Chapter 28 - Second Chances

Tuesday, April 18th, 2006.
Ellie grumbled as she accepted that she just wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. She slowly opened her eyes and kicked off the blankets, flexing her toes as she waited for her feet to cool down. She sat up on the edge of the bed. This was the first morning in a while that she didn't feel the usual queasiness of her morning sickness or the urge to run straight for the bathroom to throw up. Unfortunately, though, a haze of fatigue covered her whole body. She just didn't feel like getting up today.

She and JC had had the worst fight they ever had the night before. They had never screamed at each other that way before. Screaming and bouts of over dramatic emotions weren't exactly the most foreign thing to her, but she had never seen him like that, pacing around like a wounded animal, trying to defend himself despite his impending sense of doom. Finally, at two in the morning, he just locked himself in his home studio, the soundproof doors becoming a fortress gate between them. It was the first night where they slept in different beds whilst staying in the same house, implying he had slept. She honestly didn't know.

What she did know, though, was that if their fourteen-month-old relationship was normal, if they were still only dating, last night most likely would have been the night they broke up. But instead they were married, they had a home together and now they were expecting a baby. Things were incredibly complicated.

She paused at the top of the stairs. She took a deep breath, gripping onto the bannister. She started to make her way downstairs to try and fix things. To see if the lion had finished licking his wounds. She heard the leather of the couch ruffle as she stepped onto the bottom landing.
"Are you OK?" she asked the mass underneath the purple, black and white checked throw rug JC kept in the living room.
"Go away."
"What's wrong?" she asked despite knowing exactly what was bothering him.
"I don't want to talk about it. Fuck off."
She carefully sat down on the couch opposite to the one he was lying on. She pursed her lips, trying to find something to say. "Is there anything you'd like to do today?"
"I'm quite fine staying home and just letting you continue to slowly rip my heart out so you can shit on it."

She bit her lip. "I'm not trying to break your heart. I didn't say that I wanted to break up. I just—"
He turned over, cutting her off. "Then why are you sitting around waiting for us to end? Why do you keep threatening to leave me? Why do you keep finding reasons why we should break up?"
"I don't know, OK?"
"What do you mean you don't know? You should know, you should at least have a very basic idea of why you think we won't work out."
"I don't know."
"'I don't know' isn't good enough anymore." He stood up, throwing the blanket onto the couch.
"What am I supposed to do then? Huh? Do you know how many marriages end in divorce? One in two—"
"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!" he yelled over the bannister. "I don't fucking care about your statistics, pessimism or your weak fucking excuses. I can't do this anymore if I can't even get one ounce of belief from you that we could make it."
"Baby..."
"NO!...Just no." He left her alone downstairs, retreating to the master bedroom.

She tried everything she could to distract herself as she waited for him to hopefully cool down and find a way to forgive her. She cleaned, dusted and vacuumed every surface downstairs, needlessly changing the sheets in the guest bedroom. She set up her temporary workstation on the kitchen table, loading the audio of her last interview for transcription onto her laptop. She sat trying to listen to the interview with the hip hop mogul starting his own sneaker line, but all she heard was fuzz as she tuned in and out of the conversation, tapping her pencil on the notepad she used to take her notes.

She got up and checked the phone, waiting for the dial tone, scared she would hear him cussing her out to a confidant. But she only hear the dial tone. She tapped in the only number she knew wouldn't be busy at this time on this particular Tuesday.

"Hello?" Claire answered.
"Um...hey," Ellie squeaked out.
"How's my favourite mommy-to-be?"
"I think I've ruined my marriage."
Claire paused. She finally let out a dismayed exhale before she started asking questions. "What did you do?"
Ellie sputtered into tears. "Josh and I had some disagreements yesterday and I told him that I'm still scared that we might not make it and I think that he doesn't want to be with me anymore."
"Are you sure?"
"I don't know. But I really think he's starting to lose patience with all of the bullshit he has to deal with for me."
"OK, love. Let me tell you a secret. Love is twenty percent showing up, twenty percent appreciation and sixty percent telling yourself that murder can never be justified. I know I'm over exaggerating here, but so much about holding a relationship down is ignoring the little partially disturbing things."
"Claire, this isn't about finding pubes where you shouldn't ever find pubes. This is about whether or not someone can still be with you if they're starting to believe that you don't want to be with them."
The sound of Claire shifting her weight came over the line. "Did he really say that?"
"He said he can't be with me if I don't believe in us," Ellie explained. "He also said that he can't stay if he has to continue ignoring how volatile my outbursts are getting."
"How are they?"
"They're getting worse. I don't feel in control anymore."
"Do you think maybe you should start seeing a therapist again?"
"Maybe. I'm just never in the same place for long enough."
"That isn't an excuse. Would you say the same thing about your prenatal appointments?”
“I guess not.”
“No, you wouldn’t. Look, Ellie, do you know what Frannie told us in Lamaze?”
“I don’t want to know what Frannie told you in Lamaze.”
“She told us that we need to take care of ourselves as mothers because our well-being is in direct correlation with our abilities to take sufficient care of our babies. Also, babies are like sponges; they know how we’re feeling,” Claire explained. “If we’re relaxed, they’re relaxed; if we’re stressed out, they’re stressed out. This starts in vitro. You know, they’ve proposed that some psychological issues in children could be caused by the emotional state of the mother during her pregnancy.”
“They also say that there’s a link between burned bacon and colon cancer.”
“Ellie! You need to take this seriously, if only for your baby.”
“OK,” Ellie muttered.
“No, Ellie. I need you to promise me that you’ll start seeing a therapist again, OK?”
“OK. I will, I will.”
“OK? Good. I need to go, and you need go fix your shit, OK?"
"OK, bye."
"Bye." Claire hung up. Ellie sat for a moment, sighing and tapping her pencil on her notepad. She stood up and went upstairs.

Ellie knocked softly on the bedroom door.
“…Baby.” She found JC digging through the laundry basket and packing a suitcase. “Why are you packing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you leaving?”
“I don’t know.”
She stepped into the room. “It’s your house. Shouldn’t I be the one leaving?”
He sat on the edge of the bed in a huff, wiping his forehead. “I don’t want to be here right now.”
“Where?”
“This house…” He cleared his throat. “I feel like we’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Getting married so soon?”
“Well…yeah.”
She sat next to him. “Sorry…it was my idea to elope.”
“Nah, I proposed. I mean, what was I thinking? We barely know each other.”
“Yeah…” She picked at her fingernails.

She sighed. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“Um…you know what happened with Miles, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I loved him, but I was never deeply in love with him.”
“What does this have to do with the situation?”
“I’m a very inward person. Not a lot of guys notice me. I haven’t dated that many people.”
“Again, what the fuck does this have to do with anything?”
"I'm trying to fucking explain myself."
"OK, fine"—he got off the bed—"try to explain yourself."
"I'm scared, OK? Being with Miles conditioned me to expect the worst out of being in a relationship."
"I'm not trying to—"
"It doesn't matter. I'm still going to be scared. It doesn't matter if you never cheat on me or actively try to hurt me. I've still given you enough power to break my heart. It's not that I think you're going to be unfaithful or whatever; it's just that I'm completely and absolutely terrified that you're going to turn around some day and just decide that you don't want me anymore."
"I'm not going to do that."
"You don't know that; neither of us know that."
"Then why can't you just enjoy this for however long this lasts?"
"Because I just can't shut this off, OK? I can't shut off the feeling that the very worst that could happen to me will. The only difference between this and my fear of getting parasites from uncooked mayonnaise is that we talk about this. We talk about our fears and insecurities within our relationship. You need to listen to me. I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anything on this earth. I love you and I trust you and believe you when you say that you'd never try to hurt me, but there will always be something at the back of my head that I'm going to have to be without you one day, and considering the way I feel about you right now, that feels like the most horrific thing I can imagine. Somewhere in me, I believe that if I give you up now, it won't hurt as much as it will when we come to our natural end."

She closed her eyes and calmed her breathing. "I'm sick. I've been dealing with untreated anxiety for a while now and it's slowly been getting worse. When we get back to New York, I need to look into starting to see a therapist again."
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to find the right response. "Um...OK."
"What do you think?"
"I don't really know." He sat back down on the bed. "If you really think that it's the best course of action or whatever..." He trailed off.

They sat together in silence.
"I'm not sure how long it's been since things were so awkward between us," she commented.
"Yeah."
"Do you think we're really over?"
"Not really. We could work through this."
"Do you really think we can?"
"I think we're stupid enough to at least try."

Wednesday, April 26th, 2006.
Ellie stood outside the main entrance of Mount Sinai Roosevelt Hospital, checking her watch as she waited for JC to meet her. A little after twelve, a motorcycle passed the entrance, followed by JC trying to balance his helmet on his arm as he walked up to meet her.
"Hey." He leaned as close as he could, trying to find a place for the helmet as he only managed to kiss her lightly on the cheek.
"You're late."
"The appointment's at 12:00; it's barely ten past."
"Yeah, and I'm probably going to need to fill out a new patient form or something in the waiting room."
"And the doctor will still probably be late." He followed her into the building. ”I know you have a hard on for punctuality—"
"Will you fucking stop it?"
"What? I know you like to be early, but every single doctor in the city seems to be late. It won't kill you if you're just a few minutes late."

Ellie sped up, reaching the reception desk. "Hi, I'm here for my 13-week sonogram.”
The receptionist gave her directions up to the radiology department. They followed through up to the third floor, Ellie almost running.
She repeated herself when she arrived at the reception desk of the department. "Hi, I'm Elizabeth Chasez, C-H-A-S-E-Z. I'm here for my 13-week sonogram.”
"OK, great." The second receptionist passed over a clipboard. "Just fill this out, just some basic information, HMO details, etc. Is the father here yet?"
"He's the dipstick trailing behind with the helmet." Ellie scribbled her info down as quick as she could. "Men, no matter where you take them, you need to bring a helmet," she joked.
The receptionist chuckled. "Did you remember what you needed to do for this procedure?"
"Yeah, including the 2 pints of water." Ellie made a urgent smile.
"OK, sit down and I'll see if there's a technician free."

JC sat next to Ellie in the waiting area. He mimicked her in an irate tone. "Oh, you can't take men anywhere without a helmet."
"I'm not in the mood right now."
"What's up your butt?"
"I really, really, really need to pee right now." She bit her lip as she bounced her knee as she waited.
“Then go.”
“I can’t. You need a full bladder so they can see the baby better,” she stressed. “I told you that.”
He remained quiet. “I guess I either wasn’t listening or I forgot.”

A man walked into the waiting area from the hall behind the reception desk. “Elizabeth…Chavez.”
JC looked around the waiting area, seeing if there was anyone else responding. “I think that’s us.” He stood up and gestured for Ellie to follow. “Hey, surname’s ‘Chasez.’”
The technician looked down at the form. “I guess so. Latino?” He led them down the hallway.
“French.”
“Alrighty.” He gestured in a small, dark room containing a exam bed, an ultrasound machine, a chair and a variety of other bits and bobs. “I’m Daryl. I’ll be your sonogram technician. I am required to tell you that hospital policy asks that you don’t film or take any photos of the procedure. We can provide you with a DVD copy of the scan plus photos at your request for a fee. Can you please lie down on the table, ma’am?”

Daryl motioned for Ellie to lift up her shirt. He washed his hands and dried them, taking a long slip of paper towelling from the roll. He folded the stream of paper, swiftly tucking it into her waistband.
“Shit!” she whispered in surprise. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Daryl chuckled. He prepared the machine, taking a bottle from the rack on the cart. “This is going to be a little chilly.” He made a zigzag pattern of clear gel on her lower abdomen, pressing the ultrasound wand below her belly button. Daryl turned to JC. “Can you see the screen clearly?”

JC squinted at the fuzzy black and grey image on the screen. “I guess.”
“Great.” Daryl turned to Ellie, pressing the wand into her belly. “Are you excited to see your baby?”
“Um…yeah,” Ellie stuttered.
“Lovely, there’s the little fellow now.” Daryl pointed to the screen. “That’s the head, the abdomen, spine, leg, arm and cord. Everything looks great. This little flashing thing here is its heartbeat. Do you want to hear it?”
“Yeah…” Before Ellie could respond, a gentle thumping filled the room over the speakers. An unexpected feeling of comfort washed over her, tears coming to her eyes.
“I remember when I first heard my eldest’s heartbeat. It’s an incredible feeling, isn’t it?” Daryl commented.
She nodded her head.
“What’s your estimated due date?”
“November sixth.”
“You sure?”

“Yep, my last period was on the 30th of January. Why?”

“It's just measuring a little above average. No mean to worry. Valentine’s baby?”
“Anniversary actually. We started dating on the thirteenth of February.”
“You couldn’t wait the day? It would’ve been so much easier to remember.”
Ellie lifted her head, trying to look at JC. He smiled, shaking his head.
“No,” they both said in unison.

JC waited on the steps of the Tenth Avenue entrance of the hospital waiting for Ellie, her workbag at his feet.
“Hey,” Ellie greeted him, “I don’t look like I’ve wet myself, have I?”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“No.” She sat down next to him. “I just spent God knows how long trying to wipe all of that gel off. I think I might have left a mark on my trousers when I tried using a wet paper towel.” She slipped a little square envelope into her bag. “That felt weird.”
“Yeah, I don’t know how you’re not freaking out right now.”
“No…well, not that. Everything kind of just happened so quickly that I didn’t really have time to react.” She smoothed down her trouser legs. “I don’t like to make any Beatles-*NSYNC comparisons, but which one was your equivalent again? I know Justin’s the Paul.”
“Justin’s John and Paul. That’s how wonderful everyone thinks he is. He’s both John and Paul.”
“I always thought you were John.”
“No, I’m George, ‘cause you like George and you like me, so I’m George…I’m also the pretty one.”
She leaned her head on his shoulder. “You’re also the secretly-so-much-more-talented-than-John-and-Paul one.”
“Nobody thinks that.”
“I think that.” She lightly kissed his shoulder. “So, if Justin Fartface is John and Paul and you’re George, then that would make Chris, Joey and Lance Ringo, right?”
“Yeah, Joey’s the drummer, Chris is the short, goofy one and Lance is the bass harmony.”
“Seems fair.”
“Why do you ask?”
She paused for a moment, wiping a curl of his hair from the back of his neck. “This is where John Lennon was declared dead; he had already passed by the time he got here.”
“You want to have our baby at the hospital where John Lennon died?”
“Was declared dead,” she corrected him. “Anyway, it’s the best birthing centre in the city.”
“And we do live within walking distance.”
"Yeah...we do." She delicately kissed his ear, trying her best to pretend that she wasn't worried about anything.

Thursday, April 27th, 2006.
The next night, Ellie was just stepping out of the shower as she heard the front door of the apartment open and close.
"You OK?" she called out once she heard JC enter the walk-in leading into the master bathroom.
"Um..." He paused as he wrestled off one of his boots, it falling to the floor with a thud. "Yeah. The single's all mixed and shit. We just need to master the track tomorrow before Alex flies in for Monday. We're starting to talk video treatments and stuff."
"Cool." She started to lather on face wash as he entered the bathroom "Any ideas?"
"Basically I beat the shit out of a car with a sledge hammer, then burn it."
She pressed a washcloth to her face. "Do you want to do that?"
"I don't know. We have until early June to figure everything out."
"Was it your idea?" she asked him through the reflection of the mirror, gazing at him as he hovered behind her.
"Kind of. Alex suggested something industrial yet destructive."

He pulled his shirt up over his head and threw it into the hamper. "What did the OBGYN say?"
"Everything's fine. He says baby's a good size for 13 weeks; there doesn't seem to be any visible abnormalities currently. Basically, I'm on track to have a completely healthy baby."
"He said that?"
"The last bit’s more my impression of what he said, but that's basically the gist of it."
"Anything else?" He took his jeans off, removing his socks.
"If I truly want a completely natural birth, he's referring me to a midwife person...thing. Some woman named Alice. He also said that there are some anti-depressants that are safe to use as anti-anxiety drugs during pregnancy and nursing. Basically he, my general practitioner and my psychologist will corroborate on whether or not I need it and which one's best for me."

He grew tense as he watched her check her face for blemishes.
"You know, it's really great that my capillaries have cleared up," she said in an offhand manner. "I thought all that throwing up had completely fucked my complexion."
"Are we just going to ignore what happened last Monday?"
"We had a fight, we made up, everything's fine now."
"I don't think it is."
"What do you mean?" She walked through to the closet, rifling through a drawer for pyjamas.
"It feels like there's this weird tension between us. Sure, there's still some sweetness there, but there's still some...I don't know, straining there." He leaned against the door frame. "We haven't had sex since Holy Thursday."
"We've gone longer than two weeks before. We only did it twice in between the Oscars and Holy Thursday. I didn't feel like it because of my nausea."
"And you don't think there's anything wrong with that? Last year we were—"
She interrupted him. "Last year we weren't pregnant. Last year you weren't working to the point of exhaustion in the studio. Last year was different, this year is different, just like next year will also be different. We'll have a baby and you'll be off touring and shit. Are you going to use emotional tension as an excuse as to why we're both exhausted from taking care of a baby whilst travelling and performing every night."

They stood in a tense silence.
"Why did you say you were going to leave me before the party?"
"We've talked about this." She walked through to the bedroom, sitting on the bed. "If you keep bringing it up, we'll never move past it."
He followed her. "I only want to bring it up because I want to work through it."
"Everything I've told you is the complete, absolute truth. You're perfect—"
He cut her off. "Yeah, yeah. I'm perfect and you just can't imagine how hard it's going to be to lose me, so you want to give me up now."
"I'm sorry, but that's exactly how I felt. I'm not going to lie so I can have a more valid reason."
"Then why do you want to leave me?"
"I don't! If I did, I would've."
"Then why did you say you would?"
"Because I was scared."
"That's not a good enough reason."
"Why do you want a reason?"
"Because I want to know why you wanted to break my heart!...Again!" He stormed into the bathroom, slamming the door before he started to shower.

She collapsed onto the bed. "Jesus Christ," she mumbled. She straightened herself, crawling under the covers as she started to edit through a printout of an article draft with a red pen. She lifted her head as he emerged from the bathroom.
"Have you cooled down, or do you want to continue this argument?" she asked.
"If we're not going to say anything new, there's nothing to say." He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, climbing over her and into the bed beside her. He put on his glasses and started to flip through a large, well-worn tome of a sci-fi novel.
She sighed. "Look, I'm sorry, OK."
"You don't need to apologise."
"Yeah, but you need to hear it." She turned to face him. "I'm sorry. I fell in love with you so hard and so fast that I feel like if the ascent was so quick, the crash is going to be so much quicker and so incredibly painful. I'm scared of what you could do to me. I'm scared of how you could hurt me. Maybe I'm wrong for assuming that you will, but I can't help but feel that way. And you're right. That isn't a good enough excuse to try to hurt you in return, but I wasn't thinking rationally at that time. I wasn't thinking, but I've realised I've made a mistake. And, if you let me, I'll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you."

She placed her work papers onto her bedside table, snuggling into his chest. "Please forgive me."
He sighed.
"Please..." She looked up at him. "Pretty please, with a cherry on top."
"Give me a break."
"Please..."
He sighed again. "Alright."
"Yay." She leaned up to kiss him. "I've been waiting for us to make up."
"Really now?"
"Yep, ‘cause if we make up then we can have make-up sex."
"I mean...I guess that's a thing."
"Really?" She kissed him again. "’Cause it doesn't feel as good when you're pissed at me."
"Baby..." He placed his hands on either side of her face.
"I've been aching for you to come home early enough for us to make love again. I really miss it when we make love." She removed his hands from her face, intertwining their fingers and lifting their arms above their heads as she kissed him. "Please tell me you want to make love again."
He made no response.
"Baby..." She bit his lip. "Daddy, please."
He took his glasses off as he revealed his plan. "If I stay quiet long enough, you'll suck my cock."
"I won't." She sat up, pulling the waistband of his sweatpants down.
"You will. You'll get so antsy that you'll suck my cock until it's hard enough for you to fuck me yourself." He squirmed as she started to run her fingers along the shaft of his penis.
"No, I won't," she lied. "You can't make me."
"No, I can't, but I'm also not going to stop you if you do." He watched her as she played with him, his breathing becoming laboured with every delicate stroke and hard pull she made. "It's been so long since I've had my dick sucked. I'm absolutely aching for it and you're just so incredibly fantastic at it."
She smiled at him, a sinful look in her eyes as she peered through the tendrils of hair framing her face.
He silently asked her again, overextending his tongue over his teeth and top lip as he mouthed the word “please.”

She let go off him, sweeping her hair back as she bent down to take him into her mouth.
"Oh, sweet Jesus..." he groaned as she started to quickly work her mouth up and down the length of his cock. He grasped her face, biting his lip as he watched her devour him. He begged her not to stop as she lifted her head to speak to him.
"Do you want to come now, or do you want to wait until you're inside of me?"
"I was already inside of you."
"I mean in my pussy."
"I don't care." He tried grabbing at the wall above the bedhead as she continued. "I need to warn you though, I'm not going to last long enough for you to get a good fuck out of me if you don't let me come now."
"My clit and pussy are begging for you."
"Stop fucking teasing me and let me come, for fuck’s sake. I swear to God, I will hold you down and face fuck you myself."

She dropped him, slipping her pyjama pants and panties off.
"If you're going to talk like that, either you can finish yourself off, or you're going to have to make me come first."
"Take the t-shirt off," he suggested.
"Why? You don't want to see...all of me, all of this whilst we're fucking."
"I do."
She pulled her bed shirt above her head, leaving herself bare as she kneeled. "You don't have some secret pregnant woman fetish, do you?"
"No." He kicked off his sweatpants. "But I want you to know I still find you sexually attractive despite the fact that you're pregnant."
"You don't need to say that."
"No, but you need to hear it."

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his. "I love you."
"I love you, too." He carefully turned her over, lying behind her as he opened her legs, resting her thighs on his as they lay between hers. He softly and slowly traced his fingertips along the skin of her abdomen, kissing her neck and shoulders as he gently moved his fingers down. He delicately stroked the skin of her inner thigh, taking great enjoyment out of hearing her groan every time his skin brushed against hers. She took his hand, asking him to start stroking her pussy, grasping his fingers as he gently ran each fingertip along the length of her femininity. His stroking became a slow rubbing, increasing in pace and pressure as she ran her feet along his legs. She opened her legs wider, reaching behind her as she slipped his cock into her, grinding her ass into him as she asked him to start thrusting into her. He propped himself up on his elbow, matching each thrust to every stroke. He watched her writhing in pleasure through the mirror of her vanity table. Her body tensed as she gasped. He withdrew when she finished coming. He turned her over, tenderly kissing her as he lay on top of her, re-entering her for the last few thrusts he needed to come.

They held each other for a while.
"Are you done?"
He jolted awake. "Yeah." He turned over, burying himself under the covers.
She crawled into her spot on his chest. "What time is it?"
He looked over at the clock. "Ten past twelve."
"OK."
"OK." He ran his fingers along the slit of her skin left bare by the bedclothes. "My publicist called me today."
"What did they want?"
"They called to inform me that they've being asked if you're pregnant. There's photos of you and your bump circulating around the tabloids. They want confirmation."
"What did you say?"
"I said that I don't comment on my private life."
"What do you want to do about it?"
"I was wondering if it was OK if I put some photos of us out there, a few wedding photos and maybe that photo your mom took of us on Easter Sunday."
"The one where you’re standing behind me?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Where we're holding our hands on my abdomen?"
"Yeah."
"Where it's super obvious I'm pregnant?"
"That's the one."
"Do you want to make an official announcement? I could arrange something with Sam."
"Nah, just something casual outside of the press."
"OK." She pulled the bedclothes over her shoulders. "Suit yourself."