#*spoby future

“All we have is cereal and lunch meat. But that’s of no use to us because we don’t have any milk, nor bread,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping.

“I’m sure we have more than that,” he argues.

She gives him a pointed look. “Fine, look. If you can make something magically appear, I’ll be estatic, but I am going to go find some candles,” she places her hands on his chest for a second before departing.

He takes another glass outside and is greeted with a growl of thunder.

The only bad thing about storms is power outages, and if the weatherman is right on the sereneness of this storm, they’ll likely be without it.

He goes to find something for them to eat in the kitchen, and realizes that Spencer was right. They really do have nothing to eat. They’ve both been so busy lately with everything that a shop to the grocery store would throw their whole schedule around. This is the first time he’s had dinner with Spencer in awhile. In fact, he doesn’t really even recall the last time they had sat down together for a meal. With both of them free of work/schooling/whatever else, they were going to go out to dinner tonight. But with this storm…

He searches the pantries and finds some Kraft’s Macoroni and Cheese that he didn’t even know they had because Spencer usually disregards anything that has already been prepared to eat (or another name for it would be anything artificial) but he figures this will have to do because there is literally nothing else to eat.

But then he remembers the absence of milk in their company. He sighs, and shoves the box of macaroni and cheese back onto the shelf. His eyes flicker to a jar of peanut butter, and he decides to screw it, and picks it up. He grabs two spoons, along with the box of cereal and bag of bologna, and sets it on the kitchen table.

Spencer is still off on her quest for material, so he goes back into their kitchen to (hopelessly) look for some more food to satisfy their empty stomachs.

He finds a small bag of pretzels (one of those 100 calorie snack pack ones) and a small box of raisins. It’s not much, but, it will have to do. He grabs some napkins, and two cups to fill with water.

After he is finished, he sets the table so it looks somewhat presentably, and waits for Spencer’s return.

She soon returns with an abundance of candles, lighters, and flashlights. Also, a blanket. Even though it is summer.

“A blanket?” he questions after she sets the supplies on the end of the table.

“What? I get cold easily. You know that.”

“It’s summertime,” he states, incredulously.

“It’s sixty degrees outside,” she counters.

“True,” he agrees.

She grins, her eyes transferring over to the other end of the table. She laughs, “I don’t mean to say I told you so, but, I told you so.”

He grabs her hand, and forces her to take a seat in front of one of the two plates. He takes the seat next to her.

His hand wands over the peanut butter and bologna, “protein,” then the cereal, “fiber, and grain,” then the raisins, “fruit.”

“What about the pretzels?” she asks, amused.

“We can dip it into the peanut butter.”

She laughs again.

“I know it’s not some fancy European cuisine, or anything, but—”

“It’s perfect,” she supplies.

He smiles.

A second later, the room is pitch black, only illuminating from the lightning that strikes outside. 

They quickly bring out their phones, and Spencer groans, “I knew we should have lit these the second I got up here.”

They light the candles, and place them around the room, and on the table, before diving into their dinner.

“As amazing as this dinner is, I think we can’t put off the grocery store any longer.”

He smiles, sucking on a spoon of peanut butter, “should we make a list?”

“Of what? The things we don’t need? That would certainly be shorter…”

He grins. “Things could be worse. We could not have coffee, but what am I saying? You would never let that happen.”

She smirks, “are you ever going to stop making fun of me for that or?” she dips a pretzel in the peanut butter.

He snickers, popping a raisin in his mouth.

A round of lightning illuminates the room, and she brings her arms around her.

“I hate storms,” she sighs.

“I like them,” he voices. “They’re…oddly peaceful.”

“I’ve just always hated them,” she comments. “I remember once in first or second grade, there was this really bad storm due to some hurricane, and the power struck out, and  was terrified. Because my parents left me home alone, and my nanny wasn’t scheduled to come in that day, and Melissa was at her friend’s or something. And it was just…awful. I just sat in my room, and watched my door like a hawk.”

He takes her hand, and his thumb circles her palm in comfortable movements.

“Ever since then, I’ve kind of just despised them. And then there was the whole Ali thing, with the storm, and then Emily… and then that time where you—,” she doesn’t have to finish for him to know what she is referring to. “Me and storms just don’t get along well.”

He brings her palm up to his lips, and nuzzles his mouth over her palm, his face lit by the candlelight.

She offers a small smile.

He sets her hand back on the table, and links his fingers between hers. “Maybe I can change your mind about storms. Replace the bad memories with good ones.”

“How so?”

“My mom used to find ways to entertain me during blackouts.”

A wider smile spreads, but it is still acute. “I’m intrigued,” she murmurs.

He grins.

…

Toby tells her all the things he used to do with his mom during black outs, and most of them are activities for children (surprise, surprise) but still manage to sound appealing. He tells her that she can choose whichever activity sounds the most entertaining. Ultimately, she decides on building a fort.

They gather material from around the house using their flashlights, and set up base at the end of their bed. They cover the ground with blankets, and the sides with pillows, and use chairs to hold up the sheet ceiling above them. Spencer shamelessly flirts with him, asking him to help her out, since he’s a carpenter/architect, and all.

When they are done, they lie on their backs, and stare at the white cotton ceiling above them.

“I used to make forts with Melissa, but we’d always end up fighting, and it would always end up falling apart,” she turns on her side to stare at him. He does the same. “But this is really nice,” she glances around. “We make a good team,” her voice is light.

“We do,” he agrees, moving towards her. His hand snuggles around her side, and he places a tender kiss on her lips, which she instantly responds to. She leans closer to him, and pushes her hand up his shirt, making it gather up on the sides.

They roll over so Spencer is on her back, sort of, anyway, and Toby is hovering over her. She is sort of cleaning up, and his hand is at the small of her back to keep her balance. Her shirt is off before his, which is rare, but his does not come off long after.

She parts for a second, smiling tenderly at him. His eyes make her whole entire stomach inflate with feeling. “We’re taking an innocent child activity, and making it…dirty,” she decides, amused.

“It’s not dirty,” he states, his lips moving to her chest. He leaves deep kisses along her collarbone as he speaks. “It’s incredible.” Kiss. “Amazing.” Kiss. “Love,” he meets her eyes.

She smiles, “then lustful,” she murmurs softly, her lips close to his, almost touching. “And sinful.”

Their eyelids tickle each other as they blink, “we’ve been sinning for awhile,” he amusedly murmurs.

She smiles before meeting his lips for a kiss.

She has work tomorrow! How is she supposed to go to work? What's worse than that is, Spencer read that poor sleep during pregnancy can lead to complications during birth. And sure it is just one day, but one day can easily multiply into 6.

She shakes her head. She needs a drink of water, or something. Something to lull her to sleep. Obviously, lying here, wishing sleep would succumb her isn't working out for her.

She guides her legs off the bed, and then her body, trying her best to be quiet whilst doing so. He stirs a little, but so far, she is successful in not waking up. She makes her way out the door, wishing that she was wearing more than shorts. It is mid April, which means, during the day it is nice and warm, but at night is a fucking ice bin. It doesn't help that her body is seemingly incapable of keeping her warm—she is always cold.

She grabs a blanket off the chest beside their door, and wraps it around her, unable to handle the Goosebumps that now sleeve her.

She makes her way to the kitchen, and pours herself a glass of water, before taking a seat at the small dining table.

In high school she had many nights like this—restless, and absent from sleep. But it has been a while since high school, and she cannot quite recall how she managed on those nights. Really, she is quite unsure how she managed anything in high school. It was like she was numb to it all.

She shakes the memories away. That's the past, and this is the present. She needs to focus on her present problem.

The water is seemingly only making the fetus more upset, in result making Spencer more upset. Not that she blames her daughter, or anything. It is not her fault. Spencer would probably be kicking and flailing, too, if she was stuck in a small, hot, enclosed, place for nine months.

"Come on, water is good. You have to like water; it's an essential to living!"

The words are whispered even though there is no reason she has to be quiet anymore.

She gets up from the dining table, rubbing her stomach, trying to soothe her un-born child's tantrum. She puts her cup in the dishwasher, sighing as she leans against the counter and cabinets. She looks at her enlarged belly, and sighs. "What do you want me to do?" she mumbles in slight desperation.

She decides that going back to bed is just pointless, because she has been trying for four hours, and it is j highly unlikely she will rest. Besides, she is not even tired. Well, she is—she was, at least. But the kicking has kind of wakened her up. So, instead of going back to bed, she settles down on the couch, and clicks on the TV.

It is almost 4AM, and she has no idea what is on at this time of the night, but she is determined to find something.

Eventually, she settles on a documentary that she evidentially finds on Netflix (cable got her nowhere.) It's called "The Act of Killing," and it is basically about crimes during the Indonesian Killings. It isn't really a good thing to watch in the middle of the night, considering how brutal it is, but it is interesting, and it really opens your eyes to things. So, she watches it. Or tries to, at least.

Spencer isn't sure when she fell asleep, but apparently she did, because the next thing she knows Toby is kissing her temple, making her eyes flutter open. She is flustered at first, but then she registers the situation. She couldn't sleep, so she decided to watch a documentary.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it is 7:20, and I know this is the latest you ever allow yourself to sleep in."

She groans, or is it a sigh? Somewhere in between.

She tilts her head, so she is looking at him. He has already changed from his sleepwear. Which makes sense. Toby has to be at his work earlier than she does, resulting in him waking up sooner.

He nudges his forehead into her temple, his hand roaming over her stomach. "Why are you out here?" he murmurs, gently.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"What would you do?"

"I don't know…" he says, dumbfounded. His eyes flicker to her stomach. "Something."

"You just would have just been exhausted all day."

"Misery loves company," he mumbles, his other hand moving behind her back.

"Misery is a sadist."

Toby laughs a little, his blue eyes admiring her, and his hand rubbing her back. But his smile parts, "you could always call in. I'm sure they'll understand."

"No. I have a lot of work to do. And I can't do it from home."

"Fine. Then…you better start getting ready," he sighs a little, kissing her forehead. She leans into him, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her head into his chest.

His hands limply trace around her, and then he mumbles, "this isn't really what I meant…" he muses, his hands tousling in her hair.

She smiles, only holding onto him more tightly, "just give me a minute."

And then the idea strikes her.

Toby is stuck in Rosewood for one reason. He can't afford to be anywhere else. At least not without finishing the renovations on his loft.

She pulls out her laptop, her fingers tapping the keys, and her eyes moving across the screen in quick movements (like how Hanna reads her magazines, sometimes.)

And suddenly she is pulling out her phone, dialing numbers, and making appointments. And a few days later...

"You leased a loft, just so I could come live with you? Are you crazy? It's going to take me forever to pay you back...and I still haven't paid you all the way back for the truck."

"Relax," she tells him. "My roommate was annoying me, anyway. I wanted to move out. I just...don't want to live alone," she tries.

"Spencer."

"I want you to be here—not stuck in Rosewood! You can pay me back later, just...come," she pleas. Then a moment later, "wait...am I being crazy? Like not I-Just-Rented-A-Loft-Crazy, but that clingy girlfriend crazy? I'm sorry. I've made this thoroughly awkward."

"No, Spencer. No, of course not. I would love seeing you everyday," he muses. Then after a, sort of, sigh-laugh (one of those things that is just created by 100% bliss), he says, "I love you. I love you, so much. Part of me feels like a Gold Digger, but I love you."

She grins, "so, you'll move in with me?" her voice skips an octave.

xx

It is hard to believe that a whole four years has passed since high school. A whole four years without -A's torment, and Mona's cryptic riddles. And now Spencer is starting a job as a Business Process Consultant, at a New York Firm.

Toby comes with her, of course, and they leave their little apartment in Rhode Island behind.

Being a Business Process Consultant brings a lot of travel. Which, she likes, in some ways. She has always dreamed of traveling—seeing the world, and its beauty, after experiencing its harshness for so long, but she misses Toby, and her friends, and even her family sometimes. She has no time to see anyone, and even Toby whom she lives with, barely sees her. She travels 90% of the time, and barely has anytime to herself. And when she is home, Toby is gone—off, dominating the world.

See, Toby knew exactly what he wanted to do. Probably when he was, like, five, or something. He was going to be a carpenter, and along with that, an entrepreneur whom builds up his personal career as the years continue. Right now, he is close to having his own company. He works a lot, like her, and is, sort of, kind of, working two jobs at once. One job, for his own toddler company, and one for a much bigger one. (Somewhat.) So, it isn't like it is only on her that they rarely catch sight of each other.

But she wants it to work, and she wants to stop traveling so much. She would want that even if Toby wasn't in the picture. So, she goes back to school, intending to go for two more years, she'll be able to become a MBA, which will slow down her load. She'll have more control, and be able to stay in the same place for a whole while longer.

But it is hard to work time into her busy, busy, schedule. So, instead of two years, it takes three.

And in those three years, she and Toby's relationship takes a beating.

Not that it hasn't before. It is used to it, and they created a pretty strong immune system. But it still sucks. She misses him, and probably is able to spend time with him, once every two months, if she's lucky. But if she were to be honest, in the last four months, she has probably spent an hour with him. But, she's almost done with schooling, and then things will be radically easier. But there is still a few months to go, and she isn't sure how much their relationship can handle.

It is January first, the beginning of the new year, and Spencer is spending it in some shitty motel in the middle of Utah. The company always gives her the worst room. She is trying to do her homework, but the walls may as well be sheets, because she can hear the exact contents of what is going on outside. She cannot get anything done, and she cannot get any sleep because of the fucking, awful noise. She is stuck in a cycle of doom.

At 1AM, there is a knock at the door. At first, she wants to ignore it. It is probably some drunk old hag, but they knock again, and she has had a urge to scream at someone all night. So, she goes to the door, and just as she is about to yell and shout and cuss, her arms are wrapping around the man almost instinctively. A squeal of sorts exits her smiling mouth, and she refuses to release the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks into his neck.

"I wanted to see you."

She lets out a high-pitched laugh, because if that were the case for her, she would be fucking visiting him all the damn time. "You're in Utah," she comments.

"Yeah," he nods, about to pull her away, but she just grasps him tighter. He seems to get the point.

"Utah," she states, again, dumbfounded.

"Utah..." he repeats, laughing.

She pulls away from him, falling back on her heels, (she always has to tip-toe when hugging him in the way she likes hugging him.) She beams up at him, and he kisses her forehead, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"I can't believe you're here."

"I wanted to come sooner, but...there were delays," he sighs. "I was planning to be here at 10. I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?" he asks, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Ha. Are you kidding? It sounds like World War Two outside."

He perks up a smile at her morbidness. A firework goes off just as the words leave her mouth. "So, I didn't wake you?"

"No."

"Well, good then."

She smiles at him, before asking, "do you want to come in?"

He nods to this.

And as the night continues, she decides that this year will be a good one. It will be a better one. One that will have her less lonesome, and more in the company of whom she loves.

And Toby seems to have the same idea. Because at 3AM (God is she going to be beat at her meeting tomorrow), he pulls out a scrabble box from his luggage. He must be really good at persuading, because she is agreeing to play, and pulling at the box in seconds.

He keeps track of their scores, and Spencer tells him that he better not cheat because she has it all locked down on her brain, and will know. Toby just laughs at this, but he knows it is most likely true.

At the end of the game, Toby announces he won by one hundred and thirty points. Knowing this is complete bullshit, Spencer pulls the score pad away from him, but the only words that are on it, are...

Spencer, : 34 points

Will: 2 Points

You: 14 Points

Marry: 10 points

Me: 3 points

?

And her heart literally comes to a stop. And everything that has happened between them—everything; the good and the bad—flashes through her mind. It has all led up to this-this moment of pure heart, and love, and utter bliss, and it was all worth it. It was worth it if it brought her to this moment—this feeling of joy, and hope, and love. She always wanted to marry him. She knew he was the one, ever since high school, but she never knew when that day would come. It's not that she was waiting around for him to engage (she could so do that herself), but the moment—this moment—always seemed so surreal, like it was as plausible as visiting the moon.

When she meets his gaze, there is a black velvet box in his hands, a diamond ring blinking up at her.

"Spencer..." he begins, carefully.

The paper nervously crumples in her shaky hand.

"You...you're more important to me, than anything in this entire world. I know the last few years have been really hard, but we're still here. We are still together, and there is nothing that could ever tear us apart, I'm sure of it. I know that it is hard...it is so hard, but I promise that it'll be better. I'll take it down a notch, and visit you while you're away, and whatever I can to see you more, I'll do it. Because I love you, Spencer. I love you, I love everything about you. You're my life. So, please...marry me. Marry me, and be with me until you are 80, and still bitter about me beating you in scrabble."

A smile bursts from her face, and then tears, and she is laughing-blissful, joyful, sobs and sighs and squeals, race out of her mouth, trampling past her "yes's." She pins him down on the bed, pushing her lips into his, holding onto him with everything she has.

"I love you," she breaks out through her kissing, her thumb gently brushing against the side of his face.

He kisses her. A long, sensual, kiss that makes her stomach flutter.

"I love you."

xx

She is now in a new position, at a new firm, one that treats her much better (or maybe it is just the job position; maybe both.)

Toby has discontinued his working for another company all together, and now only focuses on his own. He also attends classes, for business, and architecture, and finally gets a new truck (after all these years.) Spencer is pretty sure he was crying when they discontinued the old beige truck's life.

And they are married.

It is spring time, and everything is beginning to blossom, and she this is her favorite start. She doesn't want this start to have an end, because she is so happy with how things are going. She finally is able to see her friends, and Toby, and even her family.

But there is something else to contribute to this new start. Or maybe it is the start of something new all together.

In mid April, she sees a positive mark. On a white stick.

It is scary—more so terrifying. Because she is only twenty eight, and she isn't so sure she even wants children. But it doesn't really matter anymore, because here she is, staring at a positive sign. And after a moment, she is smiling, too. Because it is something wonderful, and new, and wonderful.

When she tells Toby, his blue eyes cover with dew, and he holds her tightly and securely. "We're having a baby..." his words hum in her ears.

She nods against him, smiling, grasping at his back, feeling her own eyes fill with tears.

The first trimester is hard-horrible, and awful, but soon, things get better. And the morning sickness stops, and they learn the sex of the baby. It is a girl.

He can tell without looking that Spencer is seething with confusion. She was seething before--she was actually arguing with his father about the whole high sweetheart thing--but he knows her aggravation and confusion is not coming from that. Toby shoots a glance at her, skipping over the shocked faces. And as he predicted, his girlfriend is in a frenzy. She is just as shocked as they are, adding a little irritation and confusion in there, too. He raises his eyebrow, hoping she'll get his drift. They've always had this sort of thing about them. They didn't need words. Not when they knew each other so well.

"Toby, honey, I thought we were going to tell them after dinner," she changes her persona. She still looks shocked, and a tad confused, but it is different than before. Besides, Spencer never uses the word "honey" to address him. She is in on this, now.

"I know, I'm sorry sweetie, I just have been wanting to say it all night," he explains. Another pet name. Toby mostly is just doing it to piss his parents off--and Jenna, of course. He knows this was an act of impulse, and he is probably going to pay for it later, but he doesn't really care, right now. He is going to enjoy it.

"I didn't know you two were getting so serious," his step-mother finally jumps into the conversation, a stern look of shock covering her face.

"Yes, well," he goggles at Spencer, setting his hand over hers. "We're in love," he states, gazing at Spencer. "High school sweethearts," he breaths, smiling at her, then glancing over to his seething father.

"I'm guessing I won't be able to fit the list on your bridesmaids list," Jenna's slithers into the conversation.

"No, unfortunately, not. Because well, you see," Spencer glances at Toby, a look love in her eye, "Toby and I already got married," she she squeezed his hand. "I know we said that we were just going to say we got proposed, but I think they deserve to know, puddin' pop."

Spencer is brilliant. He wishes he could just cut the space between them, and kiss her. 

"Aw, it's okay, baby. I'm not going to be mad at you for wanting to profess our love to the world," he murmurs to her.

"I don't see a ring," Jenna states, her tone bitter.

"It's getting cleaned," Spencer smiles at the girl. "This one," she poked the dimple in Toby's chin, "refused to  take off his ring when we were making cupcakes. And I fell into peer pressure," she hums, scrunching up her face a little. 

They are never like this. Yes, affectionate, but this was a whole new level of affection. 

"Guilty as charged," he responds, shrugging, his eyes shifting between his bewitched family.

"They were a mess!" she exclaims, "I had to practically fight Toby to take his off."

"Was it really that bad that you couldn't just wash it yourselves?" Jenna hisses, not even bothering to put on a happy facade anymore.

"We wanted them to look perfect," Spencer counters. "We were planning to have a little get together to announce our marriage, and we just wanted them to sparkle."

"Are you two dimwits actually married?!" his father finally demands, slamming his fist to the table.

"Daniel," his wife reprehends him.

He ignores her. "You've done a lot of stupid things, son, but this has got to top the list. You're barely in your twenties! The human mind doesn't even fully develop until you're twenty five!"

"I think Spencer and I have gone through enough to have fully matured," his replies, his voice flat.

"You don't know what mature is, if you did you wouldn't have pulled this bullshit," his father growls, shaking his head with a look of disgust.

"Forgive my french, but this bullshit is certainly not bullshit," Spencer's bitter tone cuts through the duo's banter. "Toby and I are very much in love. We have been since high school, and if I'm doing my math correctly--and I can assure you, I'm doing my math correctly--," she raises an eyebrow, "Toby and I have been together for five years. And forgive me if I'm wrong, but didn't you two," she shifts her eyes between the woman and man, "get married after only a year of knowing each other? That gives Toby and I an additional four years, on you," a artificial cease forms above her challenging, copper, eyes.

"Well, I never--," the woman starts, but Toby cuts her off.

"If you are not happy for Spencer and I than I'm afraid we are going to have to go. My lady and I have no tolerance for negativity."

"She insulted my wife," his father growls.

"Well, you've been insulting mine all night," Toby counters, his voice flat. 

His father shakes his head, his lips forming into a straight line.

"C'mon, Spence, let's get out of here," he steps out, taking her hand with her.

"Goodnight Jenna," Spencer glares at the girl, a smirk resting on her face. She turns her head to the fuming couple, "goodnight, Mr. and Mrs. Cavanaugh," she gives a curt nod. "Awh," she produces a laugh, glancing at Toby, "that's so odd to say, considering I'm," she places her hand on her chest, "Mrs. Cavanaugh, too."

His step mom has looks like she wants to kill someone--probably Spencer.

But Spencer doesn't care. She goes further. "Maybe I should just start calling you Mom and Dad," she offers a laugh. "Certainly would be less confusing," she hums.

"Certainly," his step-mother offers a forced grin, her lip quivering.

"This conversation isn't over, Toby," his father warns, not having any of it.

Toby ignores him, setting his hand on the small of Spencer's back and pushing her gently forward. He actually fears for their lives, right now. His father is pissed. It only makes him grin.

When they are outside, standing by his truck, he instantly pulls her in, pressing his lips firmly against hers. She doesn't hold back, either. She grips at his collar, pulling him closer, coiling her digging fingers into his hair and around his neck. She is just as forceful with her kissing, wanting it as much as he. 

"God, I love you," he breathes, breaking away from her.

They are both panting.

"I can't believe we just did that," a smile displays on her face. "I can't believe you just did that," she tightens her grip around his neck. "You took me completely off guard!" 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I just, I hate how they treat you. I wanted to piss them off, I don't know. I didn't think. I know I'm an idiot."

"You are," she nods, grinning. "But also amazing. I love you."

"I love you," he responds, crashing his lips into hers once more. His hands move all along her body, wishing to get under her clothes. He suddenly wishes that they were alone. "Saying that we were already married, getting our rings cleaned--God, you're brilliant. You're so unbelievably brilliant," he voices in between kissing. "You don't know how hard it was to not do this in there," he murmurs against her lips.

"I think I may have an idea," she smirks. "As an active feminist, I hate to say this, but I love when you get all masculine and protective."

He smirks, placing one last kiss on her lips, before releasing his strong hold on her. "Also, Cavanaugh?" he smirks. "You would take my name?" he inquires.

"In your dreams, buddy," she flattens out his collar. "Besides, I think Toby Hastings sounds a lot better."

He laughs, "You know, I really don't care. As long as I have you, I don't need my last name," he rubs his hands up and down her arms. "You know, I honestly don't even want it. Not if it associates me with those idiots," he nods toward the house across the street.

"Well, my family isn't exactly wonderful either..." she sighs.

"Maybe we can come up with our own last name?" he suggests.

"Hasnaugh?" she offers, giggling.

"Cavastings," he plays along.

"T'pencer?"

"That sounds like a diaper brand," he gives her a look.

"It does," she snickers, "hmm..." she hums, gazing up into his sapphire eyes, "I don't know. I don't really care, either. As long as I have my puddin' pop, I'm good," she encircles his waist.

He chuckles, "I'm really glad that we don't do that."

"I actually, sort of, liked it. I was kind of bummed actually, I didn't get to use some of my favorites."

He gives her a pointed look, his eyes narrowing, playfully.

"C'mon, love muffin, don't be so pouty," she touches his cheek, feigning a frown. 

He glares at her.

She laughs.

"Okay, okay. You can put away the grimace, I was only kidding."

He offers a small smile, meeting her lips for a chaste kiss. "Wanna get out of here?" he asks, still close to her face.

"Do you really have to ask?"

It is only that night when he talks to her, only because she initiated first. “What did you do with them!” she demands, her voice hoarse and dry. She is not quite yelling, but her voice is not quite at its normal volume. “I know you took them, Toby!” she hisses, getting close to him.

His hard exterior doesn’t break. He stands tall, his shoulders pushed back. She repeats herself, demanding that he give back what’s hers. He has stolen them, she is sure. He is the only one who has been in the house. He is the only one who knows where she keeps them.

“You aren’t getting them back,” he states, his voice cold, but steady.

“They’re prescribed, you idiot!” she yells, clenching her fists together. He flinches at her words, but doesn’t say anything to acknowledge them. They don’t usually speak like this; even in their most horrible fights, they never insult one another. And there has been a rift between them for awhile; Toby’s been sleeping in the guest bedroom. They barely speak; Spencer can’t even remember the last time they touched on purpose. She knows it’s her own fault, and sometimes she feels bad, but she doesn’t know how to stop it. She doesn’t know how to fix her mistakes; she doesn’t even know if she cares enough to. She is still here, isn’t that good enough? “Look, I’m sorry,” she steps away, her voice not any warmer, but at least quieter, “but I need them.”

“Which is exactly why I can’t give them to you! The doctor said to take them when necessary. You take them every night.”

“They’re necessary every night!” she yells once more, losing her patience. “Just give them back to me, Toby.”

“I’m not giving them to you. Not until you see someone.”

“I don’t need to see anyone,” she grits her teeth. “I just need those pills.”

“Yes, you do,” he fires back in a stern voice. “You’re not well, Spencer.”

She glares at him, her nostrils flaring. How dare he!

She stomps back to their room—her room, crashing in her bed—their bed. And then the tears come.

Because she knows he is right. Because she feels awful. Because she is guilty.

He deserves better. Deserves more than the mess she is, and has always been. Why hasn’t he divorced her? He could easily win custody for their daughter. Their daughter, whom he had to send away for the weekend with her parents because Spencer creates such an unhealthy environment. He didn’t say that, but she knows it is true. She knows he is terrified of leaving their daughter alone with her. And she knows he should be.

She knows that her family deserves better. She is such an unfit mother. She promised she would never be like her own. She vowed that she would love her child. And she does, she loves her daughter more than anything, but she doesn’t know how to show it; not anymore. And the same goes for her husband.

She thinks back to a conversation she had with Toby. They were in their mid/early-twenties. It was before they got married, before they were anything but boyfriend and girlfriend. They had been dating for eight years then and still had yet to have a conversation about children, and what they wanted out of the relationship. When you’re in high school, you don’t talk about stuff like that, because well, you’re in high school. Sure, Spencer thought she would be with Toby forever in high school— if both of them survived those dreadful years, that is— but never did she think to bring up the future. She couldn’t think about the future, not when she wasn’t even sure she would make it past eighteen. And then college came, and the topic of marriage and children still seemed too premature. Then somehow, eight years passed, and they still hadn’t discussed it.

It was their anniversary, and Spencer to this day, doesn’t understand why he brought it up that day. Why ruin a perfect night? Maybe he didn’t think that it would ruin anything; maybe he thought that she wanted what he wanted. She isn’t sure, it doesn’t really matter. He asked her if she saw children in their future, and she knows that he didn’t include marriage into the equation, because they have talked about marriage before. This was a completely different thing.

She remembers feeling small at the time, because she knew their answers would not correspond. Why would someone who doesn’t want kids, ask if the other person wanted kids? She supposes it was possible, but Toby always made jokes about kids. Even in high school.

If we had a baby, what would it look like?

A new born with a six pack.

She told him that she didn’t want kids, and once she got that out, she felt more confident about it. She went on to tell him why she was wary of having children. The world was so horrible; both of them had gone through such turmoil, why would they want to bring life forms, life forms with their DNA, with their hair, and their eyes; life forms that they would have an unconditional love for, into this horrible, god forsaken, world?  He knew as well as she did that the world was full of monsters; that life in its self was just another circle of hell; that happiness only came and went.

“So, we don’t have kids,” he told her.

“but you want kids,” she responded.

“I never said that,” he replied.

“You didn’t have to.”

And it went on like this for awhile. Toby eventually gave in, saying that yes, he wanted kids. But, not if it wasn’t with her.

And Spencer fought with him, because she loved him; because she wanted him to be happy; because she wanted him to have the life he dreamed of. But he had a rebuttal to each of her points. He loved her, too. He would be happy as long as he was with her. The life he dreamed wouldn’t be existent, without her.

It went on for awhile, and Spencer ended up bawling. She didn’t mean to cry, it just happened.

“I don’t want you to wake up one day, twenty years from now, and regret staying with me. I don’t want you to have to give up wanting children for me; you shouldn’t have to! And I don’t want to feel guilty, five years from now, and do something I don’t want to do!”

In the end, Spencer caved, because how could she ever let Toby go? Toby, her one true love? Toby, the only person who has ever understood her? Toby, her safe place to land? It was impossible not to be selfish. Not to give him up.

But as irony would have it, two weeks later she found out that she was pregnant. She was pregnant before the conversation even occurred.

She had debated to abort the thing. She didn’t know how to be a mother! They weren’t even married (even though they practically were.) How the hell was she supposed to go through with it?

In the end, she decided to keep it. Because it was fair to Toby; because deep down she knew she would never be able to abort it, not without carrying the guilt on her conscience for the rest of her life.

And it was okay, because eventually she got over her fears of parenthood. She still feared their child would have to live a life that resembled their own, but Toby assured her that that wouldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let that happen, and although she knew that he had no control over how the world treated their child, it calmed her.

They ended up getting married when she was four months pregnant. The pre-wedding shenanigans were rushed, but it was actually very nice, and she finally got to call Toby her husband; it felt good, no— great. She didn’t understand why they waited so long to tie the knot.

Most of the pregnancy was a mess, but she was happy. She was ecstatic, actually. She had been happy with Toby before, but the happiness she felt then did not compare to the happiness she had been aquatinted with now. She loved her husband, and she loved their unborn-child, and she loved her life.

The nine months passed pretty quickly. And then on, June 23th, their daughter, Elizabeth “Ellie” Marion Cavanaugh was born. And Spencer’s happiness propelled into something much greater. She had never been happier than she had been on that very day. She had been so happy on her wedding day, so overjoyed during the course of the pregnancy—she didn’t know it was possible to top that happiness. But somehow, it happened. And it continued to happen. She was happy. Toby was happy. Their daughter was happy. Life was good; excellent, fantastic.

And you know what they say, the higher you are, the greater the fall.

It was about five months ago when it happened. It was April. Their daughter was five, would be turning six in two months.  They were trying to have another child. It seemed odd, really. Spencer never thought she would be trying to impregnate herself, but there she was, hoping, and praying to whoever was listening, to be blessed with another seed. They had been trying for almost a year. Eleven months. It didn’t seem possible. Spencer was only thirty, would be thirty one in a few days. Lots of women had children in their thirties, and she was in her early thirties. She wasn’t even in her thirties when they started to try—she was twenty nine!

There was something wrong, and they both knew it. They both made appointments.

Toby was fine. Spencer was not.

The doctor told her that she had very few eggs; that it had to have been some kind of miracle for her to have gotten pregnant all those years before.

Now, Spencer didn’t believe in miracles. But she did believe in torment. She believed in universal torment; that the universe was a finicky, little, bastard.

She kept the news to herself for awhile, not wanting to tell Toby. She had lied to him, telling him that the doctor still had not gotten her test scores. She didn’t know if she kept the secret for her own sake, or for his. She didn’t know who she was protecting; all she knew is that she was devastated.

Eventually she told him, because she had too. She couldn’t keep lying—test scores don’t take an eternity to arrive.

He comforted her, soothed her, tried to take away all her pain. He shouldn’t have. Why did she get to be upset? She had the news for weeks at hand, he just found out. It was her fault that he wouldn’t be able to have any more children with his genes. But he didn’t get upset, he just wrapped his arms around her, and then she began to bawl.

It was like that for awhile. They didn’t sleep much that night.

The nights went on like that for awhile. Spencer crying, Toby comforting her. But that stopped, soon enough.

Spencer had convinced herself that brining another life into this, cruel, awful, terrible, world would be a bad thing. She decided that this world was no place for a child. She went back to her old way of thinking. The world was unkind. It treated people so poorly.

Now, these thoughts—this philosophy, wasn’t that dangerous. It was what she believed up to her pregnancy—she was fine then. And she probably would have been fine if the thoughts stopped there, if she hadn’t gone any further into the abyss, but she did. She fell in, and there was no way of saving her.

Her past somehow crept up on her; all the hardships and turmoil she went through in high school, reached her. It happened so long ago—over a decade had passed since that ordeal. It was so arbitrary. So much had happened since then. That was no longer her life.

But that didn’t stop the horrible thoughts. The panic attacks. The anxiety. The nightmares.

She had always struggled with the nightmares. Always struggled with the panic attacks. They would come and go, reminding her off her terrible, awful past. But they wouldn’t stay for long, they would just pop in and say hello. Never did they last months.

By late June, she was a completely different person. She was cold; distant. She stayed quiet most of the day. Most of the panic attacks stopped, and the doctors had given her sleep medication for her insomnia. But this feeling of hopelessness, and despair, kept with her. She didn’t want to tell anyone. Why should she tell anyone? Why was she even feeling these things? It didn’t make sense. She didn’t understand.

She tried to put on a smile for her daughter, but it was hard. It was really hard. When her birthday came around, Toby had done most (read: all) of the planning. Normally, Spencer would do it. She lived for stuff like that, but Toby could tell his wife was not in the mood, that she didn’t have the charisma. Spencer didn’t even know it was her daughter’s birthday on her daughter’s birthday. When she woke up, it just felt like another, bad, day.

At that time, Toby and her were still on good terms. Kind of, anyways. At least, she wasn’t snapping at him, and calling him an idiot. They still slept in the same bed. She still tried to be nice to him.

“Spencer,” she heard his voice. He was rubbing her arm to wake her up. “Spence,” he said again, a little more loudly.

He used to kiss her awake. Used to bring out his Polaroid camera and take pictures of her sleeping, which would evidently piss her off. But it was nice. It was when they were happy.

She heard him sigh, “Spencer, its Ellie’s birthday.”

This made her open her eyes. Her mouth twitched a little, her eyebrows furrowing. How did she not know?

“It is?” she questioned, staring up at her husband, her voice small.

He nodded. His eyes, for a second, shifted to the piece of hair that covered her eyes. She knew he wanted to brush it back, but he didn’t. He didn’t because they didn’t do anything like that anymore.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“What time is it?”

“Seven,” he replied. They—meaning Toby, nowadays—usually woke her up at 8.

“Oh, okay…” Spencer said, distraught.

Spencer managed to put on a smile for her daughter, managed to sing along to the song, and laugh at her daughter’s reaction to all the presents she got. She and Toby even kissed, which was nice. It was a good day. She went to sleep that night without taking a pill. But that good day was just that. A good day. It didn’t change anything. In fact things got much worse from that day.

By mid July, Toby was sleeping in another room. She isn’t even sure how it happened, really. She thinks she might have kicked him out after saying something that upset her. Something that shouldn’t have unsettled her, but did.

Spencer doesn’t know when her tears stopped, but they did. She also doesn’t know how long she stares at the ceiling, unmoving, paralyzed. She tends to fall into these trances a lot, nowadays.

She is surprised when she hears her husband’s voice.

“Spencer,” he says.

She doesn’t say anything. She stares at the ceiling.

A few minutes later his voice comes alive again. Once again, he surprises her. Has he just been standing there the whole time?

But, once again, she doesn’t say anything, mostly because she doesn’t know what to say. Sorry? Sorry that she has always been, and always will be, a pill popper? She was like this in high school. It is ironic, really. She took pills to stay awake in high school, and now she takes pills to stay asleep.

She hears him sigh, “I should have...I should have reached out to you sooner. I should have seen the signs. I shouldn’t have waited this long.”

He sounds pained, which only makes her frown, and her eyes water, because even if it doesn’t seem like she loves him, she does. In fact, he is half of the reason she is here. Every time a suicidal thought entered her mind, she thought of his reaction. She thought of her daughter. Her daughter, who would have to grow up without a mother, her daughter who would have to go through what Toby went through—losing his mother. And she wouldn’t do that to them. She wouldn’t leave them. She may be a bad mother; a bad wife, but she will never be that selfish.

“You’re right, I am an idiot. I am, and I know it. I know what the signs look like, I know what someone looks like when there…” his voice dies off.

She wonders if he has forgotten her presence.

She hears a loud thump—probably him hitting the wall or something—and a groan shortly follows, then a sniffle, “I just, God. I’m such an idiot.”

She stares at the ceiling, but it is beginning to blur. Her throat is beginning to close. Her breathing is beginning to go rapid.

“I just, I don’t, I don’t like being demanding, Spencer. I don’t. Especially with you, but this is important. And I’m sorry; I’m sorry that I didn’t push you before. I thought if I gave you time…that maybe you would, somehow, just get better on your own, but that’s not happening, and I’m supposed to be there for you—and I haven’t. In sickness and in health, but…” his voice trails. She can hear him, hear him pacing. She can see him, too. His voice is breaking, “and look at me, now? What am I doing…”

She isn’t sure if she was supposed to hear that because of how quiet it was, but she did. She heard it, perfectly. In fact, she doesn’t know if she is supposed to hear any of this. He seems to be talking more to himself than her.

She stares at the ceiling still, wishing she could comfort him. Wishing she could be there for him. If Toby wants to talk about vows, she is sure she has broken half of them. For the past eight months she has been so self engrossed. She doesn’t even know what is happening in his life. She has no idea how he feels about anything. She doesn’t know how their daughter feels. Are they both okay? Do they fall into these trances, too? She hopes they don’t. She hopes Toby is taking care of their daughter. She knows he is, though. She knows he is being a single dad, while she is just being, broken.

She wants, she wishes she could tell him that she knows he is right, but she doesn’t know how.

“God, I just. What happened?” she hears him again, in that quiet, small, tender voice that resembles an inner thought, that somehow tumbled out.

“I’ll leave you alone now, I know you want to be alone,” he murmurs, in a louder tune. “I’ll leave you alone,” he says again, sniffling. And then he begins to walk away.

She doesn’t want him to walk away.

“Wait,” she beckons, sitting up. Her voice is so small, so ridiculously quiet that she isn’t sure how Toby heard her. He is looking at her wide-eyed. Those eyes of his—those precious, baby blue eyes of his—gaping at her. She doesn’t know why she told him to wait. Wait do to what? She doesn’t know what she is doing. She just wants him here. She doesn’t want to be alone. She has wanted to be alone for so long. Wanted to be in isolation for so long, but she wants him, right now. She wants someone to hold her while she cries. She knows he can’t make it better. He knows he can’t make it better. But that doesn’t mean he can’t hold her. That she can’t cry to him about how much she is hurting inside. Except so much has happened between them—it’s been so long since they’ve been together. How is she supposed to just ask him to hold her, when she doesn’t even remember his smell? “Please,”  is all she can say. All she can ask. And she hopes it is enough, because she doesn’t know what else she is capable of.

He steps forward, taking small, hesitant steps toward her. Her heart bends and twists and breaks, afraid he won’t understand. Won’t comprehend the question in her eyes.

But he does. He always does. A lot is broken between them. A lot has been damaged, but he can still read her. He still understands. They still have that unspoken connection.

He is wrapping his arms around her, and she instantly erupts into tears. He holds her tightly, so tightly it almost hurts, but she is glad. It makes it more real. He is here. He is holding her. The ache for him is starting to die down. She has him. He is with her.

“I’m sorry,” she manages to say through her sobs.

“Sh, no. It isn’t your fault,” his voice is so quiet. Still, and caring. It is smaller than it was before, when he was pacing back and forth, in their room. It is only for her. Only for her to hear.

“I’ve been so awful,” she sniffles. Another sob escapes her. She shakes her head, “I’m—I’m so horrible.”

“No, it’s no you’re fault,” he says again, his voice once again quiet. Quiet and reassuring.

“I should have gone this morning,” she relinquishes.

“It’s okay. I can make another appointment,” he murmurs. He isn’t mad, or annoyed, or irritated. Or stern; just caring, just soothing, and heartening.

She sniffles, shaking her head, “that’s not the point.”

“It’s okay,” he repeats himself.

She looks at him—she needs to look at him. She needs to see his face up close. She needs to see the way his eyes move, the way his forehead wrinkles, the little bit of stubble that coats his face. She needs to see the promise in his eyes—the comfort they bring her.

“It’s okay,” he promises in a whisper, again.

She can tell he isn’t lying because his eyes stay still. They don’t waver, or flicker, they are unmoving.

“I’m sorry,” he goes on. “I should have scheduled you an appointment a long time ago.”

One of his hands comes to her face, his thumb sweeping away the dew beneath her eyes, “I should have tried harder.”

She shakes her head, “there’s nothing you need to apologize about, Toby.”

He doesn’t try to fight her, but she knows he wants to. She knows he feels guilty, but he doesn’t push it. Instead he presses his lips to her forehead, keeping them there for awhile. She had almost forgotten the feeling.

He pulls away after awhile, “I love you, so much. I’m so sorry.” There are tears in his eyes.

She shakes her head, but she doesn’t have the energy to fight back. She doesn’t want to fight with him, anyways. They’ve been doing far too much of that.

“Will you stay here tonight?” she asks in a restrained voice.

“Of course,” he nods. “Anything you want,” his voice is warm. He brings her into his arms again, holding her so tightly; she can tell that he is not just holding her because of her own needs, but his, too.

Spencer starts going to therapy. She takes pills for depression, and has certain therapy exercises that she is directed to do each night. It is hard, hard to come back to life; hard to awake from her corpse, but she does it; slowly, but surely, she does it. She is smiling again, enjoying life again. There are days where she feels like isolating herself; feels numb, and empty, but she gets through them, she gets through them because she knows that these feelings are just her mind playing tricks on her. She gets better. She rises from the dead.

By the time January rolls around, she doesn’t even need pills. She still goes to therapy, but only monthly. She is almost back to her normal self. The bad days come less and less. She feels happy.

She spends time with her daughter and husband, her family; makes up for all the time she had lost to her depression.

 Her daughter is delighted to have her mom back again. Ecstatic, is a better word.

“Mommy can we build snow mans?” the little girl asks, who has been staring out the window for a good ten minutes. That was good for a six year old.

“Men, honey,” Spencer corrects her daughter.

“Men?” her daughter looks at her, a look of puzzlement crossing her face.

“It is not mans, it is men,” her mother laughs.

“Why?” her daughter questions. The why game; her daughter’s favorite game. “When you make things plural, don’t you add a S?”

“And, um, not everything. Like, moose for example. If there was more than one moose, you would still just say moose.”

“Not mooses?” the little girl inquires.

“Nope,” she shakes her head.

“I don’t get it! Why isn’t it the same?” her daughter demands.

“It just isn’t.”

“But why?”

Spencer sighs, wishing she just let it go. “Wanna go build snow men?”  she asks.

“Hey! You aren’t getting away with that! I know you’re trying to, what’s the word,” she looks up, trying to conjecture the word. “I know you are trying to…” the little girl begins again, “you know what? I’ll let it go, but only because I wanna go build snow men,” she steps down from the chair.

“Hey, wait El, you need to finish your lunch.”

“I don’t like carrots,” the girl whines.

“Then, I guess you don’t like snow men. They have carrot noses.”

The little girl’s copper eyes go wide, which makes Spencer laugh.

“You better eat them; you don’t want the snow men’s feelings to get hurt.”

“Wait…snow mens?” the little girl’s face scrunches up, “I thought it was just men?”

“I was using it possessively.”

“What?” the little girl gives her a look of incredulity.

“You know what,  I’ll eat the carrots,” Spencer tells her daughter, sighing, but smiling. “You just go collect everything you need for the snow.”

The little girl’s face beams up, “really?”

She nods.

“You’re the best mommy in the whole, wide, world!”

“Really? The whole world? That’s pretty big…” Spencer observes, knitting her eyebrows.

“The whole space!” The girl exclaims, stretching out her arms.

“Wow,” Spencer laughs, “I must be pretty great then, huh?”

“Mhm,” the girl nods.

“Well, you,” she pokes the girl in the stomach, “are the best daughter in the whole, wide, world.”

Her daughter giggles, “what about daddy?” she asks.

“He’s the best daddy in the whole, wide, world,” she pokes her again, producing a giggle from her daughter.

“We must be a pretty awesome family, then,” the little girl observes.

“You bet we are!”

She giggles again.

“I’m really happy that you aren’t sad, anymore.”

Spencer’s broad smile dies down into a faint one, “me too, baby doll, me too.”

The little girl hugs her. Holding her tightly. Spencer wraps her arms around her, smiling. She is so, very, happy. She is happy.

And she is even happier when she hears the front door opening, along with her husband’s voice. He grins at the sight of the embraced pair. “I got to leave work early,” he explains to his wife, and daughter, who doesn’t really care; she’s just happy to see him.

She runs over to him, “you can make snow men with us now!” the little girl exclaims.

He picks her up, “aren’t I lucky?”

“Mommy told me that they are called men instead of mans, when it’s plural.”

“This is true,” he notes.

She smiles.

“Are you gonna build snow men with us?” she asks, impatient and eager for an answer.

“Yeah, of course I am. And my snowman is going to dominate your snow man.”

She glares at him, her voice cold, “we’ll see about that.”

He chuckles, setting her back down on the floor. She runs off to gather her snow clothes.

 “So competitive that one…” he shakes his head. “Where on earth does she get it?” he mocks, smiling at his wife.

“You know you give me a lot of crap, but ‘my snowman is going to dominate your snow man’ ? That’s not exactly passive.”

He laughs, “I just like aggravating her. Just like I do, you,” he sing songs, wrapping his arms around her.

“You’re very cold,” she observes, cupping his face.

“Well, it is pretty cold, outside, so.”

“I told you to dress warmly this morning, and what did you do? You went out in a sweatshirt,” she shakes her head, clucking her tongue, smacking her lips together.

“I know that you’ll always be here to warm me up,” he murmurs, leaning towards her.

“Smooth, you are, Cavanaugh, smooth, you are…” she hums, their lips meeting for a tender kiss.

“Feeling warmer?” she whispers.

“So much,” he responds.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she pulls away from him. “You have a dominating snowman to build, remember?”

He snickers, “it will be dominating.”

She rolls her eyes, “stay here. I don’t want you tracking snow through the whole house. I’ll go get your snow stuff.”

Something flickers in his eyes, but it goes away so fast, that Spencer cannot even read it.

“Okay,” he nods.

She gives him one last peck before trailing off to get their snow stuff.

While their daughter has played in the snow already, Spencer and Toby have not. They have not taken their snow supplies out of the boxes, yet. They are still stored away in the basement, in boxes.

And when Spencer pulls Toby snow suit from its summer home, she sees them; the pills. Her sleepy pills.

She understands his—whatever was in his eyes, now. He knew. At first she is annoyed, because she has been fine, a look of—whatever it was—should not be passing through his eyes, but he didn’t stop her from coming down here. He trusted that she wouldn’t take them.

She has to admit hiding them here was clever. It was summer at the time; this would have been the last place she looked.

He definitely was not being an idiot.

She picks the pills up, and goes to meet Toby and her daughter.

They build snowmen; Toby makes his dominating one, and they ask Spencer whose is better. Spencer votes for her daughter, mostly because she wants to watch Toby lose. She really has never forgiven him for beating her at scrabble. Toby ultimately agrees that his daughter’s snow man is better though. Except it isn’t a snow man, it is a snowwoman. That made Spencer grin widely. Her daughter is seriously the best.

They go back in, and have hot chocolate. The day is perfect. Spencer is so glad for Toby; so glad for her daughter. They both bring her so much joy. She loves them both, so much; it is a little overwhelming at times, in all honestly. She never thought she would be this happy again. But she is; she is happy.

Later that night, when their daughter is sound asleep, and moon is out, Spencer brings up the pills.

“I found them.”

“Found what?” he plays dumb.

She gives him a look, rolling her eyes, and bringing the pills out from her sweat shirt pocket. She sets them on the table, and Toby stares at him. Another look crossing his face. It is fast, but she catches it. Despair.

“How should we dispose of them?” she inquires, taking in a deep breath, and setting her clasped hands on the table.

He looks up at her, a proud look coming across his face.

“I love you,” he tells her.

“I love you, too.”

“I really, really love you,” he goes on. “Like, really, love you. Spencer, you don’t understand how much it hurt to see you like that. I didn’t know what to do, I—I should’ve done more,” he shakes his head, his eyes drifting away for a second, but they come back to her almost instantly, “I should’ve…” he continues.

“Sh,” she hushes him, “I’m all better now, It doesn’t matter.”

“But you weren’t for awhile.”

“And you did your best. You took care of our daughter when I couldn’t. You did things that, at the time, made me hate you, but really make me love you now,” she sets her hands on his. “I’m okay, Toby. I’m better than okay…I’m happy.”

He smiles, “me too.”

Her mother's matching honey burned eyes pop up, so much that her eyebrows hop up too. She sets the pen on the table beside her papers, and her glasses follow suit. Her clasped hands meet the table and she sucks in a heavy breath. "What made you think of that, bud?" her mother questions in a kind, warm, motherly tune. 

"Aunt Caleb and Aunt Hanna's baby. How did it get out of Aunt Hanna's tummy? Did she have to barf it up?" the little girl asks in return, tilting her head at the thought as if she was giving much thought to the idea. "How did it get in there anyways? Did she eat a seed? Like you and daddy say how I will grow a apple inside me if I eat a apple seed? And you say that it would hurt if I did that, so did it hurt Auntie Hanna?"

Spencer puffs out her cheeks, squinting her eyes. "Well, baby... the process isn't exactly like that, but close!"

"What process?" a manly voice echos into the room. Toby enters the room with a look of curiosity drawn on his features. He mostly shoots the questioning look toward Spencer, rather than his daughter. Before joining them at the table, he walks around the table to see what his daughter is drawing. "It looks good, goo" the father professes, patting his daughter's back lightly in appreciation. He then walks to his wife, rubbing her shoulder affectionately before taking a seat next to her.  

"Daddy, where do babies come from?" the little girl ponders aloud, the second he hits the chair.

He looks toward his wife for guidance, but she looks as flustered as he is on the question. She gulps at him, biting her lip and shrugging a little. Perhaps, to pass off the words of "I don't know what to say to her" without actually expressing them aloud.

He goes back to his daughter and opens his mouth, only for no words to depart.

"Well, sweetheart. They come from mommies."

"Yeah, but how did they get there?"

"That seems like a great question to ask your mom!" Toby exclaims to his daughter, receiving a glare from Spencer. 

The little girl twists her head toward her mother, her eyebrows going up as if she were saying 'I'm waiting'.

"Well, when a man and a woman really love each other..." Spencer begins, shooting an uneasy glance at Toby. "A baby is born inside the mother's stomach."

"Why?" 

"The power of love." Spencer smiles at her child, hoping she'll buy it. But, if the girl is anything like Spencer, and she is, the conversation will not be over this easily.

"But, what about the kids with only one mommy or daddy?"

"Well..." Spencer purses her lips, aiming her eyes at Toby. "Daddy, do you have an answer for that?" Spencer asks, her eyes wide and gesturing him to take it from here.

"Sure...." Toby's voice trails, as he rotates his head toward his daughter. "Sometimes...love is misplaced. And people who don't really love each other, are mistaken for people who do."

"Who is stupid to give the babies to them?"

"Stupid is a bad word honey," her mother scolds.

"I'm sorry mommy." Her daughter bows her head down, in shame. Although the shame doesn't last for long, her head is soon up again and her eyes are waiting on her father for an answer.

"Well, you know, the stork, of course!"

"The stork?" The little girl retorts, giving her father a look of obscurity. Her face crunched up and her nose crinkled up in question.

"Come on, you don't know about the stork? You don't learn about this in school? Why do we even send you there?" Toby jokes, releasing an artificial sigh. His daughter just keeps looking at him funny, awaiting a proper response to her question and Spencer looks at him with disapproval, obviously not too pleased with him dissing education. He laughs nervously or to provide more time for himself to think, maybe both. "The stork is what delivers the babies. They lay an egg and then the mother eats the egg, and then bam, there is a baby inside her stomach! And sometimes it is foolish, and doesn't know what real love looks like. It gives the eggs to people who really shouldn't receive the egg." Toby puffs out his cheeks, "it's a shame, actually."

"So...I came from a egg?" the little girl inquires, her voice filled with the hymns of obscurity. She looks from her mother to her father. She seems to not believe it, which Spencer cannot say surprises her. They are two peas in one pod, and Spencer never believed the bullshit her parents fed her when she was little. Not about Santa Clause. Not about the Easter Bunny. And definitely not what her parents said about babies.

But, Spencer nods with a smile, hoping her daughter will just put it to rest. "Yup, we all do."

Their daughter crosses her arms and shifts her eyes between her parents. "Why can't daddies eat the eggs?"

The parents look at each other with lost expressions. Why was this harder than trigonometry?

"Umm," Spencer begins, looking from Toby to her daughter. "Well, they just can't."

"Why?"

Spencer hated the "why" game, but her daughter, like most children, lived for it.

"Because it just doesn't work like that. If the father eats it, then... it just loses its magic."

"Well, then why do people who don't want babies have babies?"

"Are you kidding? Everyone wants babies!" 

"Really?"

"Really!" Spencer exclaims.

"Oh."

Spencer nods, and silence settles among the table. Spencer looks at Toby, who is mirroring an expression of relief. Although, the silence does not last for long because another question is soon leaving the little girl's mouth. "But, how do they get out?"

“Noah’s really excited to meet his little sister,” he told his wife from behind the steering wheel, keeping his eyes locked on the road. He had stopped by a couple of times to check on the four year old. When Spencer went into labor, it was around 1 AM. Noah had already been put to bed, and they saw no reason to disturb him. Although they were perfectly fine disrupting Hanna. The blonde only lives a neighborhood away. So, she was knocking on their door minutes after they called her. They stayed at the hospital the whole night, getting no sleep whatsoever. When 7AM arrived, Toby knew Noah would probably begin to sprout up, being very confused on the subject of where his parents were, so he called Hanna, making sure she would explain the circumstances.

And then, around 10AM they met their daughter, Ellie Marion Cavanaugh.

She had Spencer’s caramel eyes and blond hair, which came from Toby. He was born with blond hair too, and it slowly became darker and darker throughout his life. She was so tiny and fragile, only being 6.5 pounds and 16 inches. It was insane! Toby had once gained 6.4 pounds in a week (to be fair, it was the week between Christmas and New Years, and sweets surrounded him.) It was so incredible to believe.

Anyways, Toby had detached himself from his little girl and his wife around 12PM to make sure his son was all right. Toby, at first, was planning to bring Noah to the hospital, but the parents then decided against it. Ellie had fallen asleep, and they didn’t want her to be disturbed. She had woken up around 8, and they thought it was too late to be bringing Noah out of the house.

“I was kind of worried, if I’m going to be honest…” Spencer said.

Toby furrowed his eyebrows, “what? Why?” he asked, almost amused.

“You know how my family is. Competitive…is a nice word for it. Melissa told me that the day my parents brought me home was the day that her life was ruined, once.”

“Spencer, Noah is not Melissa.”

“No, I know…I know…just—” she sighs, her eyes closing in on her sleeping daughter. “What if I passed the trait on? What if they grow up hating each other? I don’t want them to have to go through what I had to go through.”

“Spencer,” her husband spoke, abruptly. She looked up, meeting his gaze in the radar mirror. “They won’t,” he smiled a little, before returning his eyes to the road.

Spencer smiled shortly after, “I hope so.”

X

When they arrived home, Noah was as giddy as ever. He ran up to his mother, his blue eyes filled with absolute joy, and wrapped his arms around her. She returned the gesture, squatting down to participate in a full out hug with her son. “Where’s Ellie?” the little boy asked. His father told him the name of his sister when he returned home.

“Daddy is bringing her inside—speaking of…” she turned around at the sound. Toby was coming in the door, the infant still sleeping silently in a carrier.  

Noah dashed at the sight, leaving his mother’s arms to their lonesome. She instantly followed him to the close distance, grabbing his hand before he reached the two at the doorway. She crouched down once more to talk to him, “shhh… she’s sleeping.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “it’s morning?”

“Yes, well. She has not developed a good sleeping schedule yet.”

He frowned. “Can I see her?” Noah asked.

Spencer nodded, smiling, letting go of his hand.

Noah ran up to his dad, only to be rejected, yet again. He told him he had to set her down somewhere else other than the doorway.

Toby guided his sleeping daughter secured in her carrier to the kitchen. His son was right behind him, eager to see her. Toby set the carrier on the table and Noah took this as a prompt to climb up onto the chair. He sat on his knees so he could see over the table, and rested his elbows on the surface. He had to sort of lean over to get a good look at his new sister.

He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t even blink.

Spencer joined the trio in the kitchen, only to find silence. She stood there with her husband, observing the sight.

“She’s so small…” he observed, softly. Careful not to wake her.

Spencer smiled, taking a step forward and placing a hand on her son’s back. “Believe it or not, buddy, but you were once this small too.”

He looked at her with saucer eyes, the news being outrageous to his little ears. Although his eyes didn’t stay on his mother’s face for long, they were soon back on his baby sister. “Why does she sleep so much?”

“She only sleeps a little bit more than you do. She’s just on another schedule.”

“Oh. Did she sleep inside your tummy?”

“Yup.”

“Is it cozy in there?”

Spencer shrugged, “I’m not sure, to be honest.”

He kept looking at her, not saying much after his burst of questions. They were all just watching her sleep, and no one could complain.

Noah rested his hand on his sisters. At first, the parents worried. Worried, she would be alarmed by his touch, but she stayed still. Her eyes stayed closed. She didn’t even feel it.

When they finished reading the books they would discuss them. Almost like an elite book club that only the two were allowed to be members of. They would talk about the books; discuss why or why not they liked them. Usually they would get into petty debates about the books, concerning certain characters that one half of the couple liked, and the other did not. It was their thing.

And Spencer had to admit, these little sessions with Toby were much more fun than her actual book club that she attended with Aria. All the women were so stuck up, and she swore that half of them probably didn’t even read the first page. They simply joined for the gossip—ugh how nauseating.

Luckily, she had Toby.

It just so happened, that today, she had finished the last page of the book Toby recommended—Paper Towns. It was a book by one of her favorite authors, John Green. She had actually introduced the author to Toby. After he told her that he would never read another Nicholas Sparks book again—saying “I think this book is the reason I got sick. It’s, like, nauseating. How—ugh, how do you even read it? God, I mean it’s better than the movies, but it certainly wasted more of my time”—Spencer rolled her eyes at this. He had gotten sick before he even picked up the book! Toby seemed to disagree, but she was sure. Anyways, after all the apparent pain she caused him from reading The Last Song, she promised she wouldn’t ask him to read another Nicholas Sparks book again, and she ended up giving him The Fault in Our Stars, another book by John Green.  Toby loved it. She swore she caught him crying, but he of course, denied it all. Apparently, he had taken a strong liking to the author because the next thing she knew, their bookcase was full of books of his.

A few days ago, once she finished the last book of his choice, he had told her to read Paper Towns.

And she finished in two days.

“I finished your book!” Spencer skipped into their back room—a sort of den of sorts. Its walls were bordered with book shelves, their computer stayed on a desk in the left corner, and a love seat was planted in front of the back wall.

He looks up from his book, the one Spencer recommended to him, and sets it down.

“I won” she slightly brags, her voice higher than usually, and more of a tone to it. She takes a seat next to him on the love seat, welcoming his cheek with a chaste kiss. Her hands intersect with his, and he is looking at her now, his eyebrows arched up, and a hint of an amused smile gracing his features.

“So humble.” he mocks. “So, you finally beat me. How does that feel?”

She rolls her eyes. “Excuse me, I didn’t finally beat you. I have before. I’m pretty sure you never even finished one of the books I told you to read. And it’s been about eight years.”

His eyebrows furrows heedlessly as he racked his brain for the answer she was looking for. She stares at him expectantly, waiting for his response, a coyness sketched out across her vibrant features.

“You know. L'Attrape-cœurs.”

“The Catcher in the Rye? The French version of it?” he looks at her for confirmation, his voice threaded with laughter. She nods in return. “Are you kidding? That was in French!”

She shrugs at him, like him saying that is equivalent to him telling her the book was in English.

“So? You were supposed to know French, remember? I was tutoring you.”

“I gave you the book back the next day, and those tutoring sessions slowly became murder investigations! Like, I think we literally only had one tutor session, tops, and that was when you gave me the book” he laughed.

“Yeah, and then I gave it back to you to read! I said you should probably still try and read the book! Remember?”

“You’re a horrible tutor,” he laughed, ducking his head down, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

“Shut up!” she teasingly slapped his shoulder, “You’re not that great of a tutee, either! You’re supposed to listen to your tutor. Not totally disregard what they are telling you to do.”

He rolled his eyes, laughing.

“Spence, I think you and I, both, know that our relationship wasn’t just tutor and tutee. I mean, if you still look at me as your tutee then I think we have a problem.”

“hmmm,” she hums softly, biting her lips, her thoughts fading away as she loses her sense in his sapphire irises. “I guess you’re a little more than that” she pokes him in the chest, her palm slowly pressing at his chest now, rooting its ground.

“I guess” he mocks, with a vibrant grin, pressing an innocent peck to her lips.

“So,” he begins after a moment of silence, “Did you like it?”

“Yes, but Margo,” she referred to a character in the book. “Reminded me of Alison. That is so something she would do. I can literally imagine her making some sort of trail of clues to find her, and once we do, she would just be a bitch about the whole thing,” she rolled her eyes. “I liked Quentin though. I really just enjoyed reading about his character’s life. I know the whole book is about Margo, but Quentin was much more enjoyable. But, I got to admit, Margo and him were cute.”

They went on to talk about the book for the next half hour. They shared what parts were their favorites, and what other characters made them laugh. They disagreed on some parts, but nonetheless, stayed cuddled in each others’ arms while play fighting.

It was their afternoon, just sitting there, talking about books.