  Great.  I'm just really glad that you do." 

"Well, I do," he confirmed.  "I'm serious about that too.  You can add it to the pre-nup."

"How 'bout you add it right now to my love letter as a 'P.P.S.'?" she suggested.  "Please?  And then when you come home, we'll both add it to the pre-nup."

"Fine," Jake agreed, affecting a put-upon tone, even while digging through his backpack's front pocket for a pen.  "I'll add that for you Mrs. Green, if it'll make you happy."

"It'll make me soooo happy!" his wife declared.  "You make me happy, Hon."

"You make me happy too.  Adding it right now."

"So," Heather began about thirty seconds later.  "For the Recluse Greens' perpetual, never-ending, totally awesome team chess tournament, what are we gonna do for teams?  Boys versus girls, or daddy/daughter versus mother/brother?" she joked.  "Enquiring minds, want to know."

"Both," her husband decided distractedly.  He looked down at what he'd appended to his note – love letter, he corrected – shaking his head.

PPS: I hope we have a girl and a boy.  And if that means we have to have 3 or 4 kids that's ok too. 

"We'll just do both," he repeated, glancing over the entire page, his eye catching on:

So I'm saying/writing it.  We should have a kid.

"Flip a coin to start, pick how we're doin' teams," he continued while hastily adding to the line:

So I'm saying/writing it.  We should have a kid.  (Make a baby)

"Then the next year, we switch.  One way in even years, the other way in odd years.  That should work, right?"

Heather laughed.  "I love that even more.  But we'll hafta make sure we finish up any in-progress game on New Years' Eve," she decreed.  "So then, on the first, we go out to the water tower first thing, then home for pancakes for breakfast, and then we switch teams for the year."

"Sounds good.  And I've got the 'P.P.S.' added to your love letter."

"What's it say?"

"What I said before, basically.  For the rest, you're just gonna hafta wait, Heather," he advised her.  "You get to see it when I get to kiss you ag—"

"Don't you mean when we finally can try and make a baby?"

It was his turn to laugh.  "Yeah, that too.  Pretty sure I'm gonna want to kiss you and try and make a baby with you."

"Well, I'm definitely gonna want to do all that and more, Mister.  But I guess I can wait until then to read my 'P.P.S.'  Though 'for the rest' has me intrigued."

"And I like it when you're intrigued," her husband assured her.

"Right," Heather returned, though she sounded distracted.  "Sorry, Jake," she apologized a few seconds later.  "Someone is calling me, and I keep getting the ring-through beep – whatever you call it—"

"You wanna hang up?"

"No!" she declared vehemently.  "I wanna talk to you."

"Okay, but – you talked to your dad, right?"

"Yes.  I talked to Dad," she confirmed.  "Well, I talked to John and Kerry first.  They called me, like, right as I was leaving the house, because John needed to get to work, and they wanted to sing to me.  But – so you know – I called Dad back on the way to school, and then Tommy called me right before the end of the lunch break, and Mikey called me when he was on a break, so I'll call Andy later and apologize for ignoring him, okay?"

"Sounds good," Jake acknowledged.  "I just try to keep them from all hating me for stealing you away from them, that's all."

"Well, Mister, what if I wanted to be stolen?" Heather inquired.  "But only by you, Jake."

"Love you too.  And you know, make sure you talk to your brother sometime today, so the next time he sees me, he doesn't deck me, okay?"

"Promise I'll talk to him," she reassured her husband, "And Andy's not gonna deck you.  But just in case, I'll stand in front of you the whole time, next time we see them." 

Maybe she'd be pregnant, the next time she and Jake were with her family in Buffalo, Heather decided, allowing herself to "think ahead".  Her mother had always insisted on getting a photograph of her brothers or cousins standing behind their pregnant wives, both their hands resting on the mother-to-be's pregnant belly.  It was a moment that Heather had always anticipated, even as a teenager when, succumbing to peer pressure, she'd rolled her eyes along with her cousin Jessica, who had always called it "so sappy".  Andy and Tommy had claimed it was sappy too, but they had indulged Renate Lisinski, and they had never seemed too put out over having to pose with their wives in the backyard or the living room of the Lisinski home, depending on the weather and time of year. 

And even after their mother had passed away, when Kerry was pregnant, first with Joey, then with Megan, John had insisted that they still had to take "Mom's favorite picture".  So, yes, Heather could easily imagine herself, pregnant and beaming, standing in front of Jake with his arms wrapped around her, his hands splayed protectively over their baby nestled within her.  She knew, too, that – inevitably – at least one of those photographs would include them exchanging a kiss, and that that photo would definitely end up in their collection of "kissing pictures".  Heather couldn't wait. 

"Because if I'm standing in front of you, Hon, there's really nothing he can do to you.  He wouldn't dare!" she declared, teasing, "So, I'll protect you."

'Maybe in front of the Christmas tree', she mused to herself.  They alternated holidays between Jericho and Buffalo, and this year they were supposed to spend Thanksgiving with the Greens, and Christmas with the Lisinskis.  Maybe if everything went exactly as she hoped – and she couldn't help but hope – and she got pregnant in Hawaii, then she'd be five or six months along by Christmastime.  That, Heather knew, would make a perfect "Mom's favorite picture".

"Thanks, Babe," Jake chuckled.  "Defendin' my honor.  But still.  Talk to your brother."

"I will," she sighed.  "It was good to talk to them.  They all say 'hi' to you, by the way.  And Mikey wanted to know if I was secretly trying to get pregnant—"

"He wants you to lay off of him, Heather," Jake reminded gently.  "He thinks us having a kid will distract you."

"It's actually your job to distract me, Hon," she returned flirtatiously, "Not our kid's.  And I told him that I was not secretly trying to get pregnant, mostly because of the seven-thousand-mile problem, but that it was a definite topic for discussion in—"  She cut herself off, inhaling sharply.  She could think about Hawaii – dream about Hawaii – but she couldn't talk about it with Jake, not until and unless he was in a "good place to talk".   "Well, it's a topic of discussion for when you come home."

"Hey, it's a good topic of discussion whenever you want to talk about it, Babe.  We don't hafta wait until I get home," her husband told her.  "Whenever and whatever you wanna talk about.  But – you know – maybe don't tell Mike when to go to bed anymore," he advised, "Just stick to tellin' me when to go to bed, 'cause I'll actually listen to you."

"Well, you will if you know what's good for you, anyway," she joked.

"Good for me, good for you.  That's the same thing, right?"

"Right!" Heather exclaimed, giggling.  "And it's very important to be well-rested," she added primly.

"Very important to be well-somethin' anyway," he returned.

"It was good to talk to them all, and I'll make sure I talk to Andy and Deb, I promise," she said.  "But anyway, my dad told me the story of the night I was born, like always."

In Iraq, Jake nodded.   He'd listened in on Joe and Heather's birthday call more than once, and he enjoyed how his father-in-law always drew the tale out, recounting the joy he'd felt at the realization that he finally had a daughter after three sons.  "I love your brothers, Sweetheart," Joe told Heather every year, "But I was – Mom and I both – we were thrilled to have a little girl – to have you – at last."

"I'm gonna hafta pay attention," he murmured.

"Pay attention?"

"When our kids are born.  I'm gonna need to pay attention so I can tell 'em about it later," he clarified.  "On birthdays, we'll have cake for breakfast, and then tell them all about when they were born, like your dad does."

"Now that I'm gonna hold you to, Jake," his wife declared.  "Though, I don't actually know if my dad tells my brothers about when they were born, or if it's just me," she admitted, allowing a somewhat strained chuckle.  "But I hope he tells them too."

"You really think your dad only tells you about the night you were born just because you're the only girl?" he laughed.  "If he's only telling you, it's because they made fun of him for telling them, so he stopped.  But you love it," he reasoned, "So he still calls you every birthday morning."

"They probably did make fun of him, those jerks," Heather grumbled.  "Is it weird that I'm an adult who likes that my dad still tells me about the night I was born?"

"Nah," he denied, "It's cute.  Just one more thing on the infinite list of things I love about you."

"Awwwww! Jake," she sighed, sounding quite pleased.  "That is so sweet!" she continued, giggling at the huffing noise he made. 

"Well, it is your birthday, so I guess I can be sweet."

"Actually, I believe I can require sweetness per the Birthday Rules," Heather countered. 

"True."

"And just so we're clear, you are now required to tell our kids about the night – or day – they were born," she informed him.  "But if they turn into jerks who make fun of you, you can stop."

"I don't think your brothers are jerks for not wanting to hear about when they were born," Jake said.  "They're just – just guys."

"You listen to your dad every year when he tells you what he was doing when he was the age you're turning.  I know it's not exactly the same, but I like it because I also get to hear about you when you were two, three, four, five," she reminded.  "And you're a guy and you're not a jerk about it."

"Well, I might be in ten years when he's telling stories about when I was a teenager.  I don't need Dad givin' our kids any ideas."

Heather laughed at that.  "Well, I'll be the jerk on that one, and say something like 'little pitchers have big ears' very significantly."

"I don't know that one, Babe," he admitted.  "I think I get it, but what's it mean?"

"Gramps never said that?  Or your grandmother?  That seems like something your grandmother would've said to Gramps from everything I've heard," she offered.  "But my mom used to say it sometimes.  It's just an old-fashioned saying, like a code phrase that adults use to remind each other that sometimes when you think things go over little kids' heads, they really don't," she explained.  "So be careful when you're talking in front of them, 'cause they're gonna totally get it.  Every word."

"See? That actually is code," Jake declared.  "Unlike 'make a baby'.  But I'm pretty sure my dad will know what you mean."

"Your mom too," she agreed, chuckling.  "She might beat me to saying it."

"Yeah.  She's still kinda annoyed over the Roman orgy story, and now I'm startin' to think you're gonna be the person who teaches our kids about Nero and Caligula."

"Probably," she confirmed.  "But now you know if I ever say 'little pitchers have big ears' to you—"

"That I should immediately shut the hell up," he promised.

"Maybe just change the subject," she advised.

"So, how old were you when you figured that one out, Babe?"

"What do you mean?" Heather returned, sounding genuinely perplexed.

"I mean, how old were you when you were sitting at the kitchen table, listening to your parents, maybe your mom and one of your aunts talk 'bout something, and your mom said 'little pitchers hear everything'—"

"'Little pitchers have big ears'," she corrected.

"Right.  So how old were you when she said that, and you just knew what it meant?"

"I didn't exactly know what it meant besides 'I don't want you to hear this, Heather'," she admitted.  "Pretty sure I thought I was the only 'little pitcher' in the world," she giggled.  "But I was eight, probably.  Really."

"Hey!" her husband protested, "I believe you when you tell me you were eight.  Unlike some people I know.  So," he continued after a short pause, "What scandalous thing was your mom trying to keep you from knowing about?"

"It wasn't one thing, so it wasn't really scandalous," she hedged.  "But I do remember the first time when my mother basically told me to keep moving, nothing to see or hear here, and instead of obeying, I just went around the corner, hid and listened.  She was talking to Mrs. Vogel from next door and – oh!  I almost forgot.  You do know Melissa Landeros because she used to be Missy Healy."

"Wow," he responded a beat later. "Wow.  Chuck Landeros really married up."

"Jake, you always say that about every guy, no matter who they married," Heather complained cheerfully.

"'Cause every guy who gets married, marries up," he argued.  "It's like a law of the universe."

"And you always say that too.  But if that's true, and you married up when you married me—"  

"Babe—"

"—that means," she continued, speaking over him, "That would mean, I married down when I married you, and I don't feel that way.  So, don't insult me, Mister," she warned jokingly, "Especially on my birthday."

"Well, Happy Birthday, Babe.  And maybe think of it like an optical illusion," he suggested.  "From my perspective, I definitely married up, but from yours, we're on even ground.  Or the same height.  Somethin' like that."

"I'm not sure that's better," his wife said, making an exasperated noise.

"I love you," Jake told her.  "That make it better?"

"Of course.  That always makes everything better," she declared happily.  "And I love you too."

"And Chuck Landeros still really married up," he insisted.

"Well, they seem happy to me," Heather murmured, thinking about Melissa and Chuck walking off with their daughter chattering between them.  "I like them."

"Missy Healy," her husband mused in return.

"Your mom said you used to play together," she informed him.  "You and Eric with Melissa and the Thom girls."

"Yeah, that's true," he acknowledged.  "And technically, for a little while there, I might have had a crush on her.  Before I officially liked girls." 

"Oh, really?" Heather exclaimed, joking, "Because, you know, she did name her kid after you—"

"She didn't name her kid after me," Jake scoffed.  "It was a dumb kid, one-way, two-week crush that she knew nothing about."

"Uh huh."

"She prob'ly didn't even think about me when she picked the name.  Or if she did, she was like 'oh wait' for about half a minute and then she decided it didn't matter.  Because she sure didn't know that I was gonna fall for and marry her kids' future third grade teacher," he reminded.  "Future vice principal and principal, too."

"Jake, I think it's cute that you once had a crush on Missy Healy Landeros," she told him.  "Okay?"

"Okay."

"And to bring this all full-circle, Melissa told me today that her Jake has a little crush on me—"

"Well, that figures," her husband teased.

"—which she thinks confirms that her kid has good taste," she concluded.

"It means he has great taste, Babe.  So," he began about ten seconds later, "This Jake kid sent you a love letter yet?"

"Nope," she chuckled softly.  "And there's only two more days of school, so I'm guessin' that's not gonna happen.  Besides, I just got the ultimate love letter from the only Jake – only person – I wanna be gettin' love letters from, so…."

"The 'ultimate' huh?"

"Definitely the ultimate," she sighed.  "And you should absolutely write me another love letter if you are moved to do so, Hon.  But it's gonna be hard to top this one."

"How 'bout after this job, I come home and we're just in the same place all the time," he countered.  "Most of the time, anyway.  And then we can just talk about this stuff."

"I like that plan," Heather confirmed, and Jake knew she was smiling – so was he.  "But – you know – maybe you can still draw me airplanes and then leave them places for me to find.  Like on my desk or under my pillow—"

"You check under your pillow regularly?" he teased.  "What, lookin' for money from the tooth fairy?  Hate to break it to you, but we're gonna be the tooth fairy, coughin' up cash, from here on out."

"We are gonna be the tooth fairy," she declared, a pleased note ringing in her tone.  "And we're gonna be the kinda tooth fairy that gets me angry calls from other parents."

"People actually call other people to talk about the tooth fairy and get mad about it?" Jake questioned.  "That can't be a real thing."

"Oh, it's a real thing," his wife informed him, sighing heavily.  "Tooth fairy payment rates are a big deal, especially between moms.  Kids talk, and then they go home and tell their parents what the tooth fairy at Susie or Johnny's house pays, and there's just a lot of controversy."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Nope.  This was actually walk-on, new business at the PTA two PTA meetings ago—"

"You send me a read out on the PTA meeting every time, and I would have remembered the tooth fairy being an issue," he argued.  "Are you sure you're not making this up?"

"I couldn't make this up, trust me," she defended herself, explaining, "That was the meeting I said had stuff too crazy to even get into.  Someone actually stood up and demanded the PTA vote on an approved school wide tooth fairy rate schedule to 'ensure fairness' and 'end this out-of-control tooth fairy inflationary spiral'."

"I thought that 'crazy' was code for 'too boring to bother typing'," he muttered.

"Not even."  She was giggling now, and he could easily imagine the eye roll she would have indulged in had they been together.  Heather loved being a teacher, and she did an amazing job of maintaining a professional demeanor at work, but she also let that slip when she was with him.  And, sometimes, when she got wound up about something, it was the most entertaining thing in the world to listen to her vent about the foibles of the people she dealt with at the Elementary. 

"Jake it got so heated.  I honestly would not have been surprised if there'd been a fist fight," she snickered.  "It was that crazy.  That wild.  And sitting there, listening to it all – listening to those grown adults whine about how upset they were about what the tooth fairy on Elm Avenue is paying versus the one on Cherry Street, I just thought: 'if this is what people want to complain about, then they can complain about me.  The Green Ranch tooth fairy is gonna be legend'." 

"There are different tooth fairies for where you live?  By street?"

"Apparently.  But we don't really live on a street," she reminded. 

"We live on a road," he countered.  "Just not a public road."

"Exactly.  So, we get to set the going rate for Green Ranch Road and for the Green Ranch."

"So, our tooth fairy is the Green Ranch tooth fairy.  Got it."

"And the Green Ranch tooth fairy is gonna be legend," Heather repeated.  "I mean, I'll still probably talk to April, see what the Granville Avenue tooth fairy is gonna be paying," she decided.  "But I'm warning you now, Hon.  I absolutely plan to be on the high end when it comes to tooth fairies."

"So, we're gonna overpay our kids for what's basically dead bones they don't need any more falling outta their heads?" he snorted.  "Okay, Babe."

"Yes, except teeth aren't actually bones," she told him.

"Since when?" he returned, his tone dubious.

"Since always?  They're – they're just teeth.  But they don't grow with your body, so they're not bones.  They don't have bone marrow.  If they did – if they were bones, they'd grow," she explained, "And you wouldn't hafta lose 'em in the first place."

"Wait – what – okay," Jake mumbled, sounding perturbed by this information.  "That makes sense, sorta," he added, though his voice still carried a hint of doubt.  "But how – how did I not know that?  How did my dad not know that?  He told me teeth are bones."

"Jake, a lotta people think that.  Besides you had Mrs. Owensby for third grade and not me." 

"Right," he agreed.  "But I'd rather be married to you, Mrs. Green.  Even if that means you hafta put up with my deficient education at the hands of Mrs. Owensby."

"Well, since I love being married to you, Jake," Heather said, her voice full of affection, "I will happily put up with this minor hole in your education.  And lots of people don't know this.  Teeth are like bones," she emphasized.  "Just not technically bones.  They form and that's it.  They're done."

"Okay then," he acknowledged, chuckling.  "And I guess if we hafta, we can give our kids a buck a tooth.  But if anybody decides to get mad at me about that, I'm just givin' 'em the school's number.  They can take it up with you or the PTA.  You and the PTA."

"Hon, nobody is gonna get mad about a dollar per tooth," she laughed.  "That's a pretty average rate in this town.  I meant, like, five dollars a tooth.  And ten for the first one.  That'll get me angry phone calls."

"I'm gonna be makin' some of those angry phone calls, Babe," he joked.  "That's way too much.  That's like a hundred fifty bucks per kid," he protested, "For teeth that were gonna fall outta their heads anyway.  You know how much we got for teeth?" he asked rhetorically.  "A quarter!"

"That's what Andy, Tommy, and John got too," she returned, clearly trying to stifle a giggle.  "And they were so incensed that Mikey and I got fifty cents, because of inflation."

"Would've incensed me too," her husband grumbled.

"I've gotta admit Jake, I did not see the tooth fairy as being a thing you were gonna have a strong opinion on," Heather informed him.  "I mean, I didn't actually ever think about it, but if I had, I would have figured it'd be one of those things that I'd say I'd take care of, and you'd just say 'Thanks, Babe'."

"Hey!  We're not gonna be like that," he protested, reminding with his next breath, "I told you, I'm in for all of it.  Even the crazy, overpaying our kids for somethin'-that-was-gonna-happen-to-them-anyway stuff."

"Well, good," she murmured.  "I'm glad that's how you feel.  But the tooth fairy is – it's silly, and not very important—"

"It's important to you, Heather," he interrupted.  "So now it's important to me, too."

"I just think it's important to give our kids – well, any kid, all kids – a sense of – of joy and wonder," she declared.  "The world knocks that out of you at some point, but that's not our job.  Our job is the opposite – to keep that from happening as long as possible."

"Doesn't happen to everybody," Jake countered.  "Never happened to you."

"I actually do know that the tooth fairy and Santa and the Easter Bunny are not real, Hon," she teased, "All appearances to the contrary." 

"I meant that you have joy and wonder, Babe," her husband informed her.  "And you share that with everyone you meet.  You make me have it."

"I'm sorry?"

"Don't apologize," he admonished.  "It's not my natural state, but I've adapted, I guess.  And, you know, I generally hope our kids take after you, but I really hope they get that from you.  And the Green Ranch tooth fairy."

"Awww, Jake!  Thank you," she murmured happily.  "But I'm still gonna hope our kids are like you, too.  You're adventurous and caring and sweet.  I hope our kids get that from you.  And I'm glad you're in for all the stuff – fun, gross, boring, and crazy—"

"Joy and wonder, too, Heather."

"Right.  And in the spirt of all the fun, gross, boring, crazy, joyful, and wondrous stuff," his wife listed, "I can come down to two dollars per tooth.  Which I like better actually," she admitted.  "I'll just order a bunch of two-dollar bills at the bank when the time comes.  That'll make it extra special."

"Then our kids'll never spend the money," he predicted with a groan. 

"Well, we will encourage them to spend it," she decided.  "Just not on candy.  So," Heather continued, "We should probably adopt my mom's rule that, if a baby tooth falls out with a visible cavity, then that's a defective tooth and the tooth fairy is very disappointed and only leaves half the money."

"So, which of your brothers caused that rule to happen?" Jake asked, chuckling knowingly.

"All of 'em," she returned, giggling.  "But Tommy—"

"Of course," he grumbled.

"—had, like, four defective teeth in a row.  Which – and this happened when I was like two, so I don't actually remember it, but I've heard the stories.  But anyway, my parents couldn't understand it, because – after the second cavity – Dad was standin' over him every night making sure he brushed his teeth.  Only it turned out he had a stash of grape and watermelon Hubba Bubba under his mattress, and that he was falling asleep every night chewing gum."

"That he'd bought with his tooth fairy money?" Jake suggested rhetorically.  "That sounds exactly like your brother," he muttered. 

It sounded exactly like Joe Lisinski to stand over his dental hygiene challenged son to make sure he was taking care of business, too.  It wasn't the fun part of fatherhood, Jake decided, that was for sure.  More like the boring part, and Jake knew himself well enough to recognize that it would never occur to him on his own to take up monitoring how their kid was brushing his teeth.  Jake wasn't even sure he knew how you were supposed to brush your teeth, not really.  After all, he still got lectures from his dental hygienist every time he went in for a cleaning. 

Still, in the next instance, he heard himself offer, "I can probably do that.  Make sure our kids brush their teeth if we need to do that.  But you're gonna hafta tell me, Babe.  That I need to do that, okay?"

"Okay," his wife agreed, her voice hitching softly.  "Jake," she sighed.

He cleared his throat then, inquiring, "So, how did your parents leave half a quarter?"

"Don't you mean, how'd the tooth fairy leave half a quarter?" Heather joked.  "No idea.  Pretty sure Tommy was losing his baby teeth before I was born, Hon.  They probably left him a dime and a nickel.  Dime and three pennies?"

"Well by the fourth defective tooth in a row, I hope it was just a dime," he groused.

"That's probably it," she agreed.  "But for Mikey and me, we just got a quarter instead of a half-dollar coin.  And boy," she joked, "I do not know how you all survived on so little per tooth."

"It was rough, lemme tell you," her husband assured her.  "So, exactly how many times did you get your payout reduced for a defective tooth, Mrs. Green?"

"Just once," she laughed. 

"That's because you're a quick learner.  Unlike Tommy.  So, Babe," he continued a beat later, "I've got a friendly amendment for you."

"Let's hear it," she requested.

"How 'bout any kid who loses both their front teeth at the same time, we can round that up to five bucks."

"Aww!" she giggled.  "I like that.  And by both, we mean both on the top or both on the bottom, right?"

"I guess?" Jake returned, thinking suddenly of the photograph of a grinning, six-and-a-half-year-old Heather with both her top front teeth missing that lived on the fireplace mantle at her parents' house.  "I mean kids don't usually lose one tooth on top and one tooth on bottom, right?  That's not cute – that'd just make 'em look weird."

Heather snickered.  "That would look pretty goofy," she agreed.  "But we're still gonna love our kids even when they look goofy.  And I accept your friendly amendment," she announced happily, "Because that is exactly the spirit of generosity I'm looking for in the Green Ranch tooth fairy.  You are officially hired, Hon.  We'll get to be co-tooth fairies." 

"Didn't realize I was applying for a job.  So, I think I should let you know that I have a really bad habit of working way too much."

"You are working too much, Jake," she confirmed, the cheerful lilt disappearing immediately from her voice.  "I don't like it—"

"Heather—"

"—and I worry—"

"—it was a job interview joke—"

"—about you."

"—that's all," he completed.

He paused to allow her to say something, but all he got was a cautious, "Okay…" 

"This morning you said you wouldn't hire somebody who said their biggest flaw was that they worked too much," he reminded, complaining, "I – it was supposed to be funny, Babe."

“It is funny,” she insisted, though to Jake’s ear she sounded skeptical.  “Though actually it turns out I’m gonna be doing a lot of job interviews this summer." 

"Yeah?"

"Let's just say that me being appointed vice principal isn't the only change around here.  But I don't want to talk about that now," she declared distractedly.  "I'll email you about that."

"Okay," he acknowledged, "But really, it was a joke.  I – I accept the offer.  I'll be co-tooth fairies with you."

"But you know you really don't hafta, Jake," Heather sighed.  "It's silly—"

"Prob'ly," her husband interrupted her.  "But who cares?  We can be silly if we wanna be.  And I want to be the tooth fairy with you, Babe," he insisted, chuckling softly.  "Stop tryin' to talk me outta this.  And, yeah, it's silly and crazy.  But I want to do this crazy, fun, boring and gross thing with you," he said, making a strangled sound.  "I want us to have a couple of kids and…."  He paused a moment, taking a deep breath.  "I think I'm gonna figure out how to draw teeth."

"Okay.  But why?" she wanted to know.

"For the notes.  The tooth fairy leaves notes, right?" Jake offered.  "Least the Chestnut Street tooth fairy did."

"Maybe I got notes?" she supposed, "I don't really remember.  But I'd remember if there were teeth drawings."

"I'm not talking, like, science homework diagrams," he clarified.  "But cartoon teeth.  With word bubbles you can put funny sayings in.  That work for you?"

"That – that works great," she agreed, and he could hear the humor – the sweetness and light that he loved – begin to seep back into her tone.  "That sounds fun."

He found himself continuing.  "Bonus points for puns about molars and incisors, Babe," he chuckled, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard her laughing along with him.  "And then – then we put the drawing and the note and the money in their room in the middle of the night," he suggested. "Or maybe I do that part alone, 'cause you would definitely wake them up with all your giggling," he accused in jest.  "And then the next day, I play dumb and say 'whaddya mean the tooth fairy came last night, the tooth fairy isn't real'—"

"And I'll say 'I don't know about that, Hon.  There's paperwork, it looks pretty legit to me.  Tooth drawing, note, fairy dust'—"

"'Wad of cash'," he interjected, snickering.

"Two dollars is hardly a wad of cash, especially when it's one two-dollar bill," Heather countered happily.  "And I think this is an amazing plan," she pronounced, before claiming, "Except I don't know any teeth jokes."  She paused a moment.  "Well, maybe one."

"Yeah?  C'mon," Jake cajoled.  "Let's hear it, Babe."

""I think you may live to regret this," she warned, failing to suppress a giggle.  "But, uh, what's the best day to lose a tooth?"

"Oh, I can tell this is gonna be bad," Jake chuckled, before gamely adding, "I dunno.  What's the best day to lose a tooth?"

"Tooth's-day of course!" his wife declared, giving in, and laughing at her own bad joke.

Jake groaned.  "Okay.  Yeah.  So, that definitely belongs on a note from the Green Ranch tooth fairy."

"I think so," she agreed, making a soft, almost hiccuppy noise.  "And oooh!  Do you know what the tooth fairy's favorite animal is?" she demanded.

"No, Babe," he returned, "We don't need these yet.  Stop."

"The molar bear!" Heather informed him, earning herself another, louder, groan.  "Sorry Mister," she apologized breezily, though the was absolutely no hint of contrition in her voice.  "But you're the one who started the tooth fairy tangent and then pun challenged me.  I really thought you knew better."

"Totally self-inflicted wound for sure," he agreed. 

"Yeah, 'cause you're tired," she sighed.  "Did you at least get some sleep?"

"Babe, you know how I said I didn't mind if you told me to go to bed?  There was a whole, implied 'when we're in the same place, goin' to bed together' clause in there."

"I did pick up on that," she assured him.  Still, she persisted.  "So, did you get some sleep, Jake?"

"Five hours," he answered, giving in.  This was not worth getting sideways about with her.  Besides, as much as he didn't want her to worry about him, he also didn't know what he'd do if she ever stopped.  "At least four and a half.  And I'll catch another hour while you're at the restaurant, maybe."

"Okay," she acknowledged, tracing the words 'We should do something about it' with her index finger.  "I really hope you do because I love you, and I don't want you to be tired.  That's all."

"I love you, too, Babe," Jake murmured.  "And Happy Birthday."

"Thanks," Heather returned, glancing up from the letter in her lap to look across the teacher's parking lot toward the school building in time to see Mrs. McVeigh exit.  "Oh my God!  What time is it?"

She let go of the love letter, turning her wrist so she could see the face of her watch, though Jake beat her to it, announcing, "Three-thirty-seven.  What's wrong, Heather?"

"I just about had a heart attack because Mrs. McVeigh—"

"Sandy, Babe," he corrected quietly.

"Right.  Sandy.  She just came outta the school, and I thought it must be after four o'clock, and I need to get home.  There's that delivery coming—"  She stopped abruptly, letting out a little gasp.  "Oh God, Jake.  I'm – I'm sorry."

Jake could hear the strain in her voice, and he knew she was worried about what to say next.  And it was all his fault.  He'd said in his email that morning that she needed to be home for her surprise delivery – and that it wasn't something they should talk about on an unsecure connection.  'God, I'm so sorry, Babe,' he thought before quickly feeding her a line with enough of a hint that it would be plausible for his cover story.  "Your dad's sending you something for your birthday, huh?  And you didn't want me to know about that," he said flatly, modulating his tone so that it was just short of annoyed.  "Something expensive, I bet."

''I don't mean it,' he added silently.  Of course, she already knew that.  The expensive, had-to-be-signed-for, present was from him after all.  But he also wanted to make it as easy on her to play along as he could.  And while it was a handy go-to, he hadn't actually planned on her knowing that he'd turned her dad into the disapproving and disappointed father-in-law. 

"I – I don't know," she returned, her tone turning the slightest bit shrill.  "I just know it has to be signed for.  But that doesn't mean it's expensive," Heather argued quickly.  "I mean, it could just be something sentimental, something of my mom's.  That – that makes sense, right?"

She was feeling around the edges, trying to make sure that this was the way to go – or asking for something more to build on.  "You're right, Babe, that's probably it.  Something of your mom's," he agreed.  "And hey.  He's allowed to get you a birthday present.  He's your dad."  Jake sucked a quick breath in through his teeth, trying to decide whether or not to do it.  To say it.  'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!’  "I mean, as long as he's not sending you a divorce lawyer."

"Jake!" she rebuked, and Jake felt himself cringe.  "He's – he's not." 

She stopped, and he had no doubt that she was once again chewing her lip, trying to figure out what to do – to say.  He knew he had to help her out.  This wasn't her job, she wasn't cut out for this, and for at least the thousandth time since he'd begun this assignment, Jake was struck by the certain knowledge that he wasn't either.  Not anymore.  "I'm—"

"He knows if he did that," Heather began tentatively.  "Well, he knows that would be it for him and me."

'Thank you, Babe.  That was perfect.'  He knew how hard that had to have been for her to say.  Even knowing it was all pretend.  All a goddamn lie.  But she was also trying to protect him, the only way she knew how, and he loved her so much for going along with it – and hated himself for putting her in this position.  "You don't hafta say that, Heather.   Do that," he protested, repeating, "He's your dad."

"And you're my husband," she returned.  "Who I love very, very, very much.  I just – I wish you guys just—"

"Hey!  He and I – we – we can get along the three times a year we actually hafta see each other, okay?  I promise." 

It was another lie.  In actuality, Jake got along with his father-in-law rather well.  They didn't always have a lot in common, but they did have the most important thing in common: they both loved Heather and they both held her wellbeing and happiness as a common goal.  And it was easier for Jake to talk to Joe than it was for him to talk with his own father.  He shook his head to clear it.  He needed to get them out of this conversation – needed to get her out of it, and on her way.  So, he'd thrown out the lie, hoping it would do the trick.

"Three times a year, huh?" Heather repeated dully.  "Well, Megan's baptism is one.  So, you still owe me two more times."

And there was the opening he needed.  He could work with that.  "Well, you know, there's a little more incentive in makin' a baby with you than going to your dad's for Christmas, Babe," he teased.  "But I'm gonna come home.  Soon.  Somehow.  I—" 

"Little more incentive?" she interrupted, "How about way more incentive," she joked, giggling, though there was an anxious note – a hint of panic – that Jake took as further impetus to draw this conversation to a close.  "That's how I feel, anyway."

"That's how I feel, too, Babe," he assured her.  "But hey.  You need to get home, see what your dad sent you.  So, I'm gonna hang up, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed.  "But you're still gonna call me later, right Jake?"

"Yeah, Babe," he assured her.  He'd call her, to throw himself on her mercy, if nothing else.  "I'm gonna call you again in a half hour."  And worse than involving her in this debacle, he was going to have to involve her in killing off his grandfather for a second time so they could see each other. "I love you.  Happy Birthday."  So they could finally spend some time together, just the two of them.   "Can't – can't wait to make a baby with you."  So they could conceive a child.  Their child.

"I love you," Heather declared in return.  "And I can't wait to make a baby with you, either!"  But still, she didn't say good-bye, didn't end the call.

"Want me to hang up?" he asked a long moment later.  "I'm gonna say 'bye, Babe', okay?" he continued, not giving her a chance to respond.  "I love you.  Bye, Babe."

"Bye, Hon."

"Bye, Babe."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances Interlude: Long Distance Relationship, Part 9.

I really am continuing to write this story (both the main storyline and these Interludes), and I have a pretty good outline to get me through the rest of season one and beyond.  But again, I don't know how fast that will be or if there is still any interest in this story.  If there is, and you want me to know that, the best way to do so (unless you are a registered user of this site and want to leave a review) is to email me directly at: marzeedoats @ gmail dot com (please format as an email address – I am trying to avoid getting additional junk mail).  I promise I will only use this information as encouragement to write, and potentially to send you pdf copies of later chapters, if and when the site closes (would be late May 2024 at the earliest).  Contacting me directly is the best way to let me know if there is still interest in this story, and you want to know (eventually) how it ends. 

Heather mentions that if any radio in Jericho was going to pick up her cell phone call with Jake (this story takes place much closer to the timeframe when people's phone calls did get picked up by baby monitors and the like) it would be Jimmy Taylor's radio.  As you may recall, Jimmy had a unique and up-close view of the growing romance between Heather and Jake, walking in on them when they were hanging out, talking and kissing (bordering on making out) in the town council meeting room in Different Circumstances, Part 4C.  Then in Different Circumstances, Part 6D, as Jake and Heather are leaving Bass Lake after their picnic date (also another make out session for our favorite pair) they discover that Deputy Taylor has left them a note (in lieu of a citation) wishing them a good evening and reminding them that the lake and its parking lots are closed after dusk.  Heather and Jake have a few other encounters with Jimmy (and his wife and kids) in the Different Circumstances universe.  Some are already written; some are yet to come.  But yes, if anyone's radio could pick up their (about as risqué as they are ever going to get on the phone) call, it would be Jimmy's.

When Heather says that Jake is always eight years old in the stories he tells her about himself as a child, she is alluding to a conversation they had over his "5 years ago" birthday weekend in Different Circumstances Part 15A.

When Jake mentions the 'M and M' boy and Heather's hypothetical children with the 'M and M' boy (Mark Metzger, her former boyfriend) he is talking about their encounter with Mark at their Buffalo engagement party as described in Different Circumstances, Part 14G.  Heather even tells Jake: "And you know what that means?  We're gonna have beautiful babies, that's what," she said, answering her own question.  "Ten – twenty – times prettier than my purely hypothetical and completely imaginary offspring with Mark."

In Different Circumstances: Long Distance Relationship Part 2, when Heather and Jake speculate as to why Mrs. McVeigh has asked her to come in early, Jake says that if Heather is laid off from her job, they'll "just go have a kid".  Heather objects to this, saying: "I don't want starting a family – starting our family – to be my consolation prize if I have a career setback."

Tooth fairy pay rates are a bit of a parenting controversy (though I hope my imagined version at Jericho Elementary is on the extreme side).  In my research (yes, I researched this) I did find that the average tooth fairy payments in Kansas are a bit on the low end, while the average payment for New York state is on the high end relative to other states in the U.S.  Since Heather is from western New York state in the Different Circumstances universe, I thought it was entirely plausible that she would be planning to "overpay" her children for their baby teeth.

Also, I realize it's rather ironic that Skeet Ulrich the actor has boy/girl twins (who were quite young 17 years ago when this conversation took place) while the character he played (not quite 17 years ago) would prefer to NOT have twins of any type.  But it was a "fact" about Jake and Heather that I committed to a long time ago.  He's good with having one kid, but doesn't really want more than one at a time, even though Jake and Eric (in the Different Circumstances Universe) are twins.