Chapter Text
*
Carson stared at her feet, mocking her on the carpet that would need a vacuum because of that one bit of lint against the foot of her vanity. This was bullshit. She hated it.
She was mad.
Actually, she was more angry at her unshaven legs and swollen ankles than the feet she couldn’t reach, to be specific. The frown on her forehead would have been permanently indented into her skin by now and Carson knew she’d been stuck on the edge of their bed in her sweats and hoodie, glaring at her body for oh... half an hour? But if she wasn’t angry, she was going to be depressed. That seemed to be the trend with her mood the last few weeks. She was surely a nightmare to live- nope! Don’t think about that.
Even their elderly cat knew when to curl up in her owner's lap and when to avoid her at all costs. Like now. She had no clue where Kit was. Probably in the laundry hamper again.
The front door sounded and disturbed Carson’s plan to cut off her own legs, preceding Greta’s usual greeting of ‘I’m home, momma!’ and Carson could feel the pressure in her cheeks build. Not again! Fuck, she was going to cry again! For just once, could her body just- just... Not! This was ridiculous!
She didn’t hate their baby, not at all, but Carson hated how out of control of her mind and body she felt. Which alone was a frustrating state of being.
Despite living with her changing body for eight months, she would still forget it was there and bump into things. There was a stupid bird outside the window that sounded too fucking cheery and would not shut up, and every tiny, tiny thing annoyed her, which in itself was infuriating because she knew much of it was irrational. She’d struggle to put anything on the lower half of her body and she felt like a whale and- and...
“Hey there cutie-”
Why!
Why was Greta always so fucking nice to her!?
The tears practically blew from Carson’s eyes and immediately spilled down her cheeks.
“Uh oh...” Greta was beside her in an instant, wrapped herself completely around Carson, who actively silenced the stupid, petulant voice in her head telling her girlfriend to go away! How did she want to crawl inside Greta’s body where everything would be okay, and shove her off the bed at the same time? Ugh... She knew which of those choices was better for her relationship in the long run. So Carson leaned into the arms wrapped around her and whined through her ridiculous tears.
“What’s the matter?” Greta asked kindly and with so much gentle understanding, it made Carson feel like a small child. She was such a pain in the ass. Greta’s seemingly endless supply of patience, of which Carson knew she was the primary consumer, offered a comforting rub at the base of her spine. It felt nice. It was grounding, soothed the tantrum her mind was throwing. Mostly.
“I’m a whale...!”
“Sweetheart, you’re not a whale. You’re-”
“Pregnant! I know! But I’m so sick of not being able to put my shoes on!” Carson waved a hand at her feet that wiggled up and down above the carpet like pool noodles on concrete, the bastards taunting her beyond her reach. “And I have hair on my legs!”
“That’s okay?”
“I don’t like it though! The regrowth is itchy.” Carson grumbled into Greta’s shoulder, not even thinking when she wiped her wet face on her love’s work shirt. “I don’t want it.”
“Okay... How about we have a bath together and I’ll do them for you?”
Carson wasn’t sure they would easily fit in the tub together, but she also didn’t care. The moments Carson looked in the mirror and felt actually attractive were fleeting, and if she couldn’t do it herself for now, at least Greta could.
“Can you do my hair too?” Carson untucked her nose from Greta’s neck, sniffled and almost- okay, she did pout under her very patient girlfriend's chin. She actually didn't need any assistance with her hair, but if Greta was offering... well. Who could blame her?
Greta chuckled and kissed her forehead, “Yes.”
“And rub my ankles? Please?”
She could practically hear the indulgent roll of Greta’s eyes. “Yes... Will it make you feel better?”
“...a little.”
She didn’t want to look at Greta when her long fingers cupped Carson's cheek and tipped her chin. But eventually she lifted her watery eyes up to Greta’s tender gaze. “Not much longer, sweetheart. Chickpea will be here soon and I’ll send you to a spa day or something, okay?”
“...Okay.” She agreed quietly and looked to the floor again; she knew she was bordering on sulking since she couldn’t seem to reign her bottom lip in. One of her toes played with the loose lace of the black work boots Greta was still wearing; she must have gone on site today.
“Can I have a kiss now I’m home? I missed you today,” Greta asked so sweetly, Carson simply had to oblige, “You’re still really pretty, Carson. I think you are.”
“Even if I’m a whale?”
“Yes, but you’re not-” All Carson heard was the ‘yes’, and her face began to fucking leak again. Greta snapped her back into her chest, “Even though you’re not a whale! Shit- Carson!” Carson sniffed the blocked nose - kind of pathetically, if she was honest - when she was pushed by the shoulders to sit back again.
“You’re not a whale.”
“I know... Sorry. I’m just-”
“Hormonal?”
“So damn hormonal,” Carson sighed, her body deflating like a balloon.
“Bath. We’ll get you tidied up and I’ll give you cuddles?”
“Please.”
“Maybe something afterwards?” Greta asked with a familiar, suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows and those chocolate doe eyes that still made Carson tingle. Carson did seriously consider it, but in her current state, she felt far too self conscious.
“Ask me after.”
“Okay,” Greta laid another lingering kiss on her forehead. “I love you?”
“Love you too.”
“Get out of your clothes, I’ll run the bath.”
As expected, they didn’t fit into the tub well.
So the tepid water sat high around them as Greta folded herself into the opposite side, which Carson was sure was uncomfortable for her, and massaged Carson’s feet and ankles, then very kindly shaved her legs.
Carson was disappointed to lose her delightful view of Greta’s naked body across from her when her girlfriend left, wrapped herself in a towel and manoeuvred herself behind Carson to help with her hair. ‘Help’ being a rather loose term. Carson practically liquified under the massaging fingers what worked her scalp into a lather, the thumbs that rubbed circles in the sides of her temples.
Carson felt not only more human by the time Greta had rinsed her hair out, but also much more receptive to that ‘something afterwards’ Greta had mentioned. Her gratitude to her baby’s mom grew into yearning affection, a warm contentedness as she stood and let Greta dry her wet hair with a towel.
“All better?” Greta asked as she flipped the towel over Carson’s shoulders, tucked it tight into her body. Her movement paused when she caught the tell-tale look Carson was giving her.
Carson knew exactly how to get Greta’s attention. It took some time and very open, late night conversations, but she had a much better understanding of Greta’s preferences now.
Carson’s arms snaked around Greta’s slim waist to nudge her partner with her protruding belly, tilted her head back and asked with a very particular neediness in her voice, “Greta... Can you please rub my back?”
Greta’s kink- preference, was very much emotionally driven. Greta loved looking after her, to be a caretaker, a servant to her girlfriend's needs. She enjoyed what it did to Carson’s body - although Greta loved her growing boobs, she had no specific interest in lactation - the femininity of it, the softness and curves. Greta was, after all, as she described herself: a ‘huge lesbian like that’.
If they hadn’t moved fast enough with their relationship, Greta admitted that being able to lean into her desires also gave her a sense of bonding to Carson. That she was committing to something, and the idea of becoming a parent gave her a security that she didn’t often find in the past.
All these things, somehow, enhanced her sexual attraction to Carson’s pregnant body, in the right time and place.
Of course, Carson was perfectly happy to accept if Greta wasn’t up to it. That had been the biggest lesson for her girlfriend to learn: that it was okay to say no to Carson when she was needy like this. But Greta smirked, recognised Carson’s intention by the whine alone. “Can I help?”
“Yeah... I need you.”
Once Carson understood what Greta wanted in here, in this safe and private space between them, it was easy for her to find her own enjoyment of Greta’s attention. To let go and simply trust herself to Greta’s tender care. But only in here. And it wasn’t like this every time. Greta was mindful to step back outside the bedroom, to simply be a doting and equal partner.
Her eyes slipped closed when Greta gave her a little nod and leaned down to kiss her. As requested, long fingers began to knead Carson’s hips, her lower back. Fuck, they felt so good. She didn’t need to open her eyes as Greta guided them out of the bathroom and into their bedroom.
Because where Greta wanted to care for Carson, Carson revelled in the attention. While Greta enjoyed claiming her pregnant girlfriend as her own, Carson loved the commitment. She felt confident Greta would still get what she needed after the baby came. Greta would have the emotional satisfaction in their new family and her sexual desires met in Carson’s changed body. It worked for them, now it had been communicated and understood.
And at this point of her pregnancy, when Carson teetered between wildly horny and miserable about her body, Greta’s attraction to her made Carson feel wonderfully sexy.
Greta practically fell onto the edge of the bed- or maybe Carson pushed her down. Whatever. Both of their towels lay on the floor. Her lover paused for a moment to spread her hands over her belly, to lay a sweet kiss, “Block your ears, Chickpea; I need to look after your momma.”
“Pretty sure Chickpea is already asleep in there.” Carson twirled an auburn curl around her finger.
“Well then,” Greta bit her tongue between smiling teeth. Fuck. There was a wetness between her legs that had nothing to do with the bath Carson had just left. “How can I make you feel better?”
She didn’t have to be coy about it. Nor subtle.
“Can I sit between your legs? I want your hands.”
Greta nodded, “Mm hmm.” She shifted back to the head of the bed, piled up all the pillows and reclined back, her naked legs spread wide. Carson’s pulse raced at the openness of Greta’s centre before her, and had every intention of returning the favour she was asking, but that wasn’t how it worked. It wasn’t entirely selfish though. Greta’s arousal built by taking care of Carson first.
“Come here, babe.”
Beckoning fingers welcomed Carson to between Greta's legs, arms pulled her back against her lover's chest. Perfect. There was always a sweet pause. A moment when Greta would always simply hold her. The ‘I love you’.
Her head fell back against Greta’s shoulder, and she turned to scrape her teeth against Greta's jaw; her hands lifted to Greta's hair, turned her beautiful face down to kiss her, to let Greta drink in her gasp when skillful hands began to roam her body. It was good. So, so good. Carson could let go. Give her body to Greta and her practiced touch that teased her sensitive nipples. Fingers brushed her hip. Slid down, down to exactly where Carson needed them.
All Carson had to do was kiss Greta, to embrace the spreading heat at her centre when her lover's fingers touched her clit. To accept the love Greta offered her. It was so easy.
*
At first Carson felt the nudging pressure in the base of her spine and tightening of her stomach muscles while she sat on the couch, completely engrossed going down the Tik Tok rabbithole and listening to Greta in the shower. It was odd. Not concerning, but it did tickle in her mind.
It came and went. Then it did it again, a tiny bit longer, as the water in the bathroom shut off with a thud.
It- it didn’t hurt, but the next one was more... insistent.
And Carson knew.
She stretched across the sofa for Greta’s phone which she had left on the table, unlocked it and opened up the Contraction Timer App. She had it on her own phone, but Greta would have probably wanted the peace of mind to track them too.
It was about the right time anyway. They were close enough to the due date that they had had their serious conversations, made firm plans. The crib was set up, the cupboard now full of supplies in the spare room. An overnight bag was packed and had been waiting at the end of the bed for two weeks. They’d spoken to their doctor and decided on St Mary’s. It wasn’t the closest hospital, but she liked that it was out of the grimy heart of New York; if it was an emergency, however, Carson conceded that she may not get her wish.
Thankfully the contractions crept up on Carson gently and consistently, and by the time Greta returned to the living room in her cotton sleep shorts and camisole, a towel scrunching the wet tendrils at her shoulder, Carson felt an easy certainty.
“Greta...”
Her girlfriend was on edge these days. Not panicked or necessarily anxious; if anything, Greta was giddily excited to the point of twitchy. She didn’t want to miss anything, which Carson understood.
It was clearly difficult for Greta to leave her in the mornings and head to work once Carson went on leave a week ago. She was surprised Greta hadn’t gotten in trouble with her boss for the amount of times she texted to check in. But they needed her working as long as possible; they’d been careful to ensure they had enough combined savings so Carson could take the last fortnight off and be okay afterwards, and Greta would have at least a week at home after the birth.
Carson was really looking forward to that time at home with Greta and the baby, to settle in as a small family. Sure, it would be sleepless nights and big adjustments, but they were a team. It would be okay.
“Carson? Is it...”
“I think we have movement," Carson agreed, hearing the rest of Greta’s unspoken question. Carson’s circling hand on her belly was slow and soft, the calm resonated around the room. “It’s not time yet though.”
Greta seemed stuck where she stood in the doorway. “Um, what do you need? Should I get dressed?”
Carson just shook her head and waved Greta’s phone at her, “Not yet. Maybe have our stuff ready though.”
Now with a given purpose and the assurance that they had some control over the situation, even if only by timing the contractions, Greta was able to move. She scrubbed at her scalp- something Carson knew she normally didn’t do unless she was late for work. Greta spun on her heel and disappeared into the bathroom again, but was back moments later and made a beeline for the bedroom.
It made Carson smile. She wasn’t in a rush. Not yet. Their baby would come at the right time, and the contractions- if they were actual contractions and not Braxton-Hicks, weren’t uncomfortable yet. Although the way each one ramped up told her that this was not a false alarm.
Greta’s heel emerged from the doorway, followed by her watchful eyes and tangled wet hair. Yes, Carson was still there. It felt like it was time to get up and walk around, maybe head to the bedroom. It would help keep Greta calm if she could actually see her.
So Carson rose and slowly moved around their living room. She turned off the TV, collected the dishes and took them to the sink. Filled up Kit’s food and water. She nearly ran into Greta at the door to the bedroom, correctly assuming that Greta was going to check on her again. Carson held out her phone to Greta, the timer still counting away.
“I’m fine Greta. There’s no point going to the hospital. They aren’t close enough together yet.”
Greta’s shoulders slumped heavily with her deep exhale, her white blouse clenched in her fists.
They’d talked about it; they had their plan.
Greta didn’t have many button up shirts that weren’t for work, but she’d found a plain cotton one in a thrift store on the weekend. They both knew skin-to-skin was important for a newborn and Carson insisted that Greta was ready for that. Carson also made it clear that she was happy if Greta held their baby first. Greta had plenty of sports bras that would do because it wasn’t an unusual thing in a room with a newborn, but the specific act of finding a shirt for the purpose of being able to undo it so she could hold their baby meant something to her.
“I’m okay. I promise. Just... a bit nervous.”
Admittedly, considering how relaxed Greta had been during the preparations, her nerves now were a little unexpected. Greta had been a lighthouse in the storm for months. But Carson knew her anxiety was motivated by love, and she had no doubt that Greta would step up for them when she needed to.
So Carson laid a hand on Greta's chest, felt her take a deep breath. “I know.”
“Just don’t wait for it to get too much; it’s still a bit of a drive.”
Carson didn’t need words, but she did want to share the assurance. It was easy to step into Greta's embrace, as closely as they could with their baby between them. She tucked her head under her chin and enjoyed the feeling of Greta melt around her..
“I promise. We can go a little early if you want. I’m gonna walk around for a bit. Moving helps.”
“Okay.”
Greta didn’t check on her again when Carson began her laps of the apartment. She grabbed a damp cloth from the kitchen and slowly tidied up, wiped things down that probably didn’t need it. Distraction, a little productivity.
The bag was eventually brought from the bedroom to the living room and their clothes placed on the chair at the dining table. And Carson didn’t ask to go to bed despite the very late hour; Greta wouldn’t sleep anyway and Carson wanted to keep moving as the contractions sharpened. She didn’t leave the kitchen when the contractions started to really pick up. She felt Greta’s sidewards glance as she tentatively sipped the coffee Carson ordered her to make. It might be a long night and Greta would need something in her stomach. Carson winced, clutched a hand to her side.
But it was still mostly fine... Until it felt like it wasn’t.
“Okay,” Carson nodded to the floor, her hand gripped on the counter as she waited for a particularly big contraction to fade, soothed by Greta at her side rubbing her back.
“Time?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe she waited a tiny bit too long, because by the time Greta weaved through the late night traffic and pulled into the hospital car park, the pain was definitely worse. As was the case at many hospitals, the first thing that greeted them as they approached the doors of St Mary’s was a tired looking security guard inside the airlock. Understandable for a Friday night.
She thought the guard greeted them, but it was hard to hear beyond the creaking of her tightly grit teeth in her mouth as another contraction washed over her. All Carson could do was cling to Greta’s elbow.
“Woop, best get you inside real quick!” The guard’s pleasant baritone sounded like he’d had a sudden shot of caffeine; thankfully he moved quickly to pull on his retractable lanyard and swipe them in.
Or attempt to.
The red light and mocking jingle of ‘denied access’ made Carson’s eye twitch; she was already sweating, in pain and just waiting for her water to break. This is the last fucking thing they needed!
“Not this again. It’s been playing up all shift.” He said like it was fucking fine! No problem!
“No! No- we’re not fucking doing this in a fucking entry way.” Carson snarled and was aware of the blatant alarm on Greta’s face at her outburst, although Greta bravely kept hold of her hand. “For the love of God, I need you to open that door!”
Maybe the guard felt the sense of urgency, but if he didn’t fucking move faster Carson was going to find it and shove it where the sun did not shine. Carson wanted to kick him in the shins. Pull his legs hairs. Something petty and painful. She was in fucking labour, she was allowed to be a bit murderous.
He tried again, “It’ll go. It’s just being temperamental.”
As visions of having her baby on the floor of the glass airlock flooded Carson’s already distracted mind, and also seemed to drain the blood from Greta’s face in shared panic, the cheerful beeps of access sung out in the tiny space. The heavy door clicked and opened. About fucking time!
If Carson wasn’t so busy having a baby, she’d audit the hell out of them for having faulty access to a main entrance. Greta guided her through towards reception, whether for Carson to get medical assistance or to spare the guard, she wasn’t sure.
Luckily Greta had called ahead on the way out of their apartment; a middle-aged woman swiped a clipboard up from the service desk and greeted them with a friendly smile.
“Miss Shaw?”
“The original. What gave me away?” Carson tried to laugh but her knees nearly caved as a fresh contraction arrived. But Greta was there with her. She was always there.
“Okay! Let’s get you into a room.”
“Thank fuck for that.” Carson grimaced, glad to have both Greta and the nurse now at her elbows. “This may have all started in a fucking elevator, but I’ll be damned if it finishes an airlock.”
Greta giggled beside her and the poor nurse looked very confused.
*
The first thing Carson recognised when the world slowly drifted back was the pain in her back; the twitch of her foot teased the feel of cool, rough cotton over her legs. She knew it was over. She’d had her baby. Her memory was a bit fuzzy though, all her thoughts were, but she only remembered up until just after the birth. The pressure, the release, the hiccupped cries and the kiss Greta had pressed to her hot, sweaty forehead. She remembered that. Afterwards- afterwards... there was nothing.
Distant sounds.
Voices.
Beeps.
Her mind was able to name them now.
A hand holding hers, a thumb moving back and forth over her knuckle. She knew it was Greta. She couldn’t think of anyone else that would be by her side. Nobody that Carson wanted more. She knew deep in her soul that Greta wouldn’t have left her unless she had to.
The burn of white light drew a groan from her chapped lips when her eyes tried to open. She only caught a snapshot of her private room. The flash of a plastic bassinet... She recognised that. It wasn’t even that bright inside and the inky windows hinted at an impending sunrise, but it was all still uncomfortable. It made Carson want to wiggle and scrunch her eyes, to move her body, to feel the bed and sheets, the numbness and discomfort. Her body felt odd. They must have given her some decent painkillers.
“Hey momma,” Greta cooed beside her, the soft whisper a pleasant balm to her ears. Carson rolled her head limply towards the sound and peeped her eyes open, just a little wider. A series of tight blinks, until the sterile walls and blaring LED above became bearable.
Her eyes saw familiar auburn tresses first, the pale arm on the bed and the hand holding her own. Greta’s other hand sat on her lap. Carson smiled dreamily at the bundle of blankets and a shade of pink different to Greta’s pale skin against her chest where her special shirt was fully unbuttoned, hidden beneath a tiny beanie. It was the best thing Carson had ever seen in her life.
“Hi...” Carson croaked and swallowed dryly. Lord, she felt like shit. Something soft pressed into her free arm, a lump that drew her eyes away for a moment: the elephant. Well, Greta did say she won it for the baby.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I got hit by a train.”
“Well you did pass out right after.”
Carson frowned; that explained the missing memory. “Oh... That’s why- That doesn’t sound good.”
“For you, no...” Greta gave her hand a tight squeeze and a wiggle, “No signs of postpartum haemorrhage, but it’s something we have to look out for. They say they’re going to keep you for a few days to monitor.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“I would be too. I think you bruised my hand but that’s nothing compared to what you went through.”
“Not by a long shot.” Carson’s eye flitted down to Greta’s hand; sure enough, a red bruise marked one of her knuckles. “I’m sorry if I said anything horrible.”
“Nothing I took personally. I suspect Charlie’s ears were burning though.”
“I don’t have it in me to be sorry about that.”
Greta’s amused laugh was soft, quiet. It was meant to not disturb the sleeping form tucked into her chest, their baby’s little puffed bottom held in the palm of her mom’s hand beneath the blanket and tiny, clenched pink fists seemed to cling to Greta’s bare collarbone. Carson knew exactly what Greta was thinking when her eyebrows arched in worry.
“Is this still okay Carse? I know you said it was-”
“It’s perfect, babe. I’m not having second thoughts on what we planned.” She gave Greta’s hand a squeeze as best she could; her exhaustion was entirely consuming. No, she didn’t mind Greta being the first to hold their baby at all. “You look happy... being a mom.”
It was true. Sure, yeah, Carson liked the idea of having the first cuddle after birth, being the first to hold their baby after the last nine months. But she also loved Greta, and to give her partner something that Greta couldn’t do for herself... Carson had no qualms about offering Greta all those special moments.
And if they decided to have another, well, Carson could have first contact next time.
“I can’t even describe it, but ‘happy’ doesn’t feel like anywhere near enough. I don’t think I’ve felt anything so... much, before. It’s like a crazy level of bliss. I cried so hard before, Carson, you missed it. Like proper, ugly crying. But even just sitting here with her- it still doesn’t feel real.” Greta frowned and tucked her chin into her chest to look down at her daughter. “Although I suspect her first diaper will bring me right back down to earth.”
Carson had to hold her chuckle down when her stomach muscles reminded her of the ordeal to which they had been subjected.
This was exactly what Carson wanted for her. Carson couldn’t hold her gaze to either Greta or their tiny baby resting peacefully against her mom’s bare chest for more than a few moments. Both pulled at Carson’s attention, her wistful eyes bouncing between the two.
“Is she okay?”
“The nurses and doctor are really happy with her. They’ll be back soon and now you’re awake, they’ll give you a snuggle. Probably try feeding too.”
“I’m fine for you to hold onto her for a bit longer. As long as she has skin-to-skin with one of us...” Carson groaned as she tried to push herself upright in her bed, although didn’t move far. “So, does she look like a Sophie or an Emma?”
Again, Greta regarded the sleeping baby in her hand. Carson missed Greta’s touch when she let go, but couldn’t tear her eyes away when Greta carefully lifted the sleeping infant from her chest and settled her into the crook of her elbow so Carson could see her tiny face. “Looks like Sophie Shaw to me.”
She did. Well, she looked like a fresh newborn, all pink and squishy, and thankfully without any obvious features that resembled her father. But now she could see her, Carson agreed that the name suited. Maybe it was because Greta was holding her, but when Carson looked at Sophie, it didn’t make sense to Carson that Sophie was something that she and Charlie made.
All she could see was her and Greta’s baby girl.
Carson didn't even think when she blurted out, “we can add Gill on the end later. In a year.”
Now that was something they hadn’t fully discussed, but Carson had been set on it for quite a while. A fact that only occurred to her when she realised Greta was staring. Oh well. It made perfect sense to her, regardless of the amount of mind-influencing drugs in her system.
“Carson, you don’t have to...”
Carson reached out a tired arm and gripped her girlfriend's elbow, her finger capturing Sophie's blanket. “Greta, she’s here. Sophie is ours. There are some things that only I can do, like breastfeeding and stuff like that, but you said you were all in. So be all in. You don’t need my permission: you’re her mother too.”
Greta just nibbled on her bottom lip as it quivered, quietly contemplating. “Okay. Shaw-Gill... And maybe that’s something you and I can discuss one day for ourselves too.”
Was Greta-
“Are you asking?”
“Not right now. But I’d like to one day... Just... I need you to know that I want to go down that path.”
Well, Carson had thought about just taking Greta’s name completely. But that was a discussion for much later.
“Me too. I want you to ask me... someday.”
“Someday.”
Carson had never had such a strong desire to try and bottle a single moment in time. This was real. It felt right. Greta had wanted to be with her, even through her pregnancy and the baby’s arrival, right from the very start. And here she was. She was surrounded by truths. That Greta was a part of her life now. The certainty- it filled the room. The certainty that Greta loved her. That Greta loved their baby and would be there for both of them and that Carson wanted to share every bit of that. The good and the bad.
“So what now?”
Carson just smirked at Greta, “Now we cling to each other for survival, because babies turn into toddlers, then children. Lord help us when she’s a teenager and wants to go on a date and gives us attitude.”
“Oh god...Think of the hormones.”
“Yep. It’s you and me, versus the kid, right?”
“Probably. Like you said, G: we’re on the same team. We support each other and she gets to see that... until she realises she’s outnumbered. Or we’re at least drinking buddies once her hormones kick in.”
They both giggled, suddenly silenced when Sophie grizzled in Greta’s arms. Greta didn’t mind though, and smiled softly down at her. “Sounds perfect.”
*
Two years later,
‘Smack’
‘Smack, smack’
Carson adjusted her shoulder against the wall of the elevator in Hughes Emporium, perfectly content to watch Sophie smoosh her face against the glass. They had been riding up and down for the last twenty minutes while they waited for Greta to finish her late afternoon meeting with Vivienne Hughes on the top floor. She never expected to come back here, not to this glass elevator. But Vivienne wanted to renovate her office and had asked for Greta specifically, so Carson took the opportunity to surprise Greta with a visit.
Her daughter giggled every time the lift went down, and half-squatted in her dungarees when it went up. She kept looking up to her momma as if it was new every time, her lips in a ‘oh’ of wonder and her favourite stuffed elephant tucked under her arm. The poor thing was the cheap quality one would find at an amusement park, now riddled with variously coloured stitches when the seams had inevitably came undone.
God help her mothers if they tried to get rid of it. Sophie had yet to name her elephant, but it was easily the most comforting toy for her. She clung to it even more after her beloved Kit passed away a few months ago. It might be time to think about adopting another cat.
Carson didn’t get the chance to change out of her oversized hi-vis drill shirt and boots, having run straight from her shift to collect her daughter from day-care. She still did slightly earlier starts than Greta, which fortunately made the drop-off simple for Greta and Carson was able to pick up little Sophie Shaw-Gill in the afternoon.
It would be much easier once Carson went on leave again and they could forgo child care entirely for a little while. But she was still only in her first trimester.
Greta walked confidently into motherhood from the moment they brought Sophie home; she was completely wrapped around Sophie’s little finger. That wasn’t a surprise to Carson at all; Greta got the family she always wanted. She was a rock for Carson when she had a few months of postnatal depression, and her dedication made Carson a much better partner in return. Carson loved how much Greta put into not just their romantic relationship, not just her love for Sophie as a parent, but their family unit as a whole.
So once the adoption was formalised, and Sophie was legally theirs, Carson waited until Greta’s birthday to broach the topic of another baby. She trusted Greta and her faith in them as a family, as a mother.
Carson’s offer to carry for her took Greta’s elation to a new level; she completely broke down in Carson’s arms until Sophie crawled over to see what had upset her mom. They weren’t upset though. Not a bit. Greta had never really asked or even mentioned the idea, never gave into that need to pass on her genes. Carson knew she was content, perfectly happy with Sophie, but ecstatic at the prospect of another. This just made it so much more special.
The even bigger surprise came from, of all places: Bob.
When she and Greta had shared their plans on a late night video call to her former brother-in-law, but still good friend, they both nearly fell off their seats when Bob so casually offered to be the donor. Dottie didn’t even mind! It was a testament to how genuinely lovely, kind people they were who just wanted to help her and Greta out. It meant Sophie and her new sibling would be also distantly related through their Grandmother.
Not that Carson planned to let Helen anywhere near them, not with that woman’s attitude.
It also meant delaying the unspoken agreement that they would eventually get married. Man, living in New York, taking time off after she gave birth, raising a child... it was fucking expensive. They had to go down the path of IVF twice before it took and that was a huge investment. Carson didn’t regret it at all, but even though they both worked full time, it required a lot of planning and leaning on each other.
So they waited. A small wedding - and they agreed they wanted one - was an expense they could put off, certain in the knowledge that it would happen eventually. But the question was free. Carson was ready. She knew Greta was too... and Carson didn’t want to wait anymore.
Sophie looked up at her momma with her wild coffee waves and light brown eyes; she hadn’t inherited her father’s baby blues.
“Momma!”
Luckily, nobody had yet questioned why there was a toddler having an absolute ball going up and down in the elevator when they stepped in. Every time the doors opened, Sophie was greeted with polite smiles, or friendly little waves, or sometimes a person would crouch down and say hi. Sophie certainly enjoyed showing people her elephant.
A vibration in the canvas pocket of her cargo pants didn’t pull her eyes away from Sophie's grin, but a quick glance at the phone screen told Carson it was showtime. Greta was done with her meeting and waiting on the top floor. Carson reached behind her and punched the unlit button for the top floor, the squatted down. She attracted her daughter's attention with a pair of wiggling fingers, something Sophie always found funny.
“Ready to go?”
Sophie tip-toed in her tiny converses over to her momma, her arms stretched high above her head.
Carson lifted her baby girl onto her popped hip, copping an accidental whack of the toy to her ear. With her daughter tucked into her side, Carson could dig into her opposite pocket for the carefully folded paper she’d swiped from Sophie’s bag when she picked her up earlier.
“You gonna show mom your pretty picture?”
“Mom...” Greedy little fingers reached out for the folded drawing, prompting some amused smiles from the three other ladies in the small space. “Ta!” With little regard for the need to stay on her hip, her daughter leaned across her chest and Carson had to tighten her grip.
“Not yet! If I give it to you now you’re gonna drop it before we see mom.”
With only one floor left to go, Carson had a few moments alone with Sophie to clearly convey her plan to her almost two year old, “this is your first mission as my wingwoman. I’m trusting you with this, alright?” She handed over the paper, which her little girl curiously inspected. “Just don’t eat it.”
The doors opened, as smoothly and silently as the first night, which as a safety advisor was quite pleasing to Carson. The view of an exhausted Greta appeared, her bag half hung on her shoulder and phone still in hand. She was a little better dressed today, devoid of the industrial clothing and boots, looking beautiful in a flowing navy skirt and white sleeveless blouse.
“Mom!” Sophie shrieked, having spotted her favourite person. Carson stepped out onto the pristine white tiles and lowered Sophie to the ground. The middle-aged lady that Carson assumed was Vivienne’s assistant greeted them with a warm smile from her desk.
“Hi baby!”
Carson gave Sophie a little nudge to her backside, thankful the paper was still crumbled in her hand.
“Ta for mom. Show her your picture.”
It never mattered how long or awful her day was: Greta lit up when she saw them. This time was no different. She positively beamed and got down on one knee, her arms open for the toddler running to her with stomping steps and waving arms.
They were such a pair. Best friends that frequently conspired against Carson, despite the fact that Greta seemed to be the sterner of Sophie’s mothers. The bad cop, if you will. But in the same way Carson was soliciting their daughter for her own mischief right now, most of the time, it was Greta that was in cahoots with their little girl.
Carson’s breath caught in her chest when Sophie shoved the paper to her mom’s chin and tried to put her elephant in Greta's lap.
“Did you do a picture for me?” Greta beamed, laying a loud kiss to Sophie’s soft cheek. “We’ll make a designer out of you yet-”
The artwork itself was exactly what one might expect from a toddler with developing motor function. A series of chaotic scribbles of standard fair crayon colours and crinkled edges. Their fridge was littered with them already and they made room every time a new masterpiece was created. Greta even had a picture of one as her phone’s lock screen; a photo of the three of them was reserved for the privacy of the home screen.
But the neat cursive at the bottom of the page, in Carson’s distinct handwriting, was a new edition today:
Mom, will you please marry my momma?
(...Or at least take her home so she doesn't have to propose in the glass elevator?)
Carson knew the moment Greta read it. Absorbed the words. Understood what was happening. Greta didn’t look up, but she did wipe the tears that pooled and threatened to fall. She sniffled and let out a chuckle, soft and a little surprised. As most parents do, Greta shook her head and put on a brave face. Sophie didn’t quite yet understand the difference between happy tears and sad ones; she only recognised the shift. Greta cupped her cheek, rubbed her thumb over the spot where Sophie's dimples occasionally appeared.
“You’re going to be such a beautiful flower girl, my darling Chickpea.”
The acceptance both brewed a storm of excited butterflies in Carson’s stomach, and filled her with relief. She had no reason to be nervous, not with Greta.
“Mom!”
It made Carson smile and Greta laugh, because Sophie's vocabulary was quite limited. Although she was very much the sleep talker, oddly enough. Greta scooped her daughter up, all her prior weariness gone and accepted the needy cuddle Sophie demanded.
“Always baby. Always.” Maybe it was a stalling tactic, a moment for Greta to compose herself before she pinned Carson with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Carson let her head fall back when Greta came near, stopped as close as the toddler between them permitted, “Using my daughter to get your way, Carse?”
“Did it work? It usually does.”
“Yes.”
“You mean...?” Just to be sure. Just so Carson could hear the word.
Oh, a nose scrunch; Greta was definitely pleased. “Yes.”
With a toddler between them and the brush of Greta’s knuckles against her stomach where their baby grew, Carson stretched up to meet Greta’s lips until Sophie wriggled and protested. Carson unhooked the strap of Greta’s bag from her shoulder and took her hand, laced her fingers with her girl- her fiancée. Damn, that felt good to think about.
Carson stabbed the ‘down’ arrow with her thumb and pressed a kiss to the back of Greta’s hand. The doors to Greta’s ‘fancy elevator’, where it all began, opened before them, ready to take them onto their next adventure.
“Ladies first.”
*