Author: Danilise
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Roswell, its characters and situations, are owned
by the WB. No infringement intended.
Author's Note: This story is the part of an evolving future
storyline that currently includes (in order):
"Decisions," "Looking In," "Christmas
Envy," "From Another Place," "Husbands and
Fathers," "Claudia and Nicole," "Stars,"
"Going Home," "The Ethics Lesson,"
"Redefining Terms," "Beginnings," "First
Date," "A Quality Heart," "In Every
Ending," "Birth," and "Joshua and the
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." More stories may
be forthcoming.
First Date
She was beautiful, Max thought when he saw her step into the
hallway. She looked just like her mother: sparkling dark eyes,
innocent blush staining high cheekbones, long dark hair
glistening in the light, pinned up and sprinkled with flowers....
Liz wore flowers in her hair the day they were married. It was a
cool New Mexico day in the middle of December. Liz was paler than
usual -- a combination of nervousness and morning sickness -- but
so beautiful she stole his breath away. She wore a high-waisted
ivory gown to hide the tiny bump of her pregnancy. And those
silly small flowers in her hair, which had taken so long to
remove.
He remembered the day so clearly: the blue, blue sky, the pale
earth, the sunlight-dappled grass swishing in the breeze, a lone
song-bird somewhere in the bushes out of sight trilling softly.
He remembered watching Maria squeeze Liz’s hand before she
walked down the flower-strewn aisle, watching as Maria smiled and
said something into Liz’s ear, and then watching their
tight, heart-felt hug.
He remembered Michael’s nudge and suggestion that there was
still enough time to change his mind. Then Michael’s mumbled
"kidding" which had been like a kind of blessing.
He remembered seeing Alex Whitman standing not far from Isabel as
always, although a little off to the side because he had arrived
late. Then Alex smiling when he caught his eye, and giving him a
typically-Alex thumbs-up sign, one blood brother to another, a
sign that had been like another blessing.
And then there was Liz, standing at his side, tucking her
small hand in his, standing on tiptoe to whisper to him what
first Isabel then Maria had told her before she walked down the
aisle, that they thought she and Max were meant to be together.
During the ceremony, he saw Liz’s parents holding on to each
other, realizing, he’d suspected, that they were giving
their little girl away for good this time. Although if they had
been honest, they would have admitted that they had given her to
him a long time before that day. He remembered noticing his
parents too: his father looking proud, his mother with happy
tears in her eyes.
But who he remembered most of during the ceremony was Liz, the
bravest woman he had ever known, the one person who knew
everything there was to know about him and still loved him.
What he remembered of what happened after the ceremony was
finally being alone with Liz and trying to unweave the stems of
those silly flowers from her hair. They had turned it into a game
that ended with them tangled up together in the bed-sheets,
laughing with the sheer joy of being together, of being each
other’s forever.
That memory of lying in bed beside Liz on their wedding night
melted into other memories of lying in bed beside her, of
flattening his hand across her growing tummy, listening to Liz’s
giggling protests that he was tickling her. He remembered other
times when he would rub soothing oil on to
her stomach as they were lying in bed, and the two of them would
laugh in surprise when the baby would kick back. And then still
other nights of lying in bed, of being so close to Liz that he
couldn’t tell where he ended and she began, of making love
gently around their baby, of losing himself in her, body and
soul.
Sometimes during those nights in bed together, he would read to
their unborn baby, because he had read somewhere that fetuses
could hear in the womb. He would read everything from Dr. Suess
to Lewis Carroll to Jane Austen to James Joyce to T.S. Eliot,
while Liz ate chocolate ice cream smothered in Tabasco sauce. He
would alternate reading fiction and poetry with reading
recent articles in biology and philosophy, until finally Liz
would set aside her bowl in exasperation and throw her arms
around his neck, kissing him until he stopped reading, telling
him that he was her best friend and she adored him, but he was
driving her insane.
Liz had had her quirks too. Aside from the ice cream with Tabasco
thing, she hadn’t had many food cravings. But she had craved
black-and-white movies, particularly "To Kill A
Mockingbird." They had watched it over and over again,
play-arguing over whether or not to call their daughter Harper or
Jean Louise or Scout, knowing that they would name her after Liz’s
grandmother, whose advice in a way had brought them together.
It hadn’t all been laughter and teasing, although there had
definitely been a lot of laughter and teasing. In the back of
both their minds was the small detail about their being
different.
To reassure themselves that their baby was developing normally,
they would sneak into the hospital using his medical student ID,
and run blood tests. They would bribe the ultrasound technician
to take early breaks and laugh like little children as they
spread lubricant over Liz’s burgeoning belly, then gasp in
awe when they saw their daughter on the little monitor.
And their efforts were rewarded when their healthy baby girl was
born. He remembered Liz giving birth, looking breathtakingly
lovely even though her face was shiny and her hair slicked back
with perspiration. His fingers still tingled at the memory of how
tightly she held his hand the whole time during labor.
He remembered the acting obstetrician, a friend of his from
medical school, telling them to stop staring into each other’s
eyes and then telling Liz to concentrate harder on pushing.
Then their baby had been placed in Liz’s arms, and he had
had to leave because his heart felt like it was going to explode
with all the feelings inside. When he had returned to the room
after swapping test tubes, he had stood frozen in the doorway,
watching Liz holding their baby, marveling at how her plain
wedding band glinted like old gold against the brand-new skin of
their daughter.
And then there was Claudia.
The memories came faster, as fast as a child grows up, in the
blink of an eye. Claudia, learning to talk, to walk, to read.
Claudia, clutching Puckatigga, her stuffed-white rabbit. Claudia
all in pink, dressed as a ballerina, showing off her pliés.
Claudia, terrorizing customers as she and Nicole Guerin, her best
friend in the whole world, raced through her grandparents’
Crashdown Café. Claudia, sitting on the window ledge in the
attic, looking up at the stars. Claudia, looking so much like her
mother, but smiling his own smile back at him. Claudia’s
firsts: a first step, a first tooth, a first day at school, a
first date....
"Dad, you’re staring." Claudia tucked the wisps of
hair that framed her face behind her ears, a gesture she had
inherited from her mother, along with the color and texture of
her hair, her oval face, her petite frame, her pragmatic
intelligence. "Is my date here?"
Max smiled. "I let the grasshopper cool his heels in the
living room." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his
jeans and sat back on his heels, studying Claudia’s face,
wondering if he had the heart to tease her even more. "I
also warned him about what would happen to him if he brought
you home late."
Claudia turned radish-red. "Dad!" She looked
appealingly at her mother. "Mom, don’t let Dad
embarrass me in front of my date."
Liz shot him a scolding look as she tucked her arm in his, then
reassured Claudia, "Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll
make him behave."
After they shut the door behind their daughter and her beau, Max
turned to Liz, all the memories still fresh in his mind. As
always, he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had
ever seen, his forever.
"Hey," he said, one hand coming around her to pull her
into his arms, the other hand reaching up to scoop her hair off
the back of her neck so he could kiss her nape. "Want to
watch "To Kill A Mockingbird" with me?"
And then her soft laugh and a nod as she pulled him with her
towards their bedroom, and he smiled again. She had always been
his forever.