Chapter Nineteen: Quinn

Chapter Nineteen

Quinn

“I think we should make this a regular Friday-night occurrence,” Archer says. We’re sitting on the couch, naked and snuggled together with our feet propped up on the coffee table and plates of food on our laps. “I like eating naked.”

“I do too, and I have to say I did a good job on these enchiladas.”

“They taste just like the ones your mom makes,” he tells me, knowing that’s a compliment. My mom is a great cook.

“The recipe is pretty easy to follow,” I confess. “It’s not like a four-course fancy meal or anything, though I think the preparation gives this meal five stars.”

“You could have made me Ramen noodles and it would have been five stars.”

Laughing, I take my last bite and put my plate on the coffee table, reaching over to get my water. Archer gets up to get a second helping, and I shamelessly watch his ass as he walks into the kitchen.

Once we’re done eating, we lounge around a bit and then get dressed to head out. The weather turned overnight, and the air has a cool crispness in it that always excites me. I love the fall.

“Are you hungry for dessert yet?” Archer asks me.

“Oh hell no.” I pat my stomach. “I’m still not used to eating full meals like this.”

“I’m glad you’re able to again. See?” He gently nudges me. “There is light at the end of the tunnel.”

“Yeah. I’m excited to get to that end too. Who do you think Emma will look like?”

“I imagine her to look like you.”

“Me too. And if she were a boy, she’d look like you.”

“That’s how I imagined it too,” he says with a chuckle. “I hope she has your green eyes.”

“Is that possible? I don’t remember anything about genes from the bio class I took in high school.”

“Yeah, it’s possible, but she’s more likely to get brown eyes from me. So, sorry.” He gives me a smile. “I think the percentage is around thirty-eight for green and fifty for brown.”

“That’s higher than I thought you’d say. I do like having green eyes, but I like yours too. Our child will have dark hair, right? How do dominant genes work?”

Archer’s eyes light up. “You really want me to explain it? Because I will.”

“Sure. But don’t get mad if I don’t follow along.”

“I’m happy to repeat myself. I told you, biology fascinates me.”

*

Archer comes to a sudden stop, staring across the street. We’re making our way down Michigan Avenue on our way to the Cheesecake Factory.

“See a ghost?” I ask him.

“That’s Dr. Crawford.”

“Who?”

“The trauma surgeon I wanted to talk to at the convention.”

“Oh! Should we go say hi?”

He shakes his head, looking almost starstruck. “He probably doesn’t remember me.”

I look across the street, guessing Dr. Crawford to be the stuffy looking old man walking next to a thin woman in a red coat. “They’re going into Gucci. Let’s go in.”

“To Gucci?”

“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “I really like their handbags, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten a new one.”

Archer takes my hand as we stop at the crosswalk. “Okay. I guess it won’t hurt to see if he remembers me.”

“Exactly.” Cars zoom by, and a couple of minutes later we cross and enter the store.

“Good evening, Ms. Dawson!” one of the clerks says, looking up from behind the counter.

“How long is a while?” Archer asks, raising his eyebrows. “They know you by name here.”

“I’m very memorable.”

He smiles and steals a glance at Dr. Crawford, who’s standing behind his wife looking bored. I walk past the purses and over to the display of belts the doctor’s wife is looking at. Buying a five-hundred-dollar belt to fit my pregnant belly isn’t something I can rationalize, but I could always buy one for later, right? Anything to try and get Archer an in with the doc.

“I have that one,” I say to whom I assume is Mrs. Crawford. She’s holding a black leather belt with gemstones on the logo. “I always get compliments on it.”

She runs her fingers over the colored stones. “You don’t think it’s a little young for me?”

“Not at all! I think it’d look great on you.”

She smiles. “Thank you for saying that.” Her eyes go to my purse on my shoulder. “I see you have great taste.”

“It’s more like an addiction,” I laugh, and she does too. I turn away from the belts, lusting over pretty much everything in this store, and see Archer looking at shoes, and probably choking over the price tags.

“Find what you’re looking for?” he asks, coming over. His hand settles on my hip.

“I found too much.” I look behind him. “You’d look really good in that suit, you know.”

He smiles and shakes his head. “Give me a year—or two, probably two—to make more than I do as a resident and then we’ll come back here.”

“Deal. Are you going to talk to him?”

“I don’t want to be awkward.”

“You won’t be.” I step forward. “Actually, I do need a new fancy professional outfit to wear when I go talk with those professors from MIT.”

“Already?”

“I’m giving a speech at graduation.” I shake my head. “Unless I chicken out. But that Professor Slughorn guy I told you about has been emailing me about coming in and talking to his class this semester.”

“You should do it,” Archer encourages. “Like you said, you’re in the minority being a successful woman working in the technology field.”

“True. And I haven’t been back to MIT since graduation. It’ll be kinda fun to see the campus again.”

“Excuse me,” Mrs. Crawford says. “I don’t mean to eavesdrop, but did you say you’re giving a commencement speech at MIT’s graduation ceremony?”

“She did.” Archer smiles at me. The way he’s looking at me right now makes my heart skip a beat.

“Our son is graduating high school this year and that’s his top choice.”

“It’s a great school.”

“You went there as well?”

“I did,” I say with a smile. “And I loved it. It opens so many doors and the education is priceless. What’s your son’s area of interest?”

“Algorithms and code or something like that.”

“That’s what I do!” I say a little too excitedly. But hey, if Archer looks cute when he talks about genes, maybe I look cute too? “I work at IGH now overseeing software development as well as creating codes for high-profile clients. Having that MIT degree definitely helped me land the job.”

Mrs. Crawford says, “Barry, this young woman went to MIT. Maybe she has some advice for John.”

Dr. Crawford comes over, a pleasant smile on his face. “Sorry to bombard you while shopping,” he starts. “We’re more than a little excited. Not to be those parents that brag, but John is a smart boy.”

“No worries. I don’t run into too many people around here looking to apply to MIT. It’s exciting!”

“We’re not ashamed to be those parents,” Mrs. Crawford says. “We’re very proud of our son and will take any opportunity we can to help him.”

Archer tips his head down to me. “I think we’ll be like that too.”

I put my hand on my stomach. “I think so too.”

Dr. Crawford’s eyes drop to my middle. “Are you expecting?”

Mrs. Crawford elbows him sharply in the ribs. “You can’t ask people that!”

Archer and I laugh. “I am,” I tell him, and Dr. Crawford looks at Archer, and a spark of recognition crosses his face.

“I know you,” he starts, still staring at Archer.

“We’ve met before,” Archer starts, “at a conference in June.”

“Dr. Jones from Indianapolis,” Dr. Crawford recalls. “Yes. I do remember you. You made quite an impression on Dr. Miller.”

“A good one, I hope,” Archer says and we all laugh.

“Yes, she spoke very highly of you. If I recall correctly, you’re finishing your surgical residency this year and are interested in a trauma fellowship.”

It’s all I can do not to make a weird squeaking noise of excitement. Archer wants this fellowship so bad. It’ll be long hours, hard work, and functioning on little sleep. But if he’s in Chicago, we can live together. He’ll be crazy busy busting his butt to become a trauma surgeon, but we’ll be able to raise Emma as a family under one roof.

“Yes, I am interested.”

“You’re sure you want to do that with a little one on the way?” Dr. Crawford raises his eyebrows. “It’s long hours.”

“It can’t be worse than what I’m working now, can it?” Archer says back with no hesitation.

Dr. Crawford laughs. “I don’t miss my days as a resident. Though at least now you’ve been capped on your hours. Back in my time, there were no regulations.”

“I’ve heard horror stories. The first attending I worked with scared a resident out of the program.”

“If stories can scare a resident, he has no place in surgery in the first place.”

“That was my thought too. And all the stories in the world can’t prepare you for that first time shit goes south.”

Dr. Crawford laughs. “My first day of med school I had two patients die. Completely unrelated and total freak accidents.”

“That’s one hell of an orientation. One of the first surgeries I observed, the surgeon perforated a bowel. None of us were prepared for that smell.”

Both Archer and Dr. Crawford laugh, and I find it oddly sexy to hear him telling what I guess would be considered doctor jokes.

Mrs. Crawford shakes her head and leans into me. “He’ll talk about surgery all day.” She rolls her eyes. “How long ago did you graduate? You look so young.”

“Four years ago.”

“And did you start at IGH right away? John has mentioned that company a few times, so I know it must be good. I’m not the best with technology. I have a hard enough time with my cell phone.”

“I had an internship there and after the year was up, they hired me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know they offered internships. What are the requirements?”

“A college degree for a paid internship, but we do have unpaid interns who basically shadow and help with small tasks. It’s not the most fun, but it looks good on a resume or college application. I can give you my email if you’d like and maybe we can set something up.”

Mrs. Crawford thanks me over and over, and saves my email address in her phone. Archer and Dr. Crawford are still talking about surgery and difficult patients. I get back to shopping, purposely taking my time so Archer has more time to talk with the doc.

We’re finally on the same page. In love, wanting to raise Emma as a family. I don’t think marriage is that far off, though I still want Archer to take his time and make sure this is really what he wants to do.

My mind jumps ahead of me, to accompanying Archer to fancy dinners with the Crawfords. We’re married and have at least two kids at home. Mrs. Crawford talks to me about MIT, and Archer and Dr. Crawford compare days in the OR.

I blink and shake my head. I don’t do fancy dinners like that. I’ll go out on a hot date, don’t get me wrong, but playing the pretentious wife—yeah. That’s not me. I like designer shoes and purses, with the occasional accessory thrown in, but that’s not me and it never will be.

I’m small town born and raised, coming from a large family who had to cut corners and coupons to get by. My dad’s business didn’t take off until my senior year in high school, and when I sold that app, I had no idea what to do with all the money.

I paid off my student loans. And Dean’s. And Logan and Owen’s. Weston’s were taken care of thanks to the US Army, but I would have paid those off too. I gave myself an allowance and then stuck half the money in a savings account and had an investor help me with various investments. It’s nice having disposable income, I won’t lie, but the fancy, stuck-up, I’m-better-than-you-because-I-have-money life isn’t for me, and I sure as hell won’t let Emma grow up thinking that.

Several minutes later, I go to the register and pay for a new pair of shoes. Archer comes up behind me, followed by the Crawfords.

“If you change your mind about the fellowship, you should consider applying at Northwestern,” Dr. Crawford tells Archer. “I’d love to have a surgeon like you on my team.”

“I will consider that. Thank you,” Archer tells him. They shake hands, and Mrs. Crawford thanks me again. Archer keeps a neutral face until we exit the store and make it a good few yards away.

“I have a good feeling about this fellowship now,” he says with a smile.

“Me too. I know it’ll be crappy hours again, but if you’re here, it’ll be okay.”

He tips his head down to mine, pressing a kiss on my forehead. “Yeah. It will be.”

*

“Now this is fucking awesome.” Archer goes to the edge of the rooftop, making my anxiety shoot up, and looks out over the city. There is a patio on the roof of my building, and while it’s usually occupied, we’re some of the only people up here right now.

“It is. But, uh, can you come away from the edge?”

Archer places his hands on the thick cement railing. It comes up past his waist but still makes me nervous. “Does this freak you out?” he asks and leans forward just a bit. I squeeze my eyes closed. He laughs and comes back. “Babe, I’m fine. But I won’t scare you. Raising your blood pressure isn’t good for Emma.”

“So when I’m not pregnant you plan to freak me out?”

“Oh, totally. I might pull a Michael Jackson and dangle Emma off a balcony or something.”

I swat his arm, pursing my lips. “I would kill you.”

He laughs again. “How’d you do it?”

“It’d probably be a messy heat-of-the-moment type of kill.”

“One of the benefits of being a doctor is knowing how to kill people and have it be untraceable.”

“That’s the whole reason you went to med school, isn’t it?”

“Yep. That’s what’s in that storage locker, but the way.”

“Ah-ha,” I laugh. The first time I stayed with him in Indy, I joked about going through his personal possessions, but the majority of incriminating evidence was stored away. “I knew it.”

He pulls the blanket around us both and holds me close. We brought the cheesecake to the roof to eat and haven’t gone back inside yet. It’s breezy and cold up here tonight, making it perfect for snuggling.

“I miss the stars,” I say distantly, looking up. “I don’t see them too often here.”

Archer moves my hair back out of my face. “You miss Eastwood, don’t you?”

“Yes and no. I miss my family and that small-town feeling, as lame as that sounds. But I like it here.”

I like it here because I like my job…which takes me back to the whole being a stay-at-home mom or not. If I decide to stay home, then I’d like to move back to Eastwood. I have Marissa here and a few others from work that I hang out with occasionally, but that’s it. Would I be lonely? I can’t see myself joining a moms group or anything like that, and there’s only one other couple with a baby in the building. Everyone else who lives here is either single or much older.

“I like Eastwood,” Archer says. “And it’s not lame to like the small-town feeling. I like it too. Ever since I was eighteen, it’s had this sense of safety for me. For obvious reasons.” He exhales heavily. “Going back is always a reprieve.”

“Yeah,” I agree, mind whirling. If I lived in Eastwood, I’d have my whole family around to pitch in with Emma too. Mom took Jackson one night a week when he was a newborn to let Wes and Daisy catch up on sleep. Daisy was already on the verge of flaking out, but that one night where she and Wes got to sleep without interruptions probably kept her from going crazy sooner rather than later.

I’d have built-in babysitters when Archer and I went out on dates. Mom would be just minutes away and able to come over whenever I need her. Other than family, there are other reasons I loved Eastwood growing up, and the pro and con list is heavily skewed with pros.

But the hospital in Eastwood is half the size of the one Archer is at now. He wouldn’t be happy there.

“Getting tired?” he asks.

“Kind of. I’m feeling sickly full.”

“Me too. I shouldn’t have had that third piece.”

“I could hardly finish my one and only piece,” I say with a laugh.

Archer kisses my neck and goosebumps break out along my flesh. “Let’s go in.”

He gathers our stuff and I stand, wrapping the blanket around my shoulders. We go back into my apartment and strip down to our underwear and get into bed.

Archer is leaving in the morning, and we won’t see each other again for another week. He has to work next weekend, but I’m coming down to see him anyway. I want to have sex since it’s going to be a good while until he’s naked and on top of me, but dammit, I’m tired.

Yawning, I nestle against my pillow. Archer takes me in his arms, pulling me against his chest. I resituate and listen to his heart beating, slow and steady.

“Babe, if you’re tired you should get ready for bed.”

“I’m not tired,” I grumble.

“Convincing, Quinn.” He tightens his hold on me and kisses me again. “Come on. You’re going to have an even harder time getting up if you wait.”

“I know. I don’t want to stop snuggling.” I let out a breath, knowing he’s right. He gets up first and helps me to my feet. I’m feeling a little sick again and get ready for bed as quickly as possible. I cuddle up under the covers, waiting for Archer to get in bed.

He’s sitting on the side of the bed, checking something on his phone.

“Want to know something pathetic?”

“Sure,” I answer, opening my eyes.

“I have a week of vacation in late October. I forgot about it.”

“How do you forget about vacation?”

“I scheduled it at the beginning of the year. We should do something.”

That perks me up. “Like what?”

“Go somewhere. Just the two of us. Are you able to get off work?”

“It’s a month away, so it shouldn’t be a problem. I don’t take vacations often either. We could go on a babymoon.”

“Babymoon?”

“It’s a word that basically means a couple goes on vacation before the baby is born. A last hurrah, if you will.”

“I like that. What about Hawaii?”

“Heck yes! Have you been? I haven’t.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve always wanted to go. Or we could do Disney. Oh wait, you can’t do rides. I’ll still go if you want to though.”

“I’d be sad not to go on Tower of Terror and Space Mountain if I’m in Disney. But I do think we should take Emma there for her first vacation.”

“Sure. You can pick where to go. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy. Also, I don’t have a passport.”

I laugh. “Get one. Aruba is gorgeous and not in a hurricane zone. Fall is hurricane season for a lot of tropical places.”

“Good point.” He turns off the bedside lamp and spoons his body around mine. “Pick a place and give me the info. I’ll book everything.”

“Hawaii sounds so nice. Laying on the beach in a bikini is my kind of a vacation.”

“Mine too,” he says, snuggling in closer. “Night, babe. I love you.”

I put my hands on top of Archer’s, heart so full it could burst. “Love you too.”