Day 22

When Caitlyn woke up, she was hungry, and as always there was the disorientation of the unfamiliar surroundings. But these surroundings were coming more familiar by the day, and it was only a few moments before she realized, Oh, it's the apartment, that's my chest of drawers and we're in the big bed, and the hum is the computer, and it's New Year's Eve (on a Monday, of all days!), and it's our own place and Jon is here and I'm happier and freer and better than I've ever been in my life.

She felt Jon stirring behind her. "Good morning, my love."

"Mmmm," he said. "Hi."

"We should get up," she said. "I'm hungry."

"I'm tired," he said. "We should go back to sleep."

"Why? We slept all yesterday."

"That wasn't sleeping, baby."

Okay, so it hadn't been. The nightstand was littered with condoms; they'd spent almost all day in bed, rising only to order a pizza at about 4 PM. True, they had slept in between sessions, catching a nap here and there, but for the most part they'd lain naked together, talking, whispering, laughing... And having sex, of course. They'd run the gamut, too, from raw physical lust to tender, emotional lovemaking, and once he'd simply slid in while they talked, chatting on as if he wasn't buried to the hilt inside her. It was more sex than she'd ever thought possible... And more fun, more relaxing, more loving, than she'd thought possible either. This must be what honeymoons are like. Why do people travel? It'd be a lot cheaper to just do this at home.

But maybe they were making up for lost time; the previous week had been less than relaxing. After getting moved in, Jon and Caitlyn had spent the entirety of Thursday shopping for needed supplies and materials—dishes, utensils, pots and pans, groceries, a couch, a somewhat larger TV than the 12-incher Jon had bought from a friend three years ago, a stand to hold it to eye level, and even some rugs and wall-hangings. It was the first time Jon had ever been to an Ikea, but not Caitlyn's; unfortunately, her experience with the store did not cover the subsequent furniture assembly (Jon: "This is like Legos, but worse"). They had also cooked dinner, a first time for both of them: Jon had dabbled at cooking before, hoping his father's talent at the stove had somehow come down to him, but never pursued it seriously, and Caitlyn was a fine hand at desserts and baked goods but had almost nothing else. The results were relatively edible, but not as good as could have been hoped for, and they'd stayed up a further several hours spreading out rugs, hanging pictures and juggling the arrangement of couch, table, bookshelves and other things.

They had made great progress, and Jon had then had and carried out the semi-inspired idea of inviting his family over for dinner on Friday. When they awoke, they were still tired and somewhat cranky with the unexpectedly-complicated logistics of putting a home together. The previous night's efforts had also not alleviated their concerns about their cooking skills (or lack thereof). It was a mood that not even sex could avert. They had spent the whole day arguing over the menu and then cooking the chosen items (a fairly simple list, to be sure: spaghetti with a slightly-spicy meat sauce which in itself was the most challenging item, homemade garlic bread, a spinach salad and one of Caitlyn's pans of patented brownies for dessert), and while the dinner was a success, they still felt nothing but weariness when they dropped into bed.

On Saturday, they slept in late but rose without their customary morning lovemaking, which Caitlyn was already beginning to miss if it didn't happen. She ended up devoting most of Saturday to harp practice, since she had barely touched the thing all week except to help move it to their new apartment. Moving it on Sunday would be nigh-impossible with only the tiny Celica on their side, but a quick phone call to Jon's parents fixed that problem. Jon had spent most of the day on the computer, trolling Craigslist, calling in favors and trying to get a feel for the job market. He wasn't entirely sure what his skills were worth anymore, and what he should realistically shoot for or expect. He also checked out the local car dealerships, cross-referencing places where he could trade in Buffy for something with more trunk space, and which cars provided that necessary space. A pick-up truck would be ideal: the harp had over 2,000 pounds of pressure on its frame, and if damaged in a car accident it might flat-out explode, throwing chunks and splinters with deadly force. Sheer safety mandated a separate storage compartment: "That's why all my family's cars are SUVs or trucks," Caitlyn explained. Jon agreed, but he simply wasn't sure he could drive such a thing.

Sunday after church (without car accidents) had been their first chance for sex since the morning of the 24th, which (Caitlyn thought) might have had something to do with the decision to devote the entire day to it. Or maybe we were just glad to be free. Jon was right: now that things are out of boxes, this place looks like a home now, not just some apartment people are living in. And it's our home. We don't have to worry about... We don't have to worry about anything but what we think. ...And maybe the neighbors too. But what they don't know can't hurt them, right?

"Maybe it wasn't sleeping," she said, "but we just got... What, like, nine hours."

"Yeah, but we woke up at three to do it some more."

She remembered that one well. He had slipped in from behind, but then turned them both over and begun to ram into her. She had found herself flattened beneath him, her face pressed into the pillow, his hips connecting with her butt on every stroke, and loved every minute of it. "Okay, so, six uninterrupted hours," she said.

"That's not enough."

"Plus the three or four we had before that?"

"Used it up doing you from behind."

She turned. His eyes weren't even open, but he had a grin on his face.

"You just wanna stay in bed and have more sex," she said.

"Yup," he said, reaching out with one arm and gathering her to him without ever opening his eyes. "Another lazy day in bed sounds fine to me."

It did to her too, but two in a row... Wasn't that kind of excessive? Maybe in a month. Or a week. Or tomorrow. "Jon, it's New Year's Eve. We should at least get up and celebrate. Maybe with your folks. Maybe with your friends."

"So, what, that'll start at, like, 10 PM? That still leaves us all day to play around."

"Jon, if we don't get up, you won't ever want to. We'll just end up spending all day in bed again."

"Says you. How do you know?"

Because I wouldn't want to get up either. "Look. If I have sex with you now, will you get up so we can celebrate the New Year?"

"Oh, I see how it is. Bargaining. We haven't been married for a month and you're already leading me around by my dick."

"Why, sweetie, I thought I was doing that from our first date," she said sweetly.

"Of course," he said. "I only married you for your pussy." His hand slid down her back, over her buttock, down her leg. "And your boobs, of course." He bent to kiss her. "And your mouth... And your tongue..." he murmured into her mouth. "And your sweet neck..." He kissed down the length of her throat as he spoke, and on down her body. "And your cute little ears... But most of all..." His lips landed at the top slope of her breast, the left one. "But most of all your heart. That little beating thing that makes you so kind, and patient, and wise, and brave, and everything you are that makes me love you."

She felt the first touch of his hand at her nether lips while his mouth found her breast. And then she was gone at his fingers on her clit and the deep, satisfying pull on her nipple. She didn't feel her arms clutching him to her, but he did.

Abruptly—it seemed like mere moments, but it might have been an hour for all she knew—his lips left her breast and his hand her pussy, and she felt a moment of vast confusion before his lips landed on her abdomen, kissing their way south. She felt the tickle of his lips and tongue down her stomach, over her navel, and then through the sensitive, tingling patch of hair at the bottom of her body. And then the first touch of his tongue, slipping between her legs. She moaned and arched to him, allowing him easier access, suddenly noticing his arm around her waist, her hands holding his head to her, urging him on, urging her pleasure.

Ripples and shocks of pleasure surged through her as his lips and tongue went about their business. She had, now that he'd done this to her so many times, a better idea of what went on down there—mostly he would suck on her clit, but his tongue would probe her inner secrets as well, finding folds and crevices she never knew existed. It had long ceased to amaze her that he seemed to know her body better than she herself did. And every moment of it was joy and warmth and the sweet tension of her body slowly tightening up towards orgasm, an orgasm that hung there, tantalizing, always just out of reach.

Knowing what he would be thinking, she found enough wherewithal in her hormonal frenzy to reach over and snag a condom, which he passed down to him. He took it from her hand without stopping his assault on her pussy, and soon he was sliding back up to meet her face-to-face. She hooked her leg over his, slid an arm under his shoulder, and reached down to place him inside her.

There, she thought. I knew we could make it work.

Face to face, feeling the planes of his body all down her own, feeling his cock plumbing her depths, was like heaven. She kissed at his neck and ear, the only part of him she could reach, but it was hard to concentrate with all that sex going on. The penetration was perfect: he was at a sharp enough angle that his shaft brushed against her clit with every stroke, but he could also bury himself to the hilt within her, letting her feel him deep inside. Her hands moved to his buttocks of their own accord, urging him on, drawing him in, feeling his skin brush against her nipples and stomach and pelvis, feeling closer to him than she had ever felt before. His heart thundered against her shoulder.

"I love you," she whispered. "Oh, Jon, I love you so much—" And then, to her surprise, she was cumming, hard and strong and so powerful it almost overwhelmed her. She felt her body clenching around the solidness of his cock, the hitching and spasming and the sheer delirious joy of her body's release, and then a moment of pure clarity as the first dim burst of warmth filled the tip of the condom inside her; and then all was fuzz and ash and twitching ecstasy as their bodies surged together in the final release and fell again.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.

She felt warm, and safe; she felt more relaxed than she could remember feeling in a long time. She felt contented, sated, complete. This was heaven. It must be. And yet... "Jon... We... We have to get up."

"Nnngh. Why."

"Because if we don't, we never will."

"That sounds okay."

"We'll just melt into a puddle together and never be able to move again."

"I'd like to be in a puddle with you. I'd like to be just one flesh with you. No you anymore, and no me either. Just us."

"I'd like that too, but puddles can't hold down jobs."

"Why would we care? We'd be a puddle."

"Jon, please. We can't."

He was silent for a long time. Then he gave a deep sigh. "Yeah. We can't."

She followed him into the shower stall, knowing how cramped it was and not really caring. Some things were more important than a little discomfort. Wordlessly they soaped and scrubbed, passing things back and forth without asking, until finally he gestured for her to turn around and began to shampoo her hair. His hands on her scalp felt very good.

"It scares me sometimes," she said finally.

"What does?"

"Just how good you feel. Jon, this is the kind of thing that... That could become addicting."

"But we're married now. Isn't it okay to be addicted to your spouse?"

"Is it ever okay to be addicted to anything?"

"Depends on how you control it. Some things are inevitability in this life."

She wasn't sure she liked that attitude. "Jon... Remember what Pastor Pendleton said. Sin starts as something good. Then it gets out of hand, and that's where it becomes sin. Having... Making love with you is so good. Jon, I just... It makes me nervous. Sometimes."

"So you're saying it's sinfully good?"

Put that way, it sounded kind of stupid. "Jon, I'm just saying that... We should be careful. We should keep our eyes open. We should be wary of temptation."

"I always keep my eyes open," said Jon. "Especially when you cum." When she started to protest, he said, "All right, I'll be serious. And I will keep my eyes open. If you're concerned, then I'm concerned too."

She leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

The apartment was definitely a bit of a mess. They'd done some desultory clean-up the night of the Stanfords' visit, but not much, and most of the dirty dishes still slanted into the sink. The counter looked like a war zone. And there were still plenty of boxes, crumpled packing paper and the other detritus of moving, waiting to be discarded. Jon gave a groan when he surveyed the scene, but Caitlyn took him well in hand, and by noon the place was looking more livable. Jon made sandwiches, Cait poured the milk, and they ate facing each other across the table, feeling rather satisfied.

"So," Caitlyn said eventually. "Who are we going to invite over or otherwise try to inveigle? We just had your folks over the other day. The Chamberses and the Cranes have seen this place, and besides they're probably at their homes and with their families. Your friends..."

"Well, Adam and Steve and all the rest," said Jon. "I dunno, Adam's my oldest friend but not really my best, and the others... Steve can get so self-centered, and Lana will complain about how her boyfriend's at UCLA—either that or just be face-first with him, which I guess I can understand because they only see each other three months a year, but, still. Either way, she isn't very social sometimes. And then ever since Adam and Steve broke up... We're all going our separate ways now. Who would you like to invite?"

"Well... Brandon and Meredith and Christa, really, but they're probably busy. I didn't ever really have any other friends."

The rim of his cup hid his mouth, but she could see the smile in his eyes. "You sure didn't get out much, did you."

"Jon, it's my parents we're talking about," Caitlyn said. "We had to elope for me to get out." The thing on her face was supposed to be a smile.

Jon sighed. "Yeah. I guess it's not surprising."

"You saw how fast their opinions changed," said Caitlyn. "Remember the Christmas party I had, when you were a senior? My parents met Meredith and Christa and thought there was absolutely nothing wrong with them. But I blew that out of the water, and now they think they're one step from the devil."

"Well, you got out," Jon said. "We had to elope to do it, but you got out." His hand covered hers.

"Yeah," said Caitlyn sadly.

There was silence for a moment. She felt Jon's eyes on her face. She had always felt people's gazes as almost a physical phenomenon, like acid on her skin—but not Jon's. His gaze warmed her. His gaze protected her.

"Well... I guess that solves it," she said finally.

"Solves what?"

"Who to invite over." She sighed. "We should ask my parents to come."

Jon almost fell out of his chair. "What?!"

"Jon, we tried going head-to-head with my mother already. We failed. Our only option now is to just... Be. It's like your pastor said at Christmas. Let our love shine so brightly and so clearly that they can't help but acknowledge it. City on a hill. Let it speak for itself."

Jon scowled. "I still think we'd be better served by just cutting contact with them and calling it quits."

It was tempting, true, but really... "Jon, honestly. Could you have done that with your parents?"

It was a risky argument, really. Jon had already fought this war against his own parents, turning his mother's head around until she could see the truth; he had been where she was now, fighting, winning, losing, loathing them and held in place by nothing more than sheer familial loyalty. But he'd also said that the constant battles she'd had to fight against her parents, and his role in them, had drawn his own family together; reportedly, he was closer with them now than he had been in years, perhaps ever. It might go either way. But Jon was a Family Sim; these things were important to him.

And she guessed right, as he sighed and hung his head and shook it. "No. I couldn't have just walked away. But I just don't think this is going to turn out well. Nothing does, while your mom is involved."

"Yes, but... Jon, we still have nothing to lose. There's nothing she can do to us that will make any difference anymore. They can't force us to divorce, they can't... They can't hold any more financial clubs over our heads... We're independent now. We're paying rent. We're not dependent on them at all. We have nothing to lose, and everything to win. They can't hurt us anymore."

"They can't hurt me," Jon said. "You they hurt all the time."

As if I needed to be reminded of that. "Please, Jon. For me."

Jon looked at her for a moment. Then he fetched a deep sigh.

Caitlyn was of two minds as she picked up the phone. Words had passed between herself and her mother, ugly ones, and it might be that Linda Delaney had simply had enough of her wayward daughter. But then she remembered what Jon had said about her mother needing to be a mother, needing so desperately to have this part of her identity that she couldn't take her children leaving. Maybe that one would win, instead of the other. She could only try.

And, as it turned out, it did win. "They'll be here at five," she said. "We have to cook again."

"We'd better throw out all those condoms," Jon said. "Actually, we'd better empty the trash too. The last thing we need is for them to notice some tell-tale sign."

"They may not even know what a condom looks like," Caitlyn said, but she knew Jon was right. Besides, what was one trip down the stairs compared to their safety?

They planned a slightly more impressive menu this time, using the cookbook that the Chamberses had given them as a Christmas present. Caitlyn nominated mashed potatoes, and a peach cobbler to please her mother; Jon recognized a recipe for teriyaki chicken which his father often used, and decided to mix some carrot slices and broccoli florets into the stir-fry as well, along with the mandated bell peppers and bits of garlic. It would be an unorthodox menu, to be sure, but Jon thought everything would taste just fine.

The only problem with cooking was the size of the kitchen: tiny. There was barely enough room for one person to work, but they had decided early on that both of them would do the cooking, partially because they both wanted to learn but also because they wanted their marriage equal. It was cramped, but fun, and they were learning to stay out of each other's way and in any case there were far less pleasant people to be tripping over. Caitlyn had observed long ago that adding Jon to just about any task made it fun; she supposed there wasn't any reason cooking ought to be different.

The only thing that concerned her was that it would be just the four of them, the Stanfords and the Delaneys. A neutral third party might be a smart idea—but she couldn't think of anyone, and neither could Jon. "The thing is, we have no lack of third parties," he said, "but the neutrality's the hard part. Just about everyone we know is on our side. And we'd want someone who was going to help keep the peace, not take our side—no matter how nice that might feel."

"Jeez, look at us," Caitlyn said. "Planning for disaster. Maybe we won't need a third party. Maybe they'll be civil. Maybe we'll be able to make peace and have a nice time."

"Do you think so?" Jon asked.

"No," Caitlyn admitted.

"Well, you said it yourself," said Jon. "No matter what, they still can't hurt us."

"You said it yourself," she replied. "They hurt me all the time."

"But not me," he said. "And you know I'll be right where I belong: in between you and them. After all, they can't hurt you if they can't get past me, can they?"

She sighed. "I wish it were that easy." But she smiled too, and felt better.

These were the thoughts that preoccupied her that New Year's Eve: worries and concerns and possible disasters, flitting through her head. She remembered the Scripture that said, Do not worry about matters, but rather pray about them, and tried to, but it was a little easier said than done; there were only so many times she could ask for guidance, and strength, and the wisdom to not do anything that would tick her mother off, before it all got stale. Especially since she had probably ticked her mother off just by inviting her. For the first time she understood some of Jon's dissatisfaction with religion. This... I never thought I'd say this, but it isn't always satisfying. It's an answer, but not enough of one, not at times like this.

This was how Caitlyn managed to look up an hour later and discover that the meal had practically cooked itself.

They stood in the middle of the room, arms around each other, food ready and needing only re-heating to be servable. They'd emptied the trash and tidied up the kitchen area; they'd folded (or at least hidden) all the dirty clothes. The windows were open, admitting the grey strained winter sunlight, and the television was on to provide some inoffensive background chatter. It looked as good as it was likely to get.

"How do you think we should act," he asked her.

She sighed. "I think... I think we need to avoid offending them. We need to be as non-offensive as possible."

"Easier said than done, when we offend them just by being married," he said.
"Yeah. I... Yeah."

"Remind me again why this was a good idea?"

"Because I'm a sadist, and like watching you suffer. ...And because I'm a masochist, and like watching myself suffer."

"Good thing I've got a psych major. I'll straighten you out."

She clung to him tighter. "Sometimes... I wonder if we made a mistake. Sometimes life seems so crazy... Why were we in such a rush to grow up?"

"Because that was the price we had to pay to get you out," he murmured. "And, baby, you're happier now. I've seen you. You're free, and that makes you happy."

"I'm happy because you make me happy," she whispered. "But all the other stuff..."

"Doesn't make me happy either," he finished. "But, baby, as long as we make each other happy..."

"Mmmm," she said, melting into his embrace.

How long they stood there, she could not say, but soon—all too soon—came the knocking on the door which indicated that the war, for better or worse, had resumed. It was followed immediately by a buzzing sound, which indicated that one of her parents had figured out how to work the doorbell.

"Hi," said the Stanfords.

"Hello," said the Delaneys.

There was an awkward silence.

"Well... Why don't you come in," said Caitlyn, wondering just how askew her hair had gotten. Hopefully Jon had no lipstick prints on his face, though hers didn't tend to do that. —No, there shouldn't be, because she wasn't wearing any make-up. How quickly and politely could she slip away to fix that?...

Then she caught herself. Why am I thinking about putting on make-up? This isn't a formal occasion, we're not entertaining guests or anything. ...Are we?

Her parents were duly impressed by the apartment and its furnishings—that is to say, not impressed at all, but pretending at it for politeness. They were rather critical of the dirtiness of the space (which was significant, though they'd done all they could without a steam-cleaner), its environment (not the most savory part of town) and its size (miniscule), and Mrs. Delaney seemed quite disapproving of the Ikea couch (which looked like nothing more than an extra-wide lawn chair but was quite comfortable). They seemed particularly unimpressed by the closet, in which Jon's and Caitlyn's clothes were stacked side-by-side, and the large double bed in the middle of the room. Jon and Caitlyn nodded, and smiled, and didn't say a word of agreement or disagreement either way, which Caitlyn could tell was only making her mother more peeved. She felt a surge of tiredness. Were they never going to let up?

After they had taken a tour of the apartment's three rooms, and Mr. Delaney had considered attempting to squeeze into the bathroom but decided against it (not because he was that large, but because it was so small), Jon led them back to the common room, leaving her parents before the TV momentarily while he and Caitlyn fired up the stove and microwave to rewarm the food. "We couldn't have had a better start," Caitlyn grumbled under her breath, and Jon touched her hand. She could see he wanted to do more, but didn't, for her parents nearby.

Once the food was ready (and tantalizing aromas were wafting through the apartment), Caitlyn returned to her parents. "Dinner's ready, if you are."

"Dinner? Oh, Caitlyn, that wasn't necessary," said her mother in a singularly underwhelmed tone.

"Nonsense," said Caitlyn, forcing a briskness into her voice that she didn't really feel. "Now that we live on our own, I figured it was time to pay you back for all the dinners you cooked for us. Come on."

"I hope you're serving more than dessert," said her father, which was probably supposed to be a joke but which she didn't think funny.

"Mmm, smells good!" said Jon in a disturbingly hearty voice. He handed out the plates and mismatched cups while Caitlyn's parents seated themselves around the table.

"Shall we?" said Caitlyn's father, holding out his hands, and Caitlyn and her mother took them, as well as Jon's, in preparation for the grace. But then Mr. Delaney looked at Jon with a tilt of his head, as if to say, Go ahead.

Jon froze. "Uh," he said. "Umm. Heavenly Father, we, uh. We thank you for the gift that we are abounty receive. Err. That we are... Bountifully... Able to receive. May the, uh. May the gifts of your grace be blessed to us—err, on us, um. Always. Amen."

"Amen," said Mr. Delaney, without a hint of irony, but Caitlyn saw her mother shoot Jon a dirty look before disengaging.

Jon picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and was about to serve himself, but Caitlyn intercepted him and handed them to her father instead. Jon, taking the hint, routed all the food through him from then on. The mashed potatoes were a little dry, courtesy of their microwaving, and the chicken was a bit charred and not quite teriyaki'd enough. The carrots were interesting, though—fresh and crunchy, barely cooked, not the soggy, mushy things Caitlyn had generally been served at her parents' house. She thought she liked these better.

"These aren't cooked enough," said Mrs. Delaney.

Caitlyn wanted to throw something.

Jon shrugged. "I've always been a fan of less-cooked carrots. You get them boiled too much and they're almost like baby food. If you don't like them, the kitchen's right here—we can always send them back."

Caitlyn's mom seemed mollified, but once again gave Jon a cold look when she thought he wasn't looking. What, did she expect him to know how she likes her carrots? ...Then again, with all the times Mom's served us carrots... Well, Jon doesn't think that way and I don't either, but, maybe Mom's got a point.

"So," said Mrs. Delaney, evidently an opener for conversation. "You two have been married for... What, three weeks now?"

"Three weeks and one day," said Jon promptly.

"And how is that going so far," said Mrs. Delaney, with an insufficient attempt at a pleased smile.

Caitlyn wanted to let a huge grin slide across her face, but remembering her mother's presence, she gave a noncommittal shrug. "It's been fun."

"It has," Jon agreed.

"Fun?" said Mrs. Delaney. "Is that what a marriage is about to you? 'Fun'?"

"No," Caitlyn protested weakly.

"I don't think the grounds of our marriage are any business of yours," said Jon.

"It is when my daughter is involved," Mrs. Delaney retorted.

"Jon," said Caitlyn, and Jon subsided. She turned to her mother. "The basis of our marriage, mother, is respect, love and shared values. He wants what I want. I want what he wants. And when that's not true, we talk it out until it is."

"And what if he wants something crazy," Mrs. Delaney said. "What if he wants a new sports car, or, or a vacation in Las Vegas, or a mistress on the side?"

"Then we talk a lot," said Caitlyn blandly. "If he can convince me that those things are actually going to do us good... Now, the mistress, I really doubt he could convince me of that. But hopefully we can compromise. And if we can't... Well, there might be problems. But we'll cross that bridge if it happens, which I seriously doubt it will."

"Though Vegas does sound fun," Jon said. "Lots of flashing lights and big fancy hotels that are half theme park. Could be interesting."

Actually, Caitlyn thought so too, but with her mother glaring like that she couldn't very well say so.

"So you married because you 'want what he wants,'" said Mrs. Delaney. "Like what? Sex?"

Caitlyn tried to catch Jon's eyes, but missed. "What," he said, "is there something wrong with sex?"

"Before marriage, there is," Mrs. Delaney exclaimed.

"Well, good thing we got married, then," said Caitlyn blankly.

Mrs. Delaney opened and closed her mouth, looking from one of them to the other.

"Mom, get over it," said Caitlyn. "I know you've done it."

"What!" said Mrs. Delaney.

"Oh, you haven't?" said Caitlyn. "Then how did Nathan and I get here? Immaculate conception?"

"We may be a new generation, but we still make grandkids the same way," said Jon blandly.

"That's besides the point," said Mrs. Delaney. "Your father and I waited until we were married."

"So did we," said Caitlyn. "I told him very bluntly that certain things, including sex, were off-limits before marriage. And he was very patient and agreed that my rule was law."

"That's a rare man," said Mr. Delaney.

"Then how do you explain all the times I saw you kissing," Mrs. Delaney thundered.

Caitlyn and Jon exchanged surprised looks. "Umm," said Caitlyn. "By the fact that kissing is not sex?"

"Slippery slope!" said Mrs. Delaney. "Slippery slope! One day it's kissing, the next it's fornication."

"That's a big sort of a step," Jon said, still in that utterly bland voice. "Is this one of those 'Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect $200' things?"

"Is that what you think," Caitlyn said.

"There's a rather classic reason for why a man and a woman get suddenly married," said Mr. Delaney in an implacable voice.

The light dawned on them both; Caitlyn could see it on Jon's face, could feel it on her own.

"So you think we're keeping some sort of secret from you," Jon said.

"Something about, for instance, impending grandchildren," Caitlyn said.

"And, judging by the look on your face, you probably wouldn't believe the truth," Jon said.

"Jon," Caitlyn said. That was probably true, but there was no need to antagonize her mother like that.

"And you think this is an appropriate environment to raise a baby," said Mrs. Delaney, triumphant now. "This, this— This little hole in the wall, where you can't take a step without tripping over a harp or a couch or— You call this a place to raise my grandchildren?"

"'Your' grandchildren," said Jon.

"It's small, yes," said Caitlyn. "But it's convenient to school—"

"And there's another thing, what about your degree," said Mrs. Delaney. "You need that degree. I can't believe you would jeopardize your entire future just for a few stolen moments of—"

"Caitlyn, are you pregnant," asked her father.

Caitlyn, surprised, said, "No."

Mrs. Delaney stopped in mid-word.

"Yes, it's small," Caitlyn repeated. "But it's convenient to school, meaning we don't need a second car, and it's cheap. And, since it's just the two of us and will be for some years yet, we do not need a lot of space."

"We are not having a baby," said Jon. "Disbelieve us if you want. Nine months will prove you wrong."

"As to finances, yes things might be a bit tight for a while," said Caitlyn, "but between the two of us we had over fifty thousand at our disposal (before we had to buy my harp back) and we're working on making more. Jon's already—"

"Don't tell her that," said Jon. Evidently financial matters were private to him.

Caitlyn shot him a glance, but said nothing more.

"So," said Mrs. Delaney. "Wouldn't it have been more... Convenient... To hold off a little? To let my daughter finish her degree, and build up some more money? Instead of having to just, suddenly... Jump the gun."

"No," said Jon bluntly. "What would you have done to Caitlyn once you found out we were engaged, if we'd given you the chance? Would you have locked her in her room? Would you have forced her to cut off all contact with me? We'd been talking about—"

"Jon," Caitlyn said. Her mother didn't need to know the depths of their relationship. Not yet.

"And so you made a bargain," said Mrs. Delaney. "You told her, I'll agree to marry you, but only if you have sex with me. Kind of a silly deal, don't you think?—tying yourself down for life just for a few clandestine sessions?" She gave what was supposed to be her best leer.

Jon's face clouded. "If you think—"

"Jon," Caitlyn said quietly, laying her hand on his own. He looked at her. "Excuse us for a moment, please."

In the bedroom, she slumped against the wall. "This isn't working. They're getting to us." She left the door a little bit open—mostly closed, for privacy, but just enough to suggest that they would come out soon. "They're totally getting to us."

"Well, maybe if you'd stop holding me back, I'd—"

"We're trying not to piss them off! You want to just open your mouth and vent your frustrations! That's—"

"That's better than dancing around them!"

"No it's not, you'll just piss them off further. They're already— They think they're winning, and if you let them get under your skin like this they'll take it as a sign that they're really winning—"

"Well, if you'd let me say something to them I could disabuse them of—"

"No!" she said.

The dull murmur of conversation from the common room went silent.

"Jon, we... We need to agree on what we..." She covered her face in her hands. "We need to decide what we're going to tell them and..."

"I don't like your method," he said.

"I know, and I don't like yours, so we'll compromise. We..." She fell silent as the enormity settled before her eyes.

"What?" he said, still pacing, his voice still tight.

"Jon, we... We've been doing this all wrong. We... Jon?"

"What?"

"Hold me."

He halted in mid-step, looking at her with those fiery eyes. But whatever he saw on her face, it changed his mind, because he stepped over to her and gathered her into his arms. She felt the tension in his body for a moment... And then he relaxed, and deflated, and was the warm, loving husband she knew.

"We've been doing it all wrong," she murmured. "This is what it's about. We said we need to avoid pissing them off; well, we can't. We said we need to tiptoe around them to avoid making them more ticked off; well, that's wrong. What we need to do is... Just be natural. Say whatever we'd say if they weren't listening. Be normal. Just... Love each other. Instead of hiding it for fear of making things worse. We can't not make things worse. But at least we can show them what it actually is they're upset with."

"God, you're right. Why didn't I see that? How stupid can I get."

"How stupid can we get, it was my idea to be all tip-toe..."

"So we're both stupid. We share our smarts and our dumbs."

"That's what marriage is about, right?"

They stood perpendicular to the door, wrapped tight in each other, her head against his chest, feeling his breath in her hair as he bent his head over her, and she opened her eyes and suddenly realized that her mother was peeking in the slightly-open crack of the door. Before Caitlyn could say anything or even really comprehend, her mother's mouth tightened and she went away.

Caitlyn closed her eyes again. Whatever. It's fine. We've been playing my mom against herself, and now we just realized that she's been playing us against each other. No longer. Now we know, and we're going to stop, and go out there united, and nothing she does will hurt us. When my husband and I are together, we are unstoppable.

"Okay," she said.

"Okay," he agreed.

It was the first time they had held hands over the table in her parents' company.

"Sorry about that," said Caitlyn smoothly. "Little, you know. Marital strife. It's all worked out now. You know how it is." Her mother's face tightened a little, but her father nodded.

"As I was saying," said Mrs. Delaney. "This marriage idea of yours is silly. You're not ready, and it's only going to cause problems in your future. In both of your futures."

Jon looked at Caitlyn. She smiled at him. And he smiled back and said, "We don't agree."

" 'We'?" said Mrs. Delaney sharply.

"Yup," said Caitlyn happily. "We don't."

"It's true we're not quite ready for marriage, not financially at any rate," said Jon. "But I also think both of us don't want to wait that long. The way the economy is nowadays, you're basically not ready until you're thirty. Then you get married and have kids, and suddenly you're turning sixty around the time your kids graduate from college. That's nuts. I don't want to be that much older than my kids."

"Neither do I," said Caitlyn. "So that means we have to start earlier. And if things happen before we're not ready... Well, it'll be tough for a while. But... We have friends who got through their undergraduate degree despite having a baby, so it's doable." If her parents noticed the singular degree, they gave no sign. "And I know Jon would do whatever he could to make things easier."

"She's only my wife," said Jon. "I'd... I wouldn't be able to look myself in the mirror if I failed her."

"As to being silly... I think Jon asking me to marry him was the smartest thing he's ever done. And that my saying yes was the smartest thing I've ever done. Jon wants the same thing I do: a family. Nothing more, and nothing less. I didn't think I'd find someone who wanted that, at least not for a few more years, because we are that far ahead of the curve, most people do get married at 25 or 30. Why do you think I was asked out by Ray?" That was the 46-year-old. "Why do you think I was attracted to Ray? Because we were looking for the same thing: someone to settle down with and have children with."

"We are ahead of the curve," Jon said. "Most people don't settle down and have this kind of life for a few years. They play around a little first. Which is their choice, but, obviously, Caitlyn and I didn't want to do that. So we didn't. And I'm just happy we found each other, or we might both still be lonely and bored."

"Did you notice that Jon didn't have a job when we first started dating—and that, about two months later, he did? Do you know why? Jon was originally planning to take a year off, do some soul-searching, maybe even travel."

"I wasn't sure where I was going. I graduated with my degree and it was like, 'Well, I'm not in school for the first time in sixteen years, now what?' I didn't know who I was without going to class. But then... I met your daughter. And I knew who I was. I saw that I had a chance to, you know, build for myself the kind of life I'd always wanted. And so I started working towards that, and I have been ever since."

"When was the first time you brought up the idea of us getting married, anyway?" Caitlyn asked him.

"I dunno, wasn't it... What, like, some time around our one-month anniversary?"

"Yeah, something like that. And a month later we weren't even saying 'if we get married' anymore. It was just 'when, when, when.'"

"But I don't think we were expecting it to happen this fast."

"No, of course not. But we also weren't expecting... We were hoping we could win you over, Mom. Let time and exposure change your mind. But it didn't quite work, obviously, and when you blew up so badly, we just... We said, 'Forget it, let's just get married and send a message she can't ignore.' We knew you wouldn't approve. But... I guess that didn't matter to us very much."

"Well, I don't approve," said Mrs. Delaney. Jon and Caitlyn didn't say anything. "And I think it's time to put this farce at an end. You're too young, you don't know what you want, you have no idea what you're getting into—"

"Have you heard a word we've said?" Caitlyn asked, more aghast than anything else.

"You'll come home with us," said Mrs. Delaney. "We'll talk to Pastor Pendleton about getting the marriage annulled—"

"He won't," said Jon, "he supports us in this. We've already talked to him."

"Then we'll speak to another priest," said Mrs. Delaney, "one's as good as another. And one day, when you're ready, Caitlyn, we'll marry you to a nice boy, one who—"

"—Isn't Jon, so I'm not interested," said Caitlyn.

"You will shut your mouth, young lady," Mrs. Delaney thundered.

"Mom, I think it's really cheeky of you to come into someone else's household as a guest and then start throwing orders around," Caitlyn said, letting anger color her voice for the first time.

Her mother stood, her chair tumbling back. She was almost as tall as Jon. "I didn't come here to eat your bad food and listen to your silly excuses. I didn't come here to be insulted. I came here to get my girl back."

"You can't have her," Caitlyn retorted.

"I'm not leaving without her," Mrs. Delaney said.

"Then you might be here for a long time, because I'm not leaving either."

"Caitlyn Claire Delaney, you are a willful, disobedient child! I will not—"

"NO I'M NOT, MOTHER!!" Caitlyn yelled, on her feet now, her voice so loud that she thought her mother's hair was blowing back.

Then she was crying.

Dammit, I hate crying in public, she's going to hurt me, she's— And when she felt arms around her, her first instinct was to pull back. But then she smelled that warm brown scent, and felt a chest in just the right position to support her head, and she cried into Jon's shoulder and clung to him as his arms wrapped around her, sobbing like the end of the world, and neither of them ever saw the pain on Linda Delaney's face when she saw her daughter turn to the comfort of another's arms.

There was silence for a long time.

Then she heard her mother's voice, cold. "You are no child of mine."

"That's entirely correct, Mrs. Delaney," said Jon from above her, his voice quiet, quiet and infinitely gentle. The sound of it rumbled in his chest under her face. "She is not your child anymore. You say you came here to get your little girl back. I'm sorry to say that she isn't here. She isn't anywhere. She was taken from you by God, and time, and the natural order of things, just like your son was. Your baby girl, Caitlyn Claire Delaney, is gone.

"Your daughter, however, is still here. Caitlyn Stanford is still here. And as you can see from her current state, she still loves you dearly, or you wouldn't have been able to hurt her this way. Her life may be... More in another's hands, now, but inside every adult is still a child, who wants their mother there. Your daughter, you can have. She wants you, and loves you, and maybe even still needs you for things that I can't give her. Your daughter, you can have. But only if you can give up your little girl. Only if you can let your little girl go, so that your daughter can come back to you.

"And now I think you've upset Caitlyn, so, I'd like to ask you to leave."

"What if we don't," Mrs. Delaney said immediately. "What if we stay."

"Then stay, if you choose," said Jon. "I'm not going to force you to leave. I have more pressing matters to attend to." She felt his hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair, smoothing the tears out of her. "Shh. It's okay, Caitlyn. It's okay."

It's not okay. It'll never be okay again.

Then there were footsteps, and the front door closing, and silence for a long time; and eventually she realized they must have sat down on the couch, because that was the shape her body was in, and the congenial buzz of the television was closer, but for a long time, there were only tears, and the bone-deep weariness of failure. I'm no child of hers. I'm no child of hers. I'm not... My mother...

Not even Jon is worth this.

When she awoke, the television was much flashier. She was lying with her head in Jon's lap, she realized—a small puddle of drool had formed on his pant leg—and there was raucous celebration on the screen. In the slow, hazy process of waking, it took her a little while to understand what she was seeing: Times Square, on the eve of the new year, working itself into a frenzy as the ball dripped ever downward. The clock on the screen said 11:37.

"Hey," she heard, and a hand moved from her back to her hair, stroking lightly.

"Hey," she said. "Have you been here all night?"

"It's okay," he said. "I've been watching the ceremony. I don't think I've ever seen one of these before."

"Really?"

"Just... Never been interested."

She sat up, feeling muscles rejoice and complain as she extricated herself from her former position, and then stretched, to see if she could get herself unknotted. Immediately she felt his hands on her back, massaging, working the tension out of her arms and shoulders and sides.

"You haven't been here the whole time," she said.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, for one, the lights are off. Plus, the food's all cleaned up and the dishes put away."

"Hey, you were sleeping that deeply. I just snuck back in after I was done."

"I hope you threw away that terrible teriyaki stuff."

"Hey, I liked it. I thought it was pretty good."

"You like teriyaki-flavored charcoal?"

"Better than styrofoam mashed potatoes."

"...How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"That I made them out of styrofoam."

"I saw you mashing up a to-go container."

"But you still ate them."

"I was hungry. Needed something besides charcoal. They looked good."

She was lying back in his arms by now, across his lap, held up by one arm so that she could look into his eyes. "Thank you," she said.

"You looked tense. It was the least I could do."

"No, for... For having faith in me. For letting me invite my parents. For letting me do that to you. For... For being able to just put the whole relationship on the table and not, and not be ashamed, or shy, or..." It's so much more than that. It's everything. It's... "Thank you for loving me."

His arms brought her up to him. "Baby, you made me everything I am. How could I not love you?"

But how did that happen? You made me everything I am, which is why I love you. It's so tangled up. How did that all happen?

They kissed as the TV continued its raucous chatter, broadcasting live the things that had happened three hours ago on the East Coast. She turned in his lap, leaning into him, kissing him, feeling his response under her as his tongue slipped into her mouth, feeling his hands running down her back, and when she was ready she whispered, "Hold on a minute," and darted off into the bedroom and came back with a condom.

And they did it in front of the television, naked on the couch. There was no fuss, no hurry, no urgency, just his love for her, and hers for him, as she straddled him and took him inside her. Her clit brushed against his body at every stroke, but that almost didn't matter; what was important was his lips, his hands, his eyes, his arms around her and her breasts against his chest and their tongues intertwined and the fact that she loved him, more than words could say, more than even their lovemaking could say. She noticed in passing that the blinds were open, but decided that she didn't care; probably no one was looking, and probably they couldn't see even if they were, and what was to be embarrassed about anyway? She loved her husband; what was wrong with showing that?

No. Jon isn't worth losing my mother. Jon is worth so much more than that. Without him, I wouldn't have her at all.

When it was over, they cuddled up together to watch the ball drop, back-to-front like spoons. She hadn't come, and his was so subdued that she almost missed it, but that wasn't important either. We're together, and it's a new year, and nothing can take us apart.

"I think I wanna kiss someone at midnight," said Jon.

"Hmm," said Caitlyn. "I've never done that before."

"Neither have I, actually," said Jon. "Maybe we could, you know. Change that."

"I dunno, Mr. Stanford," said Caitlyn. "I'm not that sort of girl."

"The sort of girl who kisses at midnight?"

"Yes," she said. "Such an unsavory reputation. But, I think that, for the right man, I might change my mind."

"Mmm," he said, nuzzling her neck. "I might be the right man."

"Are you?"

"Let me prove it."

Three... Two... One... said the television. But they never noticed it at all.