66 - Situation... Normal

“So tell us about yourself, Sheridan,”  David invited, leaning back in his seat after a hefty swallow of red wine. 

It was Tuesday night and she was with Jon, David and David’s wife, Lexi, at a quiet steakhouse in Brooklyn.  She hadn’t wanted to honor the dinner engagement, but seeing as they had already cancelled on Jon’s keyboardist once, she hadn’t felt justified in doing it a second time. 

Right now, she was glad she had ignored the negative voice who told her she didn’t want to dress up and do her face and hair for people she didn’t know. The music was as soft as the chandeliers that lit the restaurant’s rustic atmosphere and, after twenty-four hours of emotional and mental turmoil, she appreciated the serenity.

After breaking the pregnancy news to Jon, he had started in with a zillion questions that Sheridan hadn’t gotten around to asking herself, much less answering, yet. 

How far along was she?  When was the due date?  What kind of wedding did she want?  What about telling her family?  What about her meeting his?  His kids would need to be the first to know, as far as he was concerned.  Did she want to be there with him, or did she want him to handle it?  Dorothea would have to know, too.  What kind of engagement ring did she want?  Was she going to trust him to pick it out, or would she like to choose it herself?  Of course, she would move in with him when they were married, if not before.

Well, she had no idea – about any of that.  Her gut reaction to marriage was a vehement, “No!”.  She had no desire to marry because a man had ‘gotten her in trouble’, but, loath to engage in World War III, she was wisely keeping that opinion to herself for the time being. 

Overall, his questions only succeeded in raising more questions and worries for her. 

Sheridan was irrationally horrified at the thought of telling her family she’d gotten accidentally ‘knocked up’.   She could envision the look of disappointment in her parents’ eyes and it made her nauseous.   Cole might not say anything, but then there was Riley, who would just tell her she was stupid and point out what a fine example she was setting for her nieces. 

That, in turn, brought Jon’s kids onto the scene.  He told her that he and Dorothea had repeatedly lectured Stephanie and Jesse on abstinence and, being realists, followed it up with the importance of safe sex.   Now he had to stand before them as a hypocrite with an unplanned pregnancy to his credit.

Jon hadn’t tried to accuse of her being at fault in this predicament, but it didn’t prevent her from feeling as though he thought she was.  Between that and all of the uncertainty hanging in the air, Sheridan had decided it best to return to her own apartment last night, with the notion that solitude would give her time to do some much-needed thinking. 

He hadn’t been happy about her waltzing away with so many major decisions still up in the air, but he grudgingly let her go – after they’d made one determination.  They wouldn’t mention the baby to anyone until they agreed upon some concrete answers to the multitude of questions.

It was so early in the pregnancy that he felt they had a bit of time before they would be forced to ‘go public’.  After all, she couldn’t be more than a few weeks along.  In fact, by Sheridan’s estimation, the earliest possible conception date would be…  Christmas Eve.  Only two-and-a-half weeks ago.

Two down and thirty-eight to go.

She mentally berated herself for drifting away from her dinner companions.  Smiling gamely, she pulled the wedge of lime from the rim of her glass and squeezed it into the club soda she was drinking.  “Sure.  What would you like to know?”

“Oh you know…”  David waved a careless hand.  “Zodiac sign, political affiliation, Satanic troupe number, Wiccan names…  That kinda thing.”

“David!”  The beautiful, blonde Lexi poked him in the thigh before turning apologetically to Sheridan.  “He’s an idiot.  You can’t believe half of what he says and the other half should be fact-checked to within an inch of its life.  He lives to be outrageous.”

Dave scowled unhappily at his beautiful bride for ruining his fun.  It was too soon for the Siren to have that kind of information.  The best part of this kinda thing – besides yanking Jon’s chain – was the uncertainty.  Sheridan didn’t know him or how he rolled.  That was to his advantage, putting her off-kilter and leaving her more receptive to his warped brand of get-to-know-you. 

Based on Dot and Richie’s perceptions, he was way freakin’ curious about this chick and her uncensored reaction to his peculiarity would be very informative.

“Quiet, woman,” he commanded with a poke of his own, returning his attention to Sheridan.  As he did, he noted that Jon wasn’t even smiling, just staring into his wine glass as though it were playing the latest blockbuster hit movie.

Interesting.  They were all over each other the other night.  Now Jon doesn’t even act like he wants to be here.  Come to think of it, has he even touched her since they got here? 

He coached himself to pay closer attention. 

“Well…  To respond directly to your questions:  I’m a Sagittarius, a Republican, and my Satanic troupe number is 666.”  Her green eyes went shrewd as she leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, “I could tell you my Wiccan name, but then I’d have to turn you into eye of newt.”

Jon’s head whipped around amid the chuckles of amusement, a puzzled expression etched into his forehead.  “Republican?  You didn’t tell me you were a Republican.”

Ding, ding, ding.  Ladies and gentlemen, in this corner we have Don Juan de Democrat, eager to stomp out the heart of Republican greed….

The Siren regarded her beau with a leisurely arched eyebrow.  “You never asked.”

…and in this corner is the Regal Republican.  Calm, cool, collected and ready to rumble.  Let’s see how Round 1 goes!

Jon studied his woman for a long, silent stretch while the other couple looked back and forth between the two.  With nothing further said, Jon turned back to his wine with a slow nod.  “You’re right.  I didn’t.”

David was unaccountably disappointed.  If he’d just witnessed the end of a relationship, they should have provided subtitles, because he had missed all the good parts.

Including the part where she put Jon’s gonads in her purse.  Shoplifting is a crime, but this is kosher?

“Um…  So what is it that you do?” Lexi broke the awkward silence by asking her own question of Sheridan.

Again, the Siren smiled politely.  “For years, I owned and operated a chain of bookstores.  Recently, I decided I was missing out on life by living it at such a hectic pace, so I sold my business.  Now I do volunteer work while I dabble with some new hobbies.”

“Looking like that and you can read, too.  You’re just full of surprises, SS Siren.”

David silently awarded points to her for rolling her eyes and laughing at the soul sucking siren reference.   He deducted them from Jon for his churlish frown.  Man was a serious stick in the mud tonight.  It was time to figure out what was going down. 

Flicking his wrist, he effortlessly drained the remains of his wine and pushed back in his chair.  “Damn wait staff is usually pretty good, but tonight they’re way behind my need for booze.  I’m headed to the bar for a refill.  Jon, come with me and get that empty glass problem taken care of.  Can we get you ladies anything else?”

Both women declined and he clapped his friend and boss on the shoulder as they ambled in the direction of the alcohol.

“So what’s your deal?” he asked amicably after giving the booze-tender instructions for the proper refill of his undersized glass.  “In the five minutes I spent with you two last week, you couldn’t keep your hands off of her.  That didn’t surprise me.  The fact that you haven’t laid a finger on her tonight…?  That completely confounds me.  Trouble in paradise already, man?”

Jon gave the barkeep an appreciative tip of his chin as he handed over his empty glass.  “Nah, we’re good.  I’ve just got some shit on my mind.  Work, kids… you know the drill.”

“I do know the drill.  Blonde bombshells are supposed to make all that shit disappear.  Is yours broke?”

Finally, a genuine smile tipped up the corners of the famed singer’s mouth.  No teeth, but it was still a smile.  “No, nimrod, she’s not broke.  Real life has been problematic lately.  We’re both distracted.  Her niece had surgery last week, like I told you.  Yadda, yadda.”

“Yadda, yadda ain’t Yiddish, so no comprende there, Hoss, but I don’t believe your lyin’ ass.  I’m utterly shocked that you aren’t sharing your problems – not – but if you wanna unload, I’m more than willing to help you sort through your baggage.  Being the brilliant relationship-artist that I am.”

Blue eyes read the labels behind the bar from left to right, with a subtle nod.  “So do you hate her, too?”

“Hate who?  The soul sucking siren?”

Jon snorted quietly.  “Yeah.”

“Hell, no, I don’t hate her!  She plays with psychotic others well.  I kinda have a sarcasta-crush going on, as a matter of fact.  But if you want me to hate her, I could consider it.”

“Nah.  It’d be a nice change of pace to have somebody in my life who doesn’t.”

Studying his old pal in the mirror over the bar, David saw weariness in his eyes.  He didn’t know what was going on with Jon, but it was significant enough to necessitate wearing his ‘game face’ to look like nothing was wrong.  The problem – for Jon, anyway – was that Dave knew him, and something was wrong. 

Unfortunately, he also knew nothing would pry it out of the other man until Jon was damn-well ready to turn it loose.  Dave would have to be patient and remind the stubborn fuck every-so-often that he didn’t have to fight the windmills of life all on his own. 

“Now, I can’t promise she isn’t going to hate me….  But you’re used to your women hating me, so I don’t see this as an issue.”  He slapped Jon on the back with a wide grin.  “Right, old man?”

❧❧❧

“You’re coming home with me tonight,” Jon stated quietly as the hired car crept through unusually thick mid-week traffic.

He had been thinking about it all through dinner.  Lemma had sensed something was off between them because something was off between them.  That something wasn’t going to be fixed by sleeping in two separate beds in two separate parts of Manhattan. 

Last night, he’d let her go against his better judgment, and it had turned out to be exactly the mistake he’d known it would be.  Sheridan had used the separation to retreat into some type of shell, keeping him out like he was the enemy.

“I’d rather be in my own bed.”

“Fine,” he readily agreed.  “Then I’ll stay at your place.”

“Alone.  I’d rather be in my own bed, alone.  I can think better that way.”

He reached across the seat to pick up her hand, the heat of it prompting the realization that he really hadn’t touched her all night.  This had to stop. 

“You don’t get to shut me out, Sheridan.  This affects both of us and, accordingly, we will make the decisions together.”

“Together?  Is that what you did when you decided we were getting married and moving into your condo?”

He would’ve been less bothered if she’d jerked away from him, smacking his face and chewing his ass like a professional football coach.  As it was, she left her hand docilely nestled inside of his and spoke indifferently as she peered out the side window.

“Sheridan…”  Did she actually just flinch?  Why the hell is she flinching?  “Talk to me.  Surely to God you’re not afraid of me.”

“That’s ridiculous.  Of course I’m not afraid of you.  I just prefer to be alone until I can get a grip on the situation.”

“And I prefer not to leave you and your stubbornness alone.   Knowing you, you’ll come up with some cockamamie plan that is completely unacceptable and cuts me out of everything.”

Her silence did nothing but lend credence to his assumption. 

That shit wasn’t going to happen.  This was his baby and it would be treated with the same care and respect as his other four babies.  It wouldn’t be a disrespected bastard love child and he was not going to be an absentee father.  No more than his job made him as such, anyway.

“I just want to think without you pressuring me.”

“Fine.  No pressure.  We don’t have to talk about anything, but you need to understand that I’m not going anywhere.  You couldn’t shove me out of your life before and you’re sure as hell not doing it now.”

“Because I’m carrying your child.”

“Because you’re the woman I love, who happens to be carrying my child.”

Another block passed, her attention still directed out the window.  She had yet to look at him since they’d started this conversation and it was starting to annoy him. 

“I want one more night of normalcy,” she declared out of nowhere, in the same emotionless voice she’d been using since they left the restaurant.  The difference was that, this time, she was staring straight at him, her face a mask of sheer determination.  “I want you to hold me, fuck me and call me Kitten like none of this ever happened.  One more night.  Then I can move forward.  Can you please do that?”

It was an irrational request, but it almost made sense.  How messed up did that make him?  Normalcy, as they knew it, had been ripped from them in one simple quest for antibiotics.  He was greedy and desperate enough for their brand of normal – and a normal Sheridan – that it actually seemed like a good idea.

Jon gently separated their hands and slid an arm around her shoulders.  He planted a soft kiss on the crown of her head, speaking quietly while enjoying the bizarre sense of relief seeping into the far corners of his body.   

“Yeah.  I can do that.”