After the End

by Alex Kidwell

  Brady and I moved together easily in the kitchen. I put things away—onions and carrots on the counter, butter and heavy cream into the refrigerator—while he got his pans organized, his knives out, ready to begin cooking. Annabeth had pies cooling on a rack, her contribution to the dinner, and several trays of vegetables and dip, crackers and cheese. The women were in the living room, nibbling on those and talking.

  Brady pulled out the turkey and began chopping herbs to stuff it with. He was so intense, focused completely on what he was doing, every movement sure, nothing wasted. For a while I just sat on a stool out of the way and watched him. With calm, even strokes he moved through an onion, a bundle of herbs, cubing butter, knife flying with ease. It was a dance he knew every step to.

  Six pans were on the stove, the turkey in the oven, before he even stopped for air. I handed him a glass of wine when he finally looked up, and he smiled at me, faintly startled. “I didn’t even see you there,” he admitted, taking a drink.

  “I was very quiet,” I agreed with a smile, tugging him in for a slow kiss. “Can I help at all? I feel like I should chop or stir or something.”

  “Nah.” He nipped my lower lip, and I shivered happily. “It’s pretty easy once I’ve got my prep done.”

  Brady tossed a pan full of browning sausage, glass of wine held loosely in his free hand. I shook my head, giving a soft laugh. “You are so damn sexy when you cook.”

  He looked over at me, a slow smile easing across his lips. “Really?”

  “Oh, yeah. One of these days my legendary self-control is going to fail, and you’ll find yourself in a very awkward position.”

  Lips quirking upwards, he stalked over to me, all long limbs and beautiful grace. His perfectly curled hair became mussed under my fingers as I tangled my hands into it, pulling him in again for a kiss. My back lightly thumped the wall as he leaned in. Our hips angled together, making me gasp quietly. “When I get back,” he promised me, throaty voice sending hop-skip sparks of awareness down my spine, “I think I’ll need to investigate this possibility more thoroughly. Maybe I’ll cook for you, and you can do with me what you will.”

  “That sounds like an excellent plan.”

  A beeping noise interrupted us and Brady cursed under his breath, moving back to the stove to taste and stir, his eyes darting back to me every so often. Both of us were smiling, that blissful look of the very well kissed. Beatrice wandered in for more cheese from the fridge and glanced between the two of us before rolling her eyes. “Oh my God, you two are ridiculous,” she teased.

  “He started it,” I protested, holding up my hands in innocence.

  “Yes, I’m a very wicked man, standing here cooking,” he threw back, grinning so the corners of his eyes crinkled.

  “Whatever,” Beatrice summed up. “Quinn, come out so we can play cards. We need a fourth.”

  She wandered back out, and I straightened my shirt, sliding off of the stool. “I think it just hit me that you’re going to be gone for three days,” I told him, fussing with the buttons so I didn’t have to look up at him. “This sounds stupid, but I… I’m going to miss you.”

  After a moment, Brady said, very quietly, busily stirring a pot I wasn’t sure needed that much of his attention, “It’s not stupid.”

  Rubbing the back of my neck, I took a hesitant step forward. “I mean, I know you’re just dropping Beatrice off. It’s three days, it’s not a big deal. I’m just… I think I’ve gotten used to you being there.”

  He glanced over at me before dropping his eyes again. I could see emotions slide across his face, some too quickly for me to guess at, jaw tightening as he struggled with what he was going to say. “I’ll miss you too,” he settled on at last. I didn’t understand the little jolt of disappointment I felt, like we’d almost reached for something more and then fallen short.

  “It’s only three days,” I said again, reassuring myself and him.

  “It is,” he nodded, dumping clams into the sausage in a buttery, fragrant waterfall. “And hey, maybe you’ll welcome the break, right?”

  My hand rested on his arm, stopping him for a moment. He looked at me, the deep brown of his eyes registering his insecurity. “I’m going to miss you,” I repeated. “I don’t want a break.”

  Surprise tugged at his lips, but before he could say anything, Tracy called my name, Beatrice as well, laughter rounding out their words. Sighing, I gave him a rueful shrug and left him in the kitchen with his pots and pans and the dance he did so well, with the words I felt like we should have said but didn’t quite get out. Too bad I really didn’t know what those would be.

  Tracy and I teamed up against Annabeth and Beatrice. It only took a few hands, and a few glasses of wine, before we were all laughing, the conversation flowing easily. Brady kept poking his head in, wandering over to check my hand, giving Beatrice tips, or stealing some of my drink. In all, it was cozy and relaxed, just a group of people enjoying each other’s company.

  “I’ll get another bottle,” I said, stepping over Beatrice to get to the kitchen. “Since you lushes finished the first.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Beatrice giggled after me. “It must have been someone else who drank your two glasses.”

  “Damn straight.” I grabbed a bottle of white, Brady giving me a look as he pulled the turkey out of the oven.

  “Don’t get drunk, bunch of alcoholics,” he called after me. “Dinner is in twenty.”

  I twisted out the cork and refilled my and Beatrice’s glasses, going to Annabeth and then Tracy. Tracy, however, held her hand over her glass. Her still full glass. Of water. “I’m good,” she told me, striving for casual.

  Thinking quickly, I tried to remember if I’d noticed Tracy drinking anything at all that evening. Anna was on her second glass, Beatrice was as well, Brady and I had shared one and a half, and I’d just refilled. But Tracy had been sipping that glass since we’d gotten there.

  “You’re not drinking?” I frowned at her and Tracy very deliberately didn’t look up at me.

  “Whose deal is it?” she asked.

  Annabeth, voice a bit strained, said, “I think it’s Quinn’s. Quinn, sit down and deal the cards.”

  “You’re not drinking,” I said again, eyes going wide. “Oh my God, you’re not drinking.” There were only two reasons why someone didn’t have a glass of her favorite wine. And she definitely wasn’t on a twelve-step program.

  “Hush,” Tracy told me, but she was fighting a smile. Anna wrapped her arm around Tracy’s waist, hauling her in and kissing her forehead, looking unusually emotional. “Look, we were going to wait until after dinner, Sherlock, but, uh.”

  “Brady! Get in here!” I called, an incredulous look on my face. This was so not happening. Oh my God, I might actually die or faint or something horribly cliché and embarrassing.

  Brady emerged from the kitchen, a streak of flour on his cheek, looking baffled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tracy isn’t drinking.” Now I sounded giddy.

  Pausing, Brady shared a baffled look with Beatrice. “Did we bring the wrong wine?” he ventured.

  Tracy burst out laughing, fingertips pressed to her lips. Anna kissed her shoulder, resting her forehead against it, smiling so hard I swear she was just going to fly away. There was a sharp ache at the back of my throat, a burn at the backs of my eyes.

  “No, I….” Tracy paused, biting her lower lip, pure bliss on her face. “We’re pregnant.”

  There was a pause and then a burst of sound. Brady’s joyful exclamation, my shout. We were hugging and I was crying and Anna was kissing Tracy hard, long fingers tangled into Tracy’s copper waves. Brady kissed me, then, and then Anna, before hugging Beatrice and twirling her around. It was a jubilant explosion that wound up with us all around Tracy and Anna, arms around each other, laughing and all talking over each other.

  “When? I didn’t even know you were trying,” I asked, grinning at her.

  “We didn’t want to say anything until we
knew, it was so up in the air. There’s only a small chance it would have worked, and we only really had the money for two tries. This was the second.” Her hand went to rest over her stomach and I choked back another happy sob, hauling her in more carefully this time.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to be moms,” I whispered and she smiled, pressing her face against my neck. I could feel her tears, too, and we clung to each other, overwhelmed with joy.

  “Okay, well, this calls for a celebration.” Brady’s arm was around my shoulders and he pressed his lips to my temple; I could feel his smile and it warmed me. It added to my happiness until it felt like I could float away on it, like it was big enough, substantial enough, to bear me up. “How about a huge feast? I just so happen to have something just about ready to go.”

  Tracy laughed, fingertips touching Brady’s cheek fondly. “Well, so long as it’s no trouble,” she teased. We set the table in a blur of smiles, settling in while Brady brought out the food. There was turkey and the famous Banner stuffing, carrots and a yam tart, and cranberries Beatrice had made and subsequently hogged. They really were delicious.

  “I’d like to propose a toast.” Annabeth stood, holding Tracy’s hand and her glass aloft. “There are a great many things I could be grateful for this Thanksgiving. New friends,” she tipped her glass to Beatrice, “and new happiness,” a smile at Brady and I; Brady squeezed my hand tightly. “But most of all, I think I’m thankful for my beautiful, brilliant wife and the hope of our child.” Her expression was tender as she looked at Tracy, so much love it was almost painful to see. “To many, many more holidays, and so much more happiness. I love you, Trace.”

  There was a communal aww, and we lifted our glasses as they kissed. Brady leaned over to press his lips to mine lightly and I smiled against it, cupping his cheek.

  I was happy. Wonderfully, completely happy.

  It was a very good day.

  “I DON’T know, Tracy. Do babies really need shoes?” I was flopped across my couch, phone pressed to my ear, Winston resting on my stomach, kneading my chest with rumbling start-and-stop purrs. “Even if they are tiny and cute.”

  “Well, does anyone really need shoes?”

  “Um, yeah.” I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “That’s why they have those signs. You know, no shirt, no shoes, no whatever.”

  “Fine. But our baby isn’t going to go into a convenience store, so shoes are more of a want, really.” I could hear Tracy shifting on the couch, groaning faintly when she moved. Apparently, her morning sickness was more of an evening thing. Annabeth was at the gallery, and Brady was still up at his parents’, so we were commiserating together. “Still, I think I should totally register for them for the baby shower. Seriously, Quinn, they were adorable.”

  “Yes, there are few things more crucial to an infant’s first weeks than pink high-tops.”

  “You have no soul,” she informed me, but she was laughing. “They had rhinestones.”

  “Ah, so they were the unisex ones.”

  “I don’t believe in gender roles, you know that. And neither do you, Mr. Plum-Striped Shirt and skinny jeans.”

  “Hey,” I said, shoulders shaking as I tried not to let my stern voice crack. “You picked that outfit out with me. You said I looked good!”

  “Did I?” Tracy paused for a moment. “Hey, Quinn, Anna’s on the other line. Give me a second.”

  “Sure.” I tipped my head back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s okay, Winston,” I assured the cat, who hadn’t really moved other than to knead his paws against my chest or flip his tail around lazily. “You and me, we’re having fun, right? Just the two of us? Absolutely. Totally bacheloring it up.”

  For example, that afternoon I’d chased Winston around the apartment, trying to brush him out and clip his nails, and then I’d eaten peanut butter from the jar while watching shows on the BBC. We were pretty much living the dream.

  “Sorry about that.” Tracy came back, sounding, just from two minutes worth of talking with Anna, so much happier. “She’s about an hour away from coming home and just wanted to check in.”

  “You are a pretty lucky woman, Mrs. Annabeth.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she sighed, content. And then, of course, “Have you spoken to Brady?”

  I tried not to feel miserable about it. He was due back the next day; it was hardly like he was shipped off to war or something. I was not going to go all pining, Austen novel heroine.

  “He’s texted a few times.” See? Casual. Breezy. That was me. After a beat, though, I sighed. “I miss him.”

  “Aw,” Tracy said, and I could practically hear her smirk. “You’re so cute.”

  “Shut up.”

  “No, really, that’s adorable. You’re all wistful. You should write him long letters about how you’re thinking about wandering aimlessly around a moor, sighing his name.”

  I really shouldn’t be laughing this hard. I was trying to be angry and insulted. “What moor? Where is this moor I’m supposed to be wandering?”

  “I don’t know. I think it’s like a field.”

  “Oh, that’s romantic. I’ll just go aimlessly walking in a field.”

  “Yeah, that loses something in translation,” Tracy agreed. “Maybe you should lock yourself in a tower or something. Or, oh, or you could, like, stand outside his window with a boom box.”

  “Did you just go from Victorian romance to eighties movies?” I shook my head, rubbing a hand through Winston’s fur. “God, you’re insane.”

  Tracy cackled dramatically. “That’s why you love me.”

  “I do,” I told her, sobering just a little. “Love you.”

  “I know, you dork,” she said. “Love you too.”

  “You going to be alright until Anna gets home?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got ginger ale and saltines here, and I’m not moving until she carries me to bed. I’m perfect.”

  “Okay.” I smiled a little, voice getting a bit tender around the edges. “Good night, crazy woman.”

  “Good night. Try not to fall in any moors.”

  We hung up and I let the phone fall by the side of the couch, scrunching myself down further in the cushions. “Well,” I told Winston, his ear flicking toward me. “I guess we really are alone.”

  There was a knock at the door. I looked over toward it, eyebrow raising. “That was a little touch of dramatic irony, wasn’t it, fluffball?” Unsettling Winston from his spot on my stomach, I padded over to the door, pajama pants slung low on my hips, hair all messy from where I kept running my hands through it. I hadn’t actually bothered to shave yet, and I knew I looked completely rumpled and unpresentable, but I figured it’d just be the pizza guy getting lost on his way to the apartment upstairs again. It happened a couple of times a month.

  “Hey, I’m pretty sure you want five-thirteen, not three-fifteen,” I was saying as I swung open the door. And there was Brady, leather jacket and boots and perfect. Oh. Well. “You’re not the pizza guy,” I said dumbly.

  He didn’t say anything at all. Just pushed me inside and kissed me, hard, hand cradling the back of my head, arm wrapped around my waist. After a moment of mental flailing, I melted into him, fingers curling into his jacket, yanking him back when he dared to break away for breath.

  Eventually we did separate, panting and lips swollen, my eyes searching his face. “What the hell?” I managed, but I was grinning, that uncomfortable ache I’d had since saying good-bye to him Friday morning easing a bit. “I thought you weren’t back until tomorrow?”

  “I left early. Couldn’t stand the thought of another night apart.” His thumb brushed my cheek, and he looked so vulnerable. So utterly undone. I instinctively leaned into him, forehead bumping against his.

  “God, I’m glad you’re home,” I told him. Brady chuckled, but it was thin, a little strained. I frowned and pulled back, my hands on his shoulders. “What’s the matter?”

  “Just… I was thinking. I’ve been thinking since Th
anksgiving.” His fingers found mine, absently playing with them, a crease in his forehead as he looked down at them.

  There was a nervous drop in my stomach, liked I’d just stepped forward only to find nothing under my feet. “Oh, Christ,” I murmured, feeling the color drain from my face. “You want to break up.”

  “What?” Shocked, wide eyes went up to mine. “Jesus, Quinn, no. Nothing like that.”

  Releasing the sharp, painful breath I’d been holding, I sagged back against the wall, rubbing a hand through my hair. “Fuck.” I didn’t have any clue what he was leading up to, but God, I was just happy he wasn’t trying to find a nice way to let me down. “Then what is it?” I offered a shaky smile. “You’re scaring me.”

  His arms were around me then, just like that. That warm strength circled me and I leaned into him, clinging to his jacket, burying my face into the curve of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he told me, quietly. “God, this is not how I wanted this to go. I had this whole… I practiced. On the drive back. I had this speech in my head, but then you answered the door and you’re all gorgeous and rumpled and those damn blue eyes and I forgot everything I was going to say.”

  It was kind of strange, to think of Brady Banner as anything less than fully confident. But that’s what he was right then; he was oddly hesitant, slightly awkward. It was endearing in a way Brady hadn’t been very often. He looked so unsure.

  “Okay.” I gently pushed him toward the door. He gave me a baffled look, huffing out a laugh as I closed it in his face.

  “Um, Quinn?” His voice was muffled from the other side, and I smiled faintly.

  “We’re starting over. So you can remember what you wanted to say.”

  There was a pause and I got a bit nervous he’d just leave. But then he knocked, and I opened the door to find him standing there, leaning against the jam, a fond expression on his face. And just like the first time, he drew me in for a kiss; this one, though, was long and lingering, sweet and utterly overwhelming. By the time it ended, all I could manage was a hazy, “Hey,” around the grin spreading across my face.