When Jon opened his eyes on Sunday it was still dark out—which, to his thinking, was far too early. However, he didn't find any reason to complain, as the thing that woke him up was the tickling sensation of Caitlyn kissing her way down his chest.

"Good morning," he said.

"Good morning," she said. "Lie still."

Jon snuck a look at the clock while he could: about 5:30. What, exactly, did Caitlyn have in mind that would take so many hours... But then he remembered that she had been asked to play at the 7:45 church service today, as well as the 9:00 and the 10:30. If they wanted to do anything beforehand—which, clearly, she did—now would be about the time.

He felt her lips brush petal-soft around his navel, and then the tickling intrusion of her tongue. She seemed to like that part of him—certainly it made him jump, feeling that warm, slippery-soft touch in a place he had never thought of as sensitive, much less erotic—warm, soft, slipping into crevices he never knew he had. And then her kisses were trailing down through his pubic hair, towards the cock already beginning to thump with blood.

He felt the warmth of her breath on his sensitive skin a moment before her tongue touched the top of his cock, sliding down towards the head. She wrapped it around the underside, stroking up towards the base, sliding in between the shaft and his scrotum, making him tingle. She was getting awfully good at this.

He hoped she wasn't trying to somehow guilt him for not making any overt preparations for her 21st birthday today. To her knowledge, he hadn't made a cake or set up a party or even bought her a present. Of course, telling her in advance about a surprise birthday party would sort of ruin the point. The Cranes were bringing the present, and the Chamberses were bringing the cake.

But it was hard to concentrate on all that with her mouth on his cock.

She took the head into her mouth as it slowly inflated, swelling with blood. For a few moments she simply held it in that warm, wet pocket, letting him feel the faint touch of ridges on the roof of her mouth, her lips clasping his shaft, every little quiver of her pink tongue. Then, after he had stiffened, she began, running her tongue around the head of his cock, caressing it with the gentlest and merest of touches. It was hardly enough to get him off, but the sweet tickling sensation was pleasurable in its own right. And besides, there was something indescribably loving about her ministrations, the tenderness and care in every line of her body as she bent over him, showering love on that most secret and sensitive of places.

"Oh Caitlyn, I love you," he breathed.

He felt rather than heard her smile. "I know. Now be quiet and let me love you."

Her tongue began to slide down his shaft, stroking the underside ridge all the way down to his balls and then back again, taking him as far into her mouth as she could manage. She had never heard of deep-throating, and he saw no real reason to inform her: what she managed already was quite enough for him. When she was satisfied with his lubrication, she fastened her lips around his head and began to suck, using her hand to stroke up and down. They had discovered, quickly, that this was the most efficient way to get him off—a useful discovery, considering his stamina or sometimes-disappointing lack thereof—and evidently that was what she had in mind. Jon was groaning and writhing on the bed—he wanted to stroke her hair, but he'd seen men in porno grappling the woman's head to his crotch, and he didn't want to move even vaguely in that direction—suddenly he didn't want her to finish at all.

"Caitlyn... Caitlyn..."

The sensations stopped. "Yeah?"

"Let me... Do you want me to do you?"

An unreadable pause. Then: "Okay."

He reached down to draw her up until her face was level with him, kissing her soundly in the process. Then, without further ado, he began to kiss his way down her neck and chest towards her breasts, tasting her pale flesh, feeling her nipple stiffen in his mouth as her arms cradled his head.

The funny thing was that, though playing with her breasts was undoubtedly more erotic for her, her tummy, and especially her navel, were more sensitive. They had learned from each other, each experimenting, learning things to try from each other by discovering what worked best on them. Caitlyn had actually been the first to try the stomach area, but it was when Jon tried it on her that things really got interesting. Even the slightest touch would make her jump—great involuntary twitches that were almost violent in their intensity. He could never do that by playing with her breasts or even her pussy. Of course, she never grabbed his head and held it to her belly button, either.

He knew he wasn't going to last long once they finally started fucking—not without the condom, not with his early-morning need to pee, and especially not now that she'd gotten him so close to the edge already. So when he got to her pussy, that warm feminine flower already moist and distended, he knew he had his job cut out for him. Like most women, Caitlyn found it hard to orgasm from penetrative stimulation; complicating the matter, she really liked having him inside her when she came. It was delicate balancing act, finding exactly the right level to stimulate her to before moving up to penetrate her, but one thing was certain: Jon loved to practice.

He found the little nub at the tip of her cleft and encircled it with his lips around it, applying gentle suction; by now, he knew better than to start off with the high-intensity stuff. As her breathing increased, he started licking up and down her slit, applying firm pressure with his tongue, tasting the tang of her nectar and feeling the smooth texture of her skin. Then he began to focus on her clit, licking up and down the hood and shaft, until her moans and gasps told him she was ready. Finally, he put his lips around her clit again and sucked on it, hard this time, while slowly working his fingers into her pussy.

Though it was a little hard to see her face with pubic hair and breasts in the way, Caitlyn's breathing was clearly audible now, and her expression was that look of hopeless longing that he loved so well—the look that meant she was his now, body and soul, surrendered to whatever he planned to do to her. Her pussy was smooth and wet to his touch, pulsing slightly in time with her heartbeat, and when he applied upward pressure inside her, she gasped again, arching her back, her hands rifling through his hair.

"Oh... Oh Jon... Oh... Now, oh—"

Moving up over her, he heralded his arrival with a kiss; one arm entwined his neck even as her legs spread, and she reached down between them to guide him in.

He sunk to the hilt with a single smooth thrust.

It was almost too much, even right then—he could feel every fold and ridge of her pussy enfolding him, a smooth warm wet tunnel that clung to every vein and ridge of his cock. Every time it's better than I remember. How can that be? Do I just forget?—or does it keep getting better? If he moved would come, he knew that without thinking, so he let himself settle on his elbows and knees, kissing her, his tongue entwined with hers, his hands enshrining her face as she wrapped her arms, drawing him close, welcoming him home.

"Are you... Are you ready?"

"I'm too close... I'm too close, love. If I..."

"It's okay, it's okay... Just stay here, stay here, I love you..."

She lifted her legs, linking them behind him, cradling him, changing the angle of her pussy, allowing him to sink deeper still. Even that was almost too much, and he moaned into her mouth. "Baby... Baby... You've gotta let me rest for a bit..." To distract her, he bent his mouth to her breasts, suckling at her nipple. She moaned and arched her back—once again changing the angle of her pussy around him. Jeez, I think we have to lie completely still...

He reached down between them, finding the nub at the top of her slit, and began to caress it, taking the opportunity to move his other hand under her body, crossing her back. She gasped and clenched his body to her, and the shudders from her pussy nearly drove him mad. If he came now, so close, so close to their goal... But he didn't, and as he continued to play with her clit, he gradually became accustomed to the clenching of her body as it moved under him, undulating from hips on upward, while her breasts cushioned his chest and her moans sounded soft and warm in his ear. Seizing the inspiration, he sucked her earlobe into his mouth, licking the back side that was normally protected by the shell of her ear, and was rewarded almost immediately by her arms tightening around him, her hand seizing the back of his head. "Oh, oh, oh... Baby, baby, do it now, oh..."

This is going to be the shortest thing in the history of ever.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he began to move within her. By moving so slowly he could basically prevent himself from boiling over, but even he could tell that it would do nothing for her. He had to go faster.

"It won't be long," he whispered.

"I'm so close," she breathed, "I'm so close, oh, Jon, oh..." And to his surprise he felt her fingers replacing his down below, increasing the stimulation on her clit. "Just, just... You..."

He kissed her.

In six strokes it was over. As he slid out he felt her pussy contracting behind him, closing down in anticipating of his next stroke. Her knuckles brushed against his navel, her fingers tickling his shaft as she worked at her own climax. And then there was the joyous sensation of burying himself in her, her walls opening to receive him, her slickness cradling him, welcoming him home. Her breath rushed damp in his ear; her nails scraped over his scalp. He did it twice more, and as he pulled out and pushed in for the fourth, he felt his orgasm beginning to boil over—and then the glorious but none-too-helpful sensation of her pussy contracting as some spike of pleasure jolted through her. How does she expect me to— And then, as he drove in a fifth time, he knew that it was over: he felt the rushing sensation beginning deep inside him, and knew that it was time.

And then, as he thrust one more time, he heard her cries reach a miraculous crescendo, and felt her pussy clamp down on him with unmistakeable strength. And he had just time enough to voice one questioning cry before his own orgasm hit him, washing away all thought. And all he could feel was the clench and rush of his cock, and the tremendous spurting as his cum rushed out to her in a joyous surge, as she gasped and cried out as her pussy clenched around him, shuddering with release, and the crescendo washed over them both like the first blast of morning sun.

And then he was heavy and panting and sweating, his heart thundering over hers, and her legs were clenching his torso with a strength that was almost uncomfortable, and it was pretty darn cold with all the blankets thrown back. And yet he felt so warm, so welcomed, so loved, that he never wanted to move.

"Oh..." she gasped. "Oh..."

"Happy birthday, darling," he whispered.

He felt her giggle under him, in her chest pressed up against his. "Is that all you could think of to get me?"

"Well, I made it myself. I thought you might like it."

"Hmm. If that's the case, I can't wait for my next birthday."

"Hmm."

"I love you, Jon. I love you so much."

"I love you too."

"There aren't... There aren't words enough for, for how much I love you. There aren't even actions enough for... Even the things we do, together, here, when we're alone... They aren't enough."

He kissed her cheek. "No, they aren't. But they're the best we have. We'll make do."

"Yeah."

"And besides, if it doesn't express it enough, we could always, you know, do it again."

She laughed. "I wish, but... We kinda have to get up now. We have to be at church by seven."

"Ungh. You mean I have to move after all that?"

"Sorry, baby."

"I almost wish you hadn't done that stuff to me. It's like my bones have melted."

"You don't mean that."

"No, I don't. I'm glad we did that."

"A fun way to start off my 21st year."

"Yeah."

"Well, come on, honey. You've got to move, or I can't get up."

"So... If I don't move... You'll be stuck here?"

She laughed. "You better not."

"And I can, you know. Have my way with you again?"

She swatted him gently on the head. "You're insatiable, you know that?"

"No, actually, I'm rather sated at the moment. Totally satisfied. So satisfied that I don't want to move at all..."

She rolled her eyes, put her hands on his shoulders, and pushed. "Come on, lazybones. Up and at 'em."

"Melted bones," he protested, but he rolled off her obediently and they got up to get ready.

"I guess this is gonna be a busy day," she said as they drove to church. "I'm only playing up to the offertory, so we can leave at about eleven, but we have to drop the harp off back at home and then have lunch before your appointment with Roger DiSalvo at one—"

"My appointment?" said Jon, glancing over at her. "You're coming too, remember?"

"—but after that," Caitlyn said, "we have the rest of the day to ourselves. What should we do?"

"I dunno, sweetie, it's your day." Come home and have a party. I hid a spare key under the welcome mat last night, so if Christa and the others show up at 1 PM, they should have plenty of time to set up and be ready when we get home from Roger DiSalvo's office. ...Whenever that is. "What would you like to do?"

"I don't know. I can't really think of anything. Besides Disneyland."

"Besides Disneyland," he agreed.

"We could go... I dunno, we could go see a movie, we could go ice skating... We could invite people over and have a party... We could just stay home all day..."

There were all sorts of comments he could make about that option—and the activity it implied—but Jon decided to play it straight. "You know I'd like that, Caitlyn, but it really is your day. Whatever you want to do is fine with me."

She gave him a mischievous glance. "Even if I wanted to go out and get roaring drunk?"

He shrugged. "I'd hold your hair back while you vomited." He gave her a leer. "And call you stupid every second of it."

She gave him a snort and a smile. They drove on in companionable silence for a few moments.

"What I'd really like..." she said finally, and at her tone of voice Jon looked up. "What I'd really like is to see my parents."

Jon fought the urge to cover his face with his hands—he was, after all, driving a car. "Caitlyn, the last time we did that, it didn't really work well."

"I know, but... Jon, they may not want to have anything to do with me, but I still want to have anything to do with them."

"I know. And, Caitlyn, they feel the same way. What do you think they're doing over there? Your mom's probably spending as much time as she can at work—your father too. Why? Because they don't want to come home to their empty, dusty house. Their lives means nothing without you, and they know it. So if you really want to have a good relationship with them, you should keep the pressure on, by leaving them alone, until they come begging to you."

She sighed. "Maybe if we invited them over along with a bunch of other people. You saw how they reacted to Brandon—he just wouldn't take any of their nonsense, and they knew it. And if we made them promise to be polite."

"Do you think it'd work?" Jon asked, who didn't think so at all.

She sighed. "No. I think they'd promise and then just come over and make a scene anyway. I don't think the laws of propriety matter to them when I'm involved."

Jon, who had thought that from the beginning, belayed an I-told-you-so by covering her hand with his own. "Soon, my love. Soon. They can't wait forever."

She turned away to look at the nighttime scenery scrolling by. "Jon... What if they can?"

"What?"

"What if... What if they can wait forever? What if they suddenly realize that, no, they, they didn't really need me, they... They can live without me?"

Jon had never claimed to understand Caitlyn's parents—but sometimes, he didn't understand Caitlyn either. "Well then... Good riddance. Cait... If they take the time" (and forego thir pride long enough) "to get to know you for who you actually are... Well, they're your parents. They'll love you even if you turn out to be an axe murderer. Which you are not. You are a wise, loving, moral, Christian woman. That's something they respect. They'll love you. And, if they're going to judge you based on who they think you are—based on the Caitlyn who lives in their heads, whom as we both know has nothing to do with the Caitlyn who once lived in their house—then why would you want their approval anyway? If they dislike you, it's not because of who you are. If they like you, it's still not because of who you are. And, frankly, it's easier to just be rid of them."

Caitlyn turned a sad gaze on him. "Jon, they're my parents." And though Jon had not had the best of relationships with his family, he had to admit that, were they to turn their back on him, it would pain him quite a bit. It's kind of like undermining the foundation of who I am. My family is where I learned, for the most part, to be me. My family made Jon Stanford. For all of them to turn away, to deny me, to say, No, we will have no part of you...

But it wouldn't be the end of the world. I'd still have Caitlyn. I have a life outside my family now, an identity that is separate from the people I came from. I have more than one family, and the second one is just as important as the first.

...And if Caitlyn doesn't feel that way, why did she marry me?

Now hold on a second, Jon Stanford. You don't know what she feels. Don't jump to conclusions. Remember Jack Crawford: When you assume you make an ass of u and me both. And besides, losing half your identity isn't made any easier to bear by not losing all of it.

"Jon?" Caitlyn said. He realized suddenly that she was standing outside the door of the borrowed van, peering in—that he had managed to arrive at the church without even noticing it. "Is everything okay?"

"—Yeah," said Jon. "I'm coming with you." He started to open the door, only to notice the sudden dreamy smile on her face.

"No," she said, "you did that already."

Jon felt a smile splitting his face.

"That was really something," she said.

"Yeah. It wasn't easy, but, I think it was worth the effort."

"We should try that again some time," she said. She still had that distant, bemused expression on her face.

"Well, after the job appointment, we could just stay at home all day," he said, and was rewarded with a giggle and a kiss on the cheek.

Jon had to admit that he was not looking forward to sitting through all three services. Fortunately, neither was Caitlyn. "We'll stay for the first service," she said, "and then after I play the offertory at the 9-AM we can go get some food or something. Or just wander around the downtown area, if we want. And then... Oh, but: after I play the offertory, Pastor Pendleton will come up and preach. We can't exactly be zipping up the harp while he's up there."

Jon grunted and settled the harp on its two wheels. Eighty pounds of wood wasn't too bad, but there was almost nowhere to grab it. "So tell him we've got somewhere to be and we have to leave early."

Caitlyn said, scandalized, "We can't lie to a pastor!"

"It's just a little white lie."

Caitlyn shot him a grumbling look.

"Fine, then, ask him if we can leave early. We'll wheel the harp into the side office and zip it up there." The harp went everywhere in a protective shroud; without its cushioning, car drives might be fatal.

"Hmm, he might be okay with that," said Caitlyn. "I mean, it's seven o'clock. He's probably not even here yet."

And that was their cover story at eleven. "Before I begin, I'd like to take this moment to thank Caitlyn Delaney Stanford, who has played at all three services today. Despite the cold weather and the early hour, she agreed to be here at seven AM to rehearse and play in the early service, and then the other two as well. We've decided to let her and her husband Jon go home a little early, but first: we've received news that it's actually Caitlyn's birthday."

Caitlyn, halfway across the dais, turned bright red.

"How old are you today, Caitlyn?" Larry Pendleton asked, turning to her, and the grin on his face that told Jon that the minister had been planning this ambush for several days.

Caitlyn was gawping like a fish, so Jon took matters into his own hands. "She's twenty-one."

"She's twenty-one," Pastor Pendleton marveled. "Twenty-one, a truly gifted harpist, studying for her master's degree and happily married. She started early in her life as well as early this morning. So, in honor of what will hopefully be a fun and enjoyable day: Amber, if you please?"

And Amber Pendleton struck up the organ in that old familiar arpeggio, and the entire congregation sang. Caitlyn looked somewhere between offense and tearful happiness. Jon, who was singing along at top volume (and in key, thank you very much), saw a sea of smiling faces... Except for those belonging to Samuel and Linda Delaney. Caitlyn's father was stone-faced—he could be hiding just about anything under that Easter-island visage—but Mrs. Delaney looked to be nearly choking on her fury.

Jon hustled his wife off the dais before she could notice that particular feature.

"I can't believe it," Caitlyn said, somewhere between annoyed and giddy. "I can't believe it. Who did that?"

"Dude, how many other people get happy-birthday'd by the entire church?" Jon said, trying to inspire a smile.

"It was probably Pastor Larson," said Caitlyn. "Or Mrs. Larson. I am so gonna—"

"Thank them," Jon said. "Thank them kindly."

"Well, yes, of course," Caitlyn said. "And then, on their birthdays... I don't know, do you think a stripper cake would be too much?"

"For our budget, yes," Jon said, laughing, and started pushing the harp.

They dropped the harp back off at the apartment, snagged a quick lunch, and at 12:55 rolled into a parking space at Global Economic Associates, Inc. Roger DiSalvo was exactly as Jon remembered, a portly Hispanic with a shaven head and fairly bouncing with energy. "Jonathan Stanford, and on time I see! You know, I always say you can tell something about a man by whether he arrives when he says he will. I'm glad to see you. And this beautiful creature must be your wife. Your name is?"

"Caitlyn." She extended her hand to be shaken. "Caitlyn Stanford."

"Caitlyn. A lovely name for a lovely woman. it's a pleasure to meet you. Why don't you both come up to my office and I'll show you what Global Economic Associates can do for you."

"Laying it on a little thick, isn't he," Caitlyn said to him in an undertone. Jon shrugged. Yes, he supposed, one could look at it that way, but Jon preferred to wait and see before making any firm judgments. Roger DiSalvo exuded an easy camaraderie which Jon admired. Maybe effusive praise was just his way.

Roger DiSalvo led them up the stairs and down the hall, through a conference room so large it could probably house an entire company. The room was completely bare, for the most part, save a table in a corner and a few banners above the front stage. Off of this room were a number of smaller rooms, one of which Roger ushered them into. "My office," he said. In this office was a curving, two-sided desk with a wheelie-chair for Roger on the inside and client chairs on the outside; a computer; a closed filing cabinet; and some binders piling up in a corner.

Roger wasted no time in getting down to business. Quickly he was knees-deep in talk about finances, 401Ks, retirement, investments and other monetary chaos. Some of the particulars of it evaded Jon, but he wasn't too concerned about that: Caitlyn, after all, was the Accounting major, and he was sure she would catch what he missed. The whole thing seemed fairly simple, though: an overall plan to help make sure there was always enough money. Jon, keenly aware of the inadequacy of his current salary, could much appreciate that.

"Basically, we at Global Economic Associates take this knowledge out into the world," Roger said. "We teach people these principles and then help them choose investments, insurances and savings policies that will benefit them in the future. So, what do you guys think? Did you guys know about this stuff before today?"

"No," Jon said. "No," Caitlyn said.

"Would you tell people this information if you had the chance?"

"Well, sure," Jon said, but Caitlyn, evidently seeing where this was going, said, "Only if they paid me!"

"Ha-ha, that's the spirit!" said Roger. "Now, if you're interested, we'll have you each fill out an application form. One of the things we'll ask you to do is assemble a team, a group of people who are close associates of yours who will help you market, process and approach. Furthermore, employees at Global Economic Associates—" Jon noticed the slurring, as if he'd said the name thousands of times before: globaleek-nomica-soshits. "—are technically self-employed, and one of the things we'll require is a $50 deposit with which we run a background check. Since you will be selling insurance policies and such, it's important to us to hire trustworthy people who have never had prior trouble before, you understand? And, because it's a business expense, you can claim it as a tax write-off. We accept check or credit card."

"Ah, um," said Jon, digging for his wallet. "Okay."

"Jon," said Caitlyn, in a voice that stilled movement. "I think I left my wallet in my purse. Would you mind going out for it?"

Roger DiSalvo turned away from his computer to look at them.

Jon blinked. "Umm, sure. Umm. Just, give me a minute, and I'll be right back."

When returning the harp to the apartment, Caitlyn had changed clothes. Currently she was wearing a voluminous hoodie sweatshirt and a pair of jeans fished out of the men's department, small enough for her frame. They were her favorite jeans, she said, because they had the one thing most women's pants lacked: pockets, pockets a capacity of more than a fluid ounce. And when she has pockets, doesn't she normally keep her wallet in...?

And a quick look in the car confirmed that, yes, she did normally. The wallet wasn't in her purse. Chapstick, make-up, sunglasses, cellphone: all those things were, somehow crammed into a package that looked barely large enough to hold a compact. (She had always prided herself on Mary-Poppins-style handbags.) Undoubtedly she knew she had the wallet; why had she sent...

—Oh!

"I, um, I couldn't find it, sweetie," Jon told her. "I think we left it at home." He tried to keep his voice level and normal, and not tense and confused. How did he sound normally? I really should pay attention to myself. It's hard to lie convincingly when you don't know how you sound when you tell the truth.

"Uh-oh," said Caitlyn, sounding for all the world like a woman without her wallet. "We'd better go home and check, I'd hate to think of what would happen if I lost it..."

"Yeah," Jon agreed, trying not to sound too emphatic.

"Oh dear, that is troublesome," said Roger DiSalvo. "Jonathan, do you think you could finish your application before—"

This time Jon was on the ball. "I wish I could, but all of Caitlyn's ID and credit cards and things are in that wallet. If someone's gotten their hands on it... Well, seconds could matter."

"We'll call you back about finishing them up," said Caitlyn.

"All right, well," said Roger DiSalvo, evidently realizing there was no hope. "Let me at least walk you down."

As he did, he regaled them with his own life story: married young, divorced younger, and now with sole custody of a seven-year-old daughter. "Depending on my earnings, I might be able to retire in a few years. I'd really like to spend that time with my daughter." Jon could appreciate the sentiment, but at the moment his paranoia was up, and while Roger's story might be heart-felt, it might also be manipulative. Jon would take no chances.

What spiked Caitlyn off, anyway?

It wasn't until they were safely away in the car that Caitlyn could answer. "It wasn't the money thing. ...Okay, it wasn't just the money thing. I've had business classes in cheats and scams and stuff like that, and... Well, the $50 sort of made everything clear. All the little details I'd noticed. Like, how totally empty the conference room was. How empty his office was. Nobody else seemed to be there, did you notice? And then, when he said we'd have to recruit other people into the business... It all just lit up at once."

"Jeez," said Jon. "I'm glad I had you there!"

"I was just scared you wouldn't get my message," Caitlyn said, looking at him. "When I sent you after the wallet..."

"Yeah, I almost missed it," Jon agreed. "Jeez, how stupid can you get. We really gotta work out a code or something for—"

The trill of a cellphone interrupted him. It was Jon's. "Hi, Jon! It's Christa! How are you?"

"Christa?" Uh-oh, she must be calling about the party. He switched the phone to his left hand, for the fragile advantage of distance. "Hi, how are you?"

"Doing great, thanks! Listen, we managed to get in and we're all set up. Are you guys coming?"

"Um, uh—" Thank God for that spook at the office; otherwise, my brain would still be running at melted-bones speed. "Look, Christa, I'm kind of on the road right now." "Oh my goodness, is Caitlyn there with you," Christa began, but Jon rode her over. "Do you mind if I call you back when I get home? Say, about twenty minutes?"

"Ohh, of course," said Christa, picking up on it with an alacrity that made made Jon feel old and slow. "When you get home, then."

"Thanks," said Jon. "Bye." He turned back to Caitlyn. "Sorry, where were we?"

"You were about to come back up to his office and ask me whether I had my wallet in my pocket," said Caitlyn, amused.

"Right, don't remind me," Jon groaned, and Caitlyn laughed, and afterwards there was silence for a while.

"...How come I didn't see it," she said eventually. "I should've... I dunno, even from the moment I saw him, I was a little bit... I mean, he was so congenial, you know? He was really trying to sell. And I should've been on-guard more, but, he drew me in. He suckered me in just like—"

"Hey, hold on a minute," Jon said. "You saved us! If it hadn't been for you, who knows where we would've ended up!—Short a hundred dollars at the very least, and God only knows what else!"

"I should've seen it," Caitlyn gritted, thudding down on the armrest with a fist. "I should've seen it—"

Jon, having no real idea what to say, said nothing. He gave her a wide-eyed look and turned back to the road. Why is it so important to her? Why is she taking it so seriously?...

After a few moments, she sighed. "And here I was so sure that God had put that in our path. That God had smiled down on us, and was giving us a way out. And it turns out that it was actually... Not Him. The Other."

Jon, though he wasn't sure he should mention it, said, "Cait... You know, they could be reputable. Maybe it's just... A weird way of doing business."

"Maybe," said Caitlyn, in a voice that told him she didn't believe it. And Jon, still not sure what else to say, let silence rule the ride home.

He had almost forgotten about the party, and for a moment was extremely confused at the sight of the foil balloons and the giant banner, clearly Zach's work (nobody else would draw using highlighters), blaring "HAPPY 21st CAiTLYN!" The birthday girl in question, CAiTLYN (What happened there?), said, "What the heck—" and took two steps into the room.

"Surprise!" said Meredith and Christa and Brandon, popping out from behind the couch. Jon hadn't realized there was enough room back there for everybody.

"Unh??!" said Caitlyn.

"Happy birthday," Christa said, descending on her with a hug and a pair of those air-kisses Jon had never quite figured out.

"Blame him," Brandon said with a grin, pointing at Jon.

"He's good at ambushing," Meredith agreed.

"No, as in, blame him if Laurelyn has somehow made a mess of your bedroom in the five minutes we left her in there," Brandon said.

"I'd better go check on her," Meredith agreed, pacing over to the door. But as she passed the threshold she had to step back, as Zachary Crane strolled out in calm oblivion.

"What," he said, looking around, "did I miss it? Aww, crap. Surprise!" He lunged like a Broadway singer, throwing his arms wide. Jon laughed.

Caitlyn had the happiest look on her face Jon had ever seen; she seemed near to tears again. "I can't believe you guys."

"Believe it," Brandon said, a warm smile on his face.

"What else are friends for?" Christa asked.

"Well, besides messing up your birthday," Zach said. "By the way, we invited a bunch of people you either know, kinda-know or thought you'd like, so I hope you're ready for a crowd."

"We did not," said Christa, shooting her husband a half-annoyed, half-affectionate look, which Jon thought must appear on her face with alarming frequency. "We did invite some people, though. It's your twenty-first birthday. The six of us would be a little bit boring."

"Now, I don't know about that," said Meredith, coming in with Laurelyn in her arms. "For one, there's seven of us, and this little critter can cause an enormous amount of trouble."

"Oh, yeah, we should've child-proofed the apartment first..." Christa exclaimed.

"And don't worry, if it gets to be too much we'll quiet things down," Brandon said.

Caitlyn turned to Jon with an unsteady expression. "You," she said. "Made me think that you were planning absolutely nothing."

Jon tried to keep from grinning. "Well, um. That was, in fact, the essence of the surprise."

"You," she said, "are in serious trouble, young man."

Taking a gamble, he said, "Well, if it's anything like the trouble we got into this morning, I'll take it!" And the others laughed, and Caitlyn, though she tried to hold her stern expression, couldn't, and moved into his arms and held him tight.

"Happy birthday," he said.

"I love you," she said. "You know, I really was kind of thinking about just spending the whole rest of the day here with you."

He felt his body stirring, and willed it to be calm. "Well... We can always send them home early..."

She laughed against his throat.

Within an hour, Zach's promise had lived itself up. Aside from a few members of Octapella whom Christa and Zach had thought to invite (Rod, Beth, so on), there was Rachel Prescott, who had started out as Laurelyn's baby-sitter but almost turned into a third member of the family. On her arm was someone Jon had never met before, a fellow named Jeff Gainesborough. "He's from our high school," Christa explained. "We set them up on a blind date last year. We wouldn't've invited him if we didn't think he'd get along with you guys." On top of that there were a few people Jon had managed to invite from Shellview State, friends and compatriots Caitlyn had met in her half-year there. (The hardest part had been finding a way to contact them, since he hadn't even met one of them. Facebook was a life-saver in this regard.)

It was a lively party—probably the most exciting one Caitlyn had had in her life—but Jon couldn't help looking around and realizing that most of them didn't know each other, and furthermore that many of them didn't really know Caitlyn. It had been Christa's idea to invite more people, and Jon had agreed because he couldn't see the harm in it, but ultimately the people who mattered most were the five who had started out. We're her friends, we five. The rest... Well, I don't know how close they are. Or consider themselves to be. Are they here for the party, or are they here for her?

That's something we need to work on, he decided. In part it's because she's been so sheltered by her parents, but she can also be so... Standoffish. She doesn't like letting people in. And so she's only let a few people in, and one of them's her husband but the other four are busy having their own lives. She needs other people. She needs people.

And I'm the same way, he realized. I have Octapella, sure, but, sometimes I'm not sure how close they are either. We both need friends.

Soon enough, though, he found himself doing his part. Jeff Gainesborough would probably get along with Caitlyn; he was certainly getting along with Jon. Though quiet, and minoring in Math (inexplicable to Jon), his reticence concealed, not slowness, but a careful manner and utterly deadpan humor. This was a man who thought carefully about what he saw. It took a little while to get him to soften up—but then, Jon thought, remembering the college-group meeting on Thursday, it took us the same. And, once someone had sat down to talk to him, he showed no intention of remaining aloof.

"How did you meet Rachel," Jon asked.

"Through the Chamberses," Jeff said. "We went to high school together."

"Wow," said Jon, who hadn't kept track of anyone he'd gone to high school with. Of course, if it had been Brandon and Meredith... "And... You were, what, visiting them or something?"

"Actually, it was really a joint thing between them and the Cranes," Jeff said. "I was on the ski trip they took last year, and Zach and Christa took the opportunity to put us together in a sort of blind date thing."

"Wow. Impressing a girl is one thing, but impressing a girl while on skis is quite another."

"Yeeeeaaaah," said Jeff.

"But, um, it seems to have worked," Jon said. "I mean, she's dating you, you're dating her... You guys seem really happy together. Like Brandon and Meredith."

"Well, thank you. That's a big compliment. ...Actually, too big a compliment, because I'm sure you must be exaggerating."

Jon laughed. "Okay, so I am. But... You know. There's some of that."

"What, as in, how Meredith's personal orbit is defined entirely by Brandon? And vice versa?"

"Yeah."

"Well, thank you. That is a big compliment." There was no smile this time. "Even though it's not quite true anymore; now their orbits revolve around Laurie."

"Yeah. That's true. And they're so tired all the time. They try to hide it, but..."

"Well, Laurelyn's turning into quite a handful. It's just that time of her life. Rachel—" He gestured to his girlfriend, who was re-acquainting herself with the tiny girl who had been hobby and livelihood for six months of the last year. "—has more patience with her than anyone I've ever seen, except Brandon and Meredith of course, but eventually everyone is gonna do something to tick you off—especially once they get older and start being able to pull more things down to the floor. And on top of that, they're both working their tails off to make ends meet. Brandon's really angling for a promotion or a better job somewhere, because when you don't get paid much your only choice is to work longer, and eventually you run out of hours in the day."

"It sucks," Jon said. Brandon and Meredith were such nice people; they deserved better than this. "Makes me really glad Caitlyn and I aren't having kids yet."

"Yeah. Number one way to sink yourself into poverty: divorce. Second way: kids."

"Kinda funny how so many of their friends are starting to deal with both of those things," Jon said. "Is it normal for so many of us to be married or getting married this early in our lives?"

"Maybe it was," Jeff said, "back in the 1600s. There was a time when you hit puberty—or made your first kill, or whatever coming-of-age ritual your society upheld—and that was it, you were an adult and ready to get married and have your own family and everything. Nowadays it's a little different. With increasing health standards, kids are hitting puberty earlier and earlier in their lives. But with increasing job standards, they're hitting the workforce later and later in their lives. You start having this ten-year gap where the person is physically mature, but not... Not what, not economically mature, I guess you'd say. Not yet acting as an adult in the economic sense of holding down a good job and being self-sufficient and whathaveyou. That's where 'adolescence' comes from. Heck, that's where 'teen pregnancies' come from. In the 1600s, there were no teenagers—just adults and children. Teenagers, young adults, adolescents—these are people who are old enough to have kids but not old enough to pay for them. And, yes, Brandon and Meredith are in that category, and they're fighting as hard as they can to get out of it. It may even be working."

"And yet here we are," Jon said, who appreciated these new and interesting thoughts but still hadn't really had his question answered. "Caitlyn and I, and Zach and Christa, following in their footsteps. —Not with the kids thing, but, with everything else. By your analysis, we're not even ready to be married, because that too costs money and most of us are still getting our fourth level of education. I'm the only one with the, um, with the whateveryoucallit. —The 'economic maturity' to be getting married. We're starting early. And all of us know Brandon and Meredith."

"That's true," said Jeff. He cracked a dim smile. "It's like they're beacons for love or something. They just, what, trade it around."

Jon was going to laugh, until he saw that Jeff wasn't really joking.

"Maybe it's their mutant power," he said.

"Quite possibly," Jeff agreed.

"Convincing all and sundry to fall in love."

"Oh, it's not just all and sundry," Jeff said. "I think that all they do is—whether by accident or by design—they organize the people around them. Using their gravitic influences, of course. And, just by moving through their lives, they get that person pointed in the right direction and facing someone they can find love with. They just make it... Easy to find someone who's good for you."

"It worked on me, and I didn't even really know them," Jon said. "I mean, we were friends, but, I wasn't nearly as close to them as Caitlyn was. Is."

"They've got the magic." Jeff shrugged. "That's all I know."

Around the time people had started getting hungry, a delivery man from a pizza place showed up, called in by the Cranes; Caitlyn insisted on paying, and would have won if Jon hadn't rolled his eyes and sided with Zach. There was a small but varied selection of alcohol, for those who would care to partake in it; everyone gathered around as Caitlyn took her first official sip of alcohol, from a can of beer which she immediately pronounced disgusting and foisted off on Jon. Jon, who also found it disgusting, threatened to pour it down the toilet until Zach, loathe to waste beer of any caliber, appropriated it from him. Under Meredith's guidance, Caitlyn found a wine cooler much more to her taste. And shortly thereafter Christa trotted out Meredith's cake, a rich dark confection containing a denser concentration of chocolate than anything Jon had ever experienced.

Caitlyn was having fun, but by the time the cake was gone, it was apparent to Jon that she was starting to tire of the constant buzz. For that matter, so was he; though he had a higher tolerance for chaos, this was too much. Not to mention that he had to be up early tomorrow for work. Fortunately, Christa and Zach had planned for this eventuality; Jon had merely to stand up and explain the situation, and the guests were wishing Caitlyn final happy-birthdays and moving out the door. Not the Cranes and the Chamberses, of course; they stayed to help clean up. "We also figured you might want a little quiet time to wind down in," Christa remarked.

Caitlyn shook her head, amazed. "You guys think of everything."

"We've had practice," said Zach with an insufferably smug look.

Laurelyn had been asleep for some time, and after checking on her, Meredith returned to the main room, where the others were relaxing. "I hope that all wasn't too much or anything."

"It was... A lot more than I expected," Caitlyn said. She was curled up on the couch, her head on Jon's shoulder, and it was all Jon could do to keep a big, satisfied grin off his face: there was nowhere else on earth he would rather be. "I mean, whenever I thought about my 21st birthday, I figured I'd be... With my parents... And, like, we'd see a movie, and have a party, and that would be it. Maybe they'd let me try some wine or something. This was... So much more."

"Blame him," Meredith said, pointing at Jon. "He set most of it up."

"Hey, I just organized it," Jon protested. "All you subcontractor folks did the actual hard work."

With a winking look at Jon, Brandon asked, "And, Caitlyn, were you expecting to be married on your 21st birthday?"

Caitlyn sat bolt-upright to stare at him. "What, are you kidding? I wasn't sure I'd be married on my 25th birthday! If I thought about it at all! When I was sixteen I took a look around and, just... Ugh." She collapsed back on the couch, a little too far away for Jon to reach. "All I saw was just this, this wasteland. Here I was, in college, but younger than everybody there, and not making any friends, and... And I wasn't sure how to change any of that, you know? I mean, yeah, I could wait for a few years until I was actually the same age as the people around me, but... What do I do now? And plus on top of that I've always found it easier to relate to people who are older than me... I mean, when I was eighteen, I was asked out by this guy who was thirty-seven. And I told him, 'I'm eighteen,' and he said, 'That's not a problem with me,' and I was this close to actually going with him." She shook her head. "I just... I saw the future I wanted, but... I had no idea how to get there."

"Yeah," said Brandon.

"Yeah," said Meredith.

"Yeah," said Jon.

"Yeah," said Zach.

Christa looked around at them. "My goodness. Am I the only one here who's never felt that? I feel so... Virginal!"

"Well, that's why we keep you around, babe," Zach said, draping an easy arm over her shoulders. "Innocent, unfettered optimism."

"What else did you guys do today?" Meredith asked.

"Well, besides this morning," Caitlyn said, "we—"

"Why, what happened this morning?" Brandon asked, a shameless grin on his face.

"We-ell," said Caitlyn, looking a little guilty. "Well, um, we, um. We had fun."

"Well, that's good," said Meredith, totally unashamed.

"We also went to church," Jon said, rolling his eyes. "This crazy lady over here played her harp in all three services, including the super-early-in-the-morning one."

"How super-early was it?" Christa asked.

"Was the sun up?" Zach asked.

"7:45," Caitlyn said.

"Man," Zach said.

"Man," Christa said.

"If our church asked us to show up for that service, we'd tell them to go jump off a cliff," Zach said. "In a respectful and Christ-like manner, of course."

Brandon snorted. He was grinning.

"Wait," Meredith said. "You'd tell them in a respectful and Christ-like manner to jump off the cliff?—or you'd tell them to jump off the cliff in a respectful and Christ-like manner? Did Christ prescribe ways for jumping off cliffs?"

"Right, anyway," said Christa, after giving Meredith a dirty look. "What else did you do today?"

"Well, church," Caitlyn said. "And then afterwards... Suddenly I'm cold." She looked around in confusion. "Did someone open a window?"

"You took off your sweater," Jon said.

"I... I did?" Caitlyn chafed her arms. "No, it's right here."

Jon spr ead his arms wide, giving her a Duh look.

"Oh!" Caitlyn exclaimed. She snuggled back up to him, draping her body over his in an entirely satisfactory manner.

"I swear," Jon said into her hair. "You have two undergraduate degrees. I thought you were smart!"

"Shut it, buster, or we aren't having any fun tonight," Caitlyn said, a smug grin on her face.

"Oh-hhh!" Brandon, Zach and Meredith said all at the same time.

"So, anyway, honey," Jon said. "What else did we do today?"

"Well... We dropped the harp off... The entire congregation sang 'Happy Birthday' to me because my harp teacher told the head pastor—"

"Oh, is that how it happened?" Jon said.

"Yeah, didn't you see her? She was in the third row."

Jon hadn't seen any trace of Mrs. Sellitz. "No."

Caitlyn sighed. "You need to look harder. She was there. Anyhow, I had that happen... Then we dropped the harp off... Then we had lunch... Then... Oh!"

"Oh?" said Meredith.

"Does this have anything to do with where you were when I called Jon?" Christa asked.

"Well, it's more Jon's story..." Caitlyn said.

"No, go ahead, you tell it," Jon said. "We haven't had a chance to talk about it. I wanna hear what you thought."

"Well, you started it," Caitlyn said. "He approached you in the first place."

"Look," Brandon said, grinning, "just tell the freaking story, okay?"

"Well, Jon was at work," Caitlyn said, "and some guy came in to be dented."

"Huh?" said Christa.

"Oh, that's mine," Jon said. "I work at a dentist's office. So, verb form of dentist, dent. To dent. A dentist dents."

Christa gave him a most incredulous look.

"Don't worry, honey, it makes sense," Zach said.

"It does not!" Christa protested. "Verbing weirds language!"

"Right, so, dentist," Caitlyn said. "And Jon's the receptionist and probably just twiddling his thumbs, and so this guys says, Hey, my company's hiring, you look bored, what do you think?"

"And Jon said, Sure?" Meredith guessed.

"Jon said Sure," Caitlyn agreed. "And he called the guy later that day—"

"You made me call him," Jon protested.

"You said you had nothing to lose!" Caitlyn said. To the others: "This guy's such a dork. Anyway, so, he called this guy Roger, and Roger said, Hey, why don't you bring your wife too, and so after lunch we went to his office."

"And?" said Christa, an excited expression on her face.

"And, I think it was a scam," Caitlyn said.

Christa's face fell.

"What did you think, Jon?" Brandon said.

Jon shrugged—not an easy proposition with Caitlyn leaning on him. "Well, as Cait pointed out to me in the car, I wouldn't know a legitimate business from a scam if my life depended on it. I figured I'd better trust her judgment. She's got the Accounting degree, she would be more likely to know something."

"Their office was empty," Caitlyn said. "Like, empty. A huge room with no one and nothing in it. And his office didn't have a single paper in it or anything—it was too neat, it didn't look like he actually used it. And practically the first thing they asked us for was fifty dollars."

"Fifty dollars?" Meredith said.

"Each," Caitlyn said.

"That is kinda fishy," Christa said.

"Was there anyone else in the office?" Zach asked.

"Not that we saw," Jon said.

"But that could just be because it was a Sunday," Brandon said.

"Yeah, but who works on a Sunday?" Meredith said.

"Either someone who was golfing all week or someone really desperate," Zach said.

"Either way, is that someone you want to be hired by?" Christa said.

"So, what did you do?" Brandon said to Caitlyn.

"We got out of there," Caitlyn said. "Jon was really good. I could tell that none of this had even crossed his mind—he figured it was all legitimate—but he picked up on my signals and we bluffed our way out." She smiled up at him. "I'm glad I married someone with brains."

Jon felt absurdly pleased.

"Are you going back?" Christa asked.

Caitlyn looked to him, and Jon felt a moment of confusion. Me?

"Umm... I don't know," he said. "Probably not. I... I mean, maybe it's legitimate. And, what Roger was talking about, how Caitlyn and I can work together and make money and... Well, it sounded like a good deal. I wish I didn't have to pass it up. But... It's simply too risky. It's not something I feel like I'd be able to trust. If it were just me, then maybe... But it's not, it's Caitlyn too. There's just too much at stake right now."

"And is it important for you to find a new job?" Brandon asked, with a glance at Meredith.

"Well... Yeah, just a little," Jon said, mopping his face with his hand. "I mean, I like what I do now, but there's no... What's the term. —Oh. No growth potential. I mean, I'm a receptionist, it's not like you can move up from there. And we're barely making ends meet as it is. I can't continue like this."

"Then shouldn't you be looking for another job?" Caitlyn said, turning her head to face him.

Oh God, not now. "Cait, that's... Easier said than done. Everything out there... I check the websites, I check Craigslist, I check Monster.com, and everything anyone's looking for is, 'With experience,' 'with experience,' 'with experience.' I don't have experience. I'm entry level. And the few I do find for entry-level, I send in my resume and a nice cover letter, and... Nothing happens. It's not easy to just, just keep..."

"We may have an answer for you," Brandon said, looking back over at them. Beside him, Meredith looked rather pleased with herself.

"As you know," Brandon said, "I now work in a doctor's office."

"You do?" Jon said. He hadn't heard anything about that.

"Okay, as you should know, I now work in a—"

"You never told us," Caitlyn said.

Brandon tossed his hands. "Okay. As you have now been informed..." He shot them both a sarcastic leer. Caitlyn gave a magnanimous wave to indicate he should continue. "I work in a doctor's office. But not as a receptionist, Jon: as an assistant."

"Hmmm," said Jon, already seeing the potential.

"It's skilled labor, so they pay more—I'm getting about $30,000 a year now. It's the medical field, so you'll always have work because people will always get sick—if that changes, there's bigger things afoot than just job loss! You get to work with people—which, because you were a Psych major, I'm guessing isn't going to be a problem. And there is lots of, as you said, growth potential: there's tons of fields to specialize in in medicine, and tons of niches to fill."

"Okay, but, I can't move to Mount Hill with you," Jon said.

"Not a problem," Brandon said. "My boss, Dr. Keltey, has a friend, a Dr. Aaron... Umm, something—I'll get you the exact name and contact info if you're interested, don't worry—Dr. Aaron Something, who works here in the Shellview area, and is looking to hire. Kelt asked me because I used to go to Greenfield, I might know someone. And, hey: looks like I might."

"Okay, but, you said 'skilled' labor," Caitlyn said. "Does Jon have those skills?"

"No, he doesn't, but that's the thing," said Brandon. "Neither did I. And a lot of doctor's offices are starting to form sort of joint-scholarship/internship things where you're eased in, simultaneously taking classes and getting on-the-job training. You have to pay for the first couple of months of classes out of pocket, but after that you start actually working and drawing a salary—and that pays for the classes pretty quickly, let me tell you."

"Wow," said Jon. "That sounds almost too good to be true."

"It almost is," Brandon said. "With the Baby Boomers starting to hit that really medical-intensive age, and less and less non-immigrant Americans going into medicine, they're strapped for manpower. Normally you're supposed to go to school first to become a certified medical assistant—"

"There's such thing as a medical assistant?" Caitlyn said.

"My point exactly," Brandon said, grinning. "Nobody's heard of the field, so nobody goes into it."

"There's a lot of fields like that nowadays," Christa remarked. "They just keep diversifying what's going on."

"Remember in that old video game Oregon Trail, where there were only three jobs?" Zach said. "Those were the days."

"Right, as I was saying," Brandon said, rolling his eyes at them. "Nobody's heard of it, so nobody goes into it. Now, obviously, if you're friends with one, you've heard of it, and before now that sort of person-to-person recruitment was enough to fill all their vacancies. But not anymore. So now they have this stop-gap program, where they train you and put you to work simultaneously."

"What do you do?" Jon asked.

"Well, the last time you went to the doctor's office, what happened?" Brandon said. "You went in, they took you to a room, and someone came in and did your blood pressure and height and weight and stuff like that—the busywork, in other words, before the doctor came in and did the actual thinking. That busywork person is a medical assistant. When they're not doing that they're running the front desks, making appointments, dealing with phone calls... You've got a lot of responsibilities, yeah, we kind of get stuck with everything that's not doctoring. Docking?"

"That's right," Caitlyn said. "Take the second syllable off."

"Right, well," said Brandon, giving her a leer. "Anyway, that's the job description, but if you think about it, none of it is too hard. I guess this is the menial-labor side of the medical field—we're like the gardeners, the construction workers, the shelf-stockers, stuff like that. But it's medicine, so it's a little more glamorous."

"Wow," said Jon. He wasn't sure if he was going to like or enjoy or even be good at such a thing, but he knew he had to try: it was simply too promising to pass up. "What a birthday present."

"And it's not even your birthday," Meredith laughed.

"Consider it a gift for the whole family," Brandon said.

" 'Whole'?" said Caitlyn. "There's only two of us. Unless, um... Unless, Jon, there's, uh, something you want to tell us."

Jon's mind flashed uncontrollably on subjects of alien implantation and tentacle rape. "I'm not gonna tell you about that!"

"What??" said Caitlyn.

"What??" said the others.

"Okay, um," said Meredith. "Does anyone else not want to know what just went through his head?"

"Not me," said Christa.

"Not me," said Caitlyn.

"Not me," said Brandon.

"Not me," said Zach.

"Ha-ha, you were last," Brandon said. "In the mush-pot with you."

"What!" cried Zach. "Nooo! Last night I had to wash the dishes, and now this?"

"Life just sucks for you, honey," Christa said with a conspicuous grin. "Deal with it."

Zach gave a martyred sigh. "All right, all right. What was it you thought of, Jon?"

Jon shook his head. So not talking to anybody about that! "Sorry, guys, just... It's late, I'm tired. My brain must be short-circuiting or something."

"Aww, is it time to go already?" Meredith said.

In a stage whisper that was probably audible across the courtyard, Brandon said, "They want us to go home so they can have sex."

"Oh!" said Meredith. "Right. It's time to go already. My goodness, look at the time!" She bustled into the bedroom to retrieve her sleeping infant.

"Uhh..." said Caitlyn, who knew that Jon had meant nothing of the sort.

"No, no, it's all right, we totally understand," said Christa with an indispensable grin. "You're an adult now, Caitlyn, fully an adult. There's absolutely nothing wrong with, uh, celebrating that adultness."

"She's not fully an adult," Brandon said. "She isn't twenty-five. She can't rent a car yet."

"...And, that's important because...?" said Christa, pausing from gathering up the cake tray to give him a perplexed look.

"Well, it's important if you broke the car you own!" Brandon said.

"Ignore this moron over here," said Christa. "You're an adult now, in every sense of the—"

"Besides, can't you still rent a car, they just charge you extra?" Zach asked, shouldering his backpack of stuff. Brandon was gathering up the baby bag. Meredith came scooting out, grabbing a misplaced pacifier as she did.

"Okay, you guys, we're off," she said. "Enjoy the rest of your night. And, again, happy birthday!"

"Happy birthday!" the others echoed. And then the door closed.

Caitlyn sat up to look Jon in the eye. "Uhh," she said again. Aside from a few balloons and the banner hanging from the ceiling, dripping ribbons, there was no proof that anyone had even been here.

"I, uh... I dunno," Jon said. He'd never seen anyone get packed up and leave within a minute, much less a gang of four with a yearling child. All in all, he was kind of impressed.

"Did you set that up with them or something?" she said.

"No," he said. "I didn't... The thought never occurred to me. Actually, I had totally forgotten to say anything about early bedtimes at all, we were just lucky that Christa and Zach thought ahead." He was telling the truth, but he had a hunch his wife didn't believe him.

"But it's worked out conveniently, hasn't it," said Caitlyn, giving him a look. "One would almost think it was your birthday instead of mine." Jon felt a moment of freezing panic, that she actually was offended—but then she grinned, a great teasing smile, and his heart beat again.

"Well... Look, Caitlyn. So what if I did arrange a, what, a private 'go home and let us have sex' signal. I wouldn't've given it until you were done with the party anyway—you know that. And, if it turned out that you weren't in the mood or something—" (Which I think is the case.) "—then... Then we wouldn't do anything. Nobody's forcing you to do anything here. Not them, and certainly not me. It's your birthday. You. Everything is about you today."

"Even you getting a new job?" said Caitlyn, though she sounded more perplexed than suspicious.

"Yes, even me getting a new job," Jon said. "Caitlyn, everything I am is about you. Every day when I wake up, when I go to work, when I come home. You. I have the most beautiful, most wonderful, most precious woman in the world, right here in my arms... And it's my responsibility to make all her dreams come true. If you think I don't take that seriously... Well, I wonder why you married me, then. It certainly wasn't because of my skills as a lover."

He was serious, but she smiled. "No, but you aren't bad in that department either."

"Well," he said, and tried not to look smug.

"Anyway," she said, hitching up a little further so her chin was closer to his. "It seems to me that we have a couple hours before you really have to be asleep... And an apartment that, quite suddenly, is empty of guests. Just a husband and wife... Just you and me." Her eyes twinkled with a smile. "What do you think we should do in the meantime?"

"Hmm. Maybe if we, uh, consider the options, something will... Come up?"

She rolled her eyes. "How'd I know you were going to say that."

"Race you to the bed," he said. "Last one there has to do unmentionable things to the other person's unmentionable parts."

She tilted her head. "You do realize that, since I'm lying on top of you, you're a lot more likely to be last."

He tried not to smirk. "The thought had occurred to me."

She grinned. "You're on."

She did, in fact, beat him to the bed. Neither of them had any cause to complain.