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Good evening! Thank you all for the comments on the last one, I hope you enjoy this next chapter. Be warned: tis looong.

Disenchanted Lullaby - Chapter 58

It was Saturday night and since I was pretty much alone, I decided that I was long overdue some Beth time. Justin had been home for almost a week and while I was definitely more relaxed than I had been when he was hospitalised, I was still on edge most of the time, trying my hardest to keep everything clean and germ-free as the doctor had advised. Everybody was pretty much on their best behaviour when it came to making a mess, but I still had to clean and dust daily to lessen any risk to Justin's immune system. So I had spent that day cleaning and trying to keep Logan out of trouble. Thankfully he was still in the first throes of addiction to the new Nintendo console and the new songs on the improved Rock Band game so I let him have at it, interrupting him only to wipe down the instruments before he could play again. Do you have any idea of the dirt that's on a games console? Yeugh.

Justin seemed to disapprove of the work I put in to keeping the house clean, but the nurse who had visited twice that week assured me that I was only doing what was necessary, and that my actions were not in vain as Justin had yet to pick up an infection. The night I brought him home from the hospital - which was incidentally Valentine's Day - I was torn between being excited that he was well enough to be discharged, and nervous as hell that his care was now my responsibility.

It had been my genius plan that we would wait until the wee hours of the morning to bring him home, in hopes that the ever-present paparazzi would have retired back under whichever rocks they had crawled out from under to take unflattering pictures of me going to see my hospital-bound boyfriend. It had also been my idea to keep the operation secret from the rest of my family, but Lynn knew something was up when I emerged from the utility room armed with every cleaning product we owned. She didn't comment, merely calling for Rachael to help us. I don't even think Logan noticed a difference in the cleanliness of our home; such is the sweet oblivion of the life of a little boy. I left Rachael and Lynn to continue what I had started while I paid a visit to the hospital, returning to find the house quiet. Assuming that everyone was asleep, I worked late into the night and Lynn and Rachael re-joined me the following morning. Most everything had been dusted, polished, disinfected and changed by dinnertime that evening, and like I said, as I cleaned, I was nervous to the point of feeling kind of nauseous. The house was perfect, Logan had been warned of the consequences of any possible mess caused by his carelessness, our room was as sterile yet comfortable as possible, and the last thing to be re-ordered was, well…me. Daring to look in the mirror, I was what you might call a mess. It had been a while since I had had my hair done or eyebrows waxed, I was rarely in the sun without half a bottle of sunblock on my skin and was subsequently pasty, and it had been a while since I had felt anything other than comfortable in my clothing. And I mean comfortable to sound negative, I rarely felt attractive or even fashionable if I wasn't a little sore in the feet or strapped down around the stomach. A shower was certainly in order, I even went so far as to indulge in some hair-removal, and as I perused our closed, I decided that my comfortable uniform of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt was not appropriate 'welcome home' attire, nor was it in any way suitable for seeing one's beau on the (supposedly) most romantic night of the year. I felt a tad ridiculous picking out a dress and heels to go to the hospital but we were grounding our lives back in normality as much as possible, and I wanted Justin to be as excited about coming home as I was to have him, or more accurately I wanted him to be excited about coming home to me. So, at midnight when I was sure everyone was asleep, I slipped on my short faux-leather jacket over a white cotton dress, slipped my feet into some amazing Louboutin peep toes, grabbed the single red rose that I hoped would either make him laugh or love me just a little bit more, and snuck out of the house.

At one a.m the hospital was eerily deserted, apart from the nurses lingering at each station and some other staff walking the hallways. Nodding with a polite smile at the lady reading from a computer screen behind the desk that was adjacent to Justin's room, I placed a gentle hand on the shoulder of Glen, the security sitting guard at my boyfriend's door, who was an expense insisted on and subsequently picked up by Justin's management and representation. I wondered if they knew that the guards considered this naptime. I quietly informed Glen of our plan before holding up five fingers to signify minutes to the 'clued-in' nurse before knocking lightly on the door. On entry, I had to smile at the figure who turned quickly from where he had been staring at the window. I couldn't help but admire him, all tall, broad shoulders and slim waist, delicious even then. "I didn't see you pull up," He accused with a smile.

"I parked at exit by the catering unit," I smiled mischievously, presenting him with the rose, and scowling audibly when he rolled his eyes, twirling it between his fingertips with a soft laugh. If we were even physically together any February 14th, we didn't usually make a big deal. Maybe dinner, usually just a little late-night alone time. We weren't really about Valentine's Day; it was nice to get flowers or have an excuse to be sappy, but for the most part we tried not to be about organised romance.

"Happy Valentine's Day," He submitted, fighting a grin.

I couldn't resist a slight smirk, "Happy Valentine's Day to you."

Then followed about a minute of silence where we merely grinned at each other. He laughed again when I broke the silence with a playful "Yay" and clapped my hands lightly together.

"You got a date or something?" He cast his eyes from my face to my toes and folded his arms accusingly across his chest after stepping around the bed to stand a mere foot away from me. I dropped my purse on the bed beside the hold-all that seemed to be already packed with his things. "Maybe" was the most playful thing I could come up with. He smirked and expelled a puff of air through his nostrils, "You look nice," He admitted.

"Thanks," I smiled, turning my gaze to his bag, "You all packed?"

"Just waiting for the okay from the doctor. I have to sign something, I think."

I hummed in understanding, opening the door on his bedside cabinet and flicking my eyes around the rest of the room to ensure that he hadn't missed anything when he was packing, "Like a discharge document or whatever?"

"No, like a CD or a poster or whatever," He smiled, "For the daughter."

"Oooh," I nodded in understanding, resting my butt on the edge of the bed, "I hope he's quick, there's nobody outside."

"Awesome; did mom and LJ wait up?"

"I haven't told them you're coming home yet," I admitted, feeling a pang of guilt when he raised an eyebrow at me, "Logan has school tomorrow, and I thought it would be easier if you were home and settled in before any hoopla."

"Hoopla," He mocked with a chuckle, "My mom will have a hernia when she sees me home tomorrow."

We were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, which was followed quickly by a CD-wielding doctor. Behind him came an orderly with a wheelchair and a nurse carrying a clipboard. When both official Justin Timberlake merchandise and discharge papers were signed, the nurse handed me a big ol' bag of drugs and an appointment card with various dates and contact phone numbers on it. My plan worked in that there was no one outside to witness Justin being escorted out of the building in a wheelchair, and no one outside our home as I pulled in, the gates closing comfortably behind us.

I didn't miss the grin that lit his whole face as Justin stepped into our kitchen from the garage after flicking on the light. His eyes darted around the room as if to check for changes; he moved slightly inside to let me step past him, and as I returned my car keys to the cabinet above the sink, he moved to the patio doors, surveying the back yard, still in the dead of night. Suppressing a yawn with my fist over my lips, I used my free hand to lift his bag from where he had dropped it at the door. "Bedtime, honey," I urged, yawning again when he turned to face me, nodding slightly and stretching his arms up and above his head.

He was standing in front of me a few seconds later, coaxing the arm that held his bag to drop it on the floor before his arms came about me, encircling my upper torso as mine went around his neck. Bodies touching from chest to hip, I let my nose hit his shoulder and inhaled, smelling the hospital that had become so familiar. I had seen him every day that he had been in there, but I still missed him. There were lips on my head just as I withdrew slightly to put a hand over his chest, as if to verify that his heart was actually beating as fast as I had thought. His smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he stepped away to lift his bag again. "Glass of water?" I offered, moving to the refrigerator when he nodded. "Don't wake Logan," I called quietly after him as he retreated to the hallway, flashing a tired smile over his shoulder. I know he looked into our son's bedroom but I'm fairly sure he didn't wake him up, judging by Logan's open-mouthed, wide-eyed wonder when he arrived home from school to see his father nonchalantly drinking from a bottle of water by the refrigerator. Justin hadn't been awake for long when I returned with our son, not that I blamed him since I, comparably healthy, was also exhausted after a late night and an early morning. Justin took great delight in surprising his mother, putting his hands over her eyes from behind while she read a magazine at our kitchen table. She was suitably excited but admitted that she knew I had been plotting something. The ensuing chaos was what I had hoped to delay the night before; just because he was well enough to come home didn't mean he was completely recovered or in any way ready for the celebratory activities suggested by various family members. Trace and Elisha had gone to the hospital only to be informed that the patient was no longer there. Needless to say, they weren't impressed. Oops. Apparently they came straight to our house, where Trace bounded upstairs to see his hetero-life mate, leaving Lynn and me to entertain Elisha. Luckily Lynn was great with the conversation since my mind was elsewhere.

We had been warned that Justin's immune system was still weak, and that boundaries were necessary to keep him from being exposed to any kind of infection. Now I know Trace and Elisha were reasonably clean people, but I didn't know who or what they had been in contact with. Maybe I was taking the cleanliness thing a bit far but one night spent with Justin and I actually in the same bed was enough to convince that he wasn't ever allowed to leave again, and for his sake as much as mine, he couldn't get sick again. I was similarly strict with Logan, who was a bigger risk than anyone else having been in contact with a ton of mucky kids in school every day. It wasn't like it was fun for me to spend my day cleaning and running after people with antibacterial products, so I really didn't appreciate anybody telling me to 'relax'. I was thankful when the phone stopped ringing after almost three days of solid calls from people wishing to speak to Justin. I was also glad when Lynn decided to go home to her husband for a while. Paul was saintly in his patience, working in Memphis so that Lynn could be with us, but now that Justin was home and we had nursing staff visiting every couple of days, we were able to function without her, especially since Rachael was also around to help out.

That Saturday night I think Rachael was out getting drunk with her friends and Lynn had called about an hour earlier to check in, informing me that she and Paul were having a long-overdue dinner date that night. Justin and Logan were both asleep so as I said, I was alone, a feeling that had become oddly familiar but that I was still comfortable with, I knew I needed a little quiet time. After showering in the guest bathroom so as not to wake Justin, I settled down to a quiet Saturday night in front of the television. I had slipped on some pyjama pants and a zip-up sweater over a thin camisole, grabbed a stack of magazines and my manicure kit and settled myself in the living room to take care of my hands and feet. Toenails painted and fingernails filed and shaped, I had just curled up on the couch to watch some Tivoed Desperate Housewives, when I heard soft footsteps padding into the room. Justin's face appeared over the back of the couch, his hand gently slipping over the front of the foot that I had pressed against the back of the couch. I probably looked ridiculous, but I was comfy, lying on my back with my legs twisted and my feet in the air. "You want a glass of wine, babe?"

I eyed him suspiciously; he had been in bed with a headache for the greater part of the day, now he wanted to drink? "No thanks," I told him, still confused, "Are you drinking?"

"No, ma'am," He smiled knowingly, walking around the couch and coaxing me to scoot up so he could sit. I forced myself into a more normal, upright position and he shifted closer, his arm going behind my head, "I thought you might want to. You should relax, or something."

"I'm plenty relaxed," I gave in and leaned my weight against his side, grateful that he was starting to smell and feel like himself again. I could feel his hand skim down to my lower back, caressing the skin exposed from where my clothes had ridden up. "I have like, forty hours of TV to catch up on, Annie keeps telling me what happens and ruining everything for me."

A chuckle escaped him, "Did you tape Lost?"

"Yup" I answered, concentrating on the screen.

"Good girl."

My elbow softly hit his ribs; "I hate it when you say that."

His only reply was a laugh, and I could feel the hair being pushed off my forehead and replaced with a kiss. "Wifey," He teased. I hated that one, too.

"Trousersnake," I retaliated nonchalantly, leaning into the kisses he was dropping on my face. With strange ease he had turned our bodies so we faced each other, and suddenly my mind wasn't on those Desperate Housewives any longer. "Should we be doing this?" I pulled away from the kiss that he was trying to coax me into.

His only response was a nod, which I took as my cue to lean into him. I was happy for him to kiss me as long as he was, hoping that I didn't carry too many harmful bacteria. Running my fingers over the soft material of his old cotton t-shirt, I could feel the solidity of the bones in his chest, right up to his collarbone where the pale skin stretched over the strong muscles at the side of his neck. Cool air calmed the flush in my torso when he unzipped my sweatshirt, sliding his hands around my waist and bunching the material of my tank top at my sides. My giggle echoed his when he reached for the elasticised lace on the low neck of my cami, stretching it out towards him to observe the bare skin that lay beneath. The word "pervert" almost escaped me but I was halted; my involuntary shiver could have been from his hands meeting with my bare skin, or just as likely his mouth leaving mine and connecting with my chest. A slight wriggle and our legs were tangled together, my fingers struggled with his shirt, tugging at the hem, pushing underneath, desperately trying to come in contact with bare skin. I needed to touch him properly; I needed to get closer. Had I accepted the glass of wine he offered minutes earlier I might have pounced on him, but somewhere in the back of my head I knew I had to show at least some restraint. There was a jolt in his stomach muscles when I finally flattened my palm on his stomach and managed to drag it north, brushing delicately across his chest and nipples as he pursed his lips along my jaw.

There were hands in my hair and around my face, lips on mine and the smell and the feel of him everywhere, his name falling easily from my mouth amid sighs and what were probably embarrassing whimpers. There was something so wrong about how easily I had forgotten the feeling, the beauty and pride that he elicited in me. I missed this.

"Me too," I heard. Had I said that out loud?

It was he who kicked it up a notch, undoing the draw string on my pyjama pants and dragging them roughly down my hips, awarding me a second to shimmy out of them before gripping my butt and pulling me closer, I think my foot was actually in his lap as his hand tentatively slipped between my thighs, running up and down my skin, forcing them apart. It was made even more torturous by the knowledge that we probably shouldn't have been doing it, but I didn't protest when his fingers found the inside of my underwear and he started to push me towards release. Jesus. My fingers gripped the soft material of his sweatshirt, "You need this," He accused gently, pressing his lips to mine a couple of times.

I tried to grab for his crotch, missing every time he changed the rhythm or force of his fingers on me, eventually he intertwined his free hand with mine and rested our joined fists on my stomach, "You don't?" I managed to question disbelievingly. My heart was beating in my ears, I swear. How did he always manage to render me completely dumb?

"Nuh-uh," He breathed quietly, kissing me again, a little rougher this time, lips smacking loudly against mine, "I can't yet, baby."

"You sure?" I questioned, untangling my hand from his and finally settling it on the goods, squeezing him gently through his sweatpants, where I could very much feel something that I could work with. "We could…"

The involuntary jump of his hips shifted his whole body, "Quit," He scolded, trailing his mouth to my chest in a move that I'm sure he knew would shut me up. He tied me expertly in knots, manipulating me with his hands and trying to calm me with his mouth. Unfair, is what it was, so great was my need for him. Clinging pathetically to him, my hands twisting in the material of his shirt, I tried my best to urge him down over me, wanting to feel the familiar comfort of the pressure of his body on mine. He faltered for a second, anchoring himself backwards and gently scolding me, "Easy, baby."

Some of the pressure I was bearing dissipated slowly as he unravelled the knot he had so effortlessly tied in my core, breathing with me as I rested my weight on him, forehead pressed against his and hands blindly clinging to his face. He even went so far as to dress me again, reaching for my pyjamas and pushing them up my legs before zipping my sweatshirt while I battled for him to keep kissing me. I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me when I tried to pin him against the couch every time he pulled away, suggesting that this might be better taken upstairs. Now don't get me wrong, I fully appreciated the chivalry in Justin's refusal to let me return the favour, but I couldn't help but feel bad because I knew part of Justin had to be embarrassed that we couldn't physically be together the way I, and I hoped he, wanted to be.

When we got upstairs I silently requested that we might continue what we started, but when he admitted that he was tired I merely asked that he would lie with me for a while. Going to sleep together wasn't enough, I didn't want him shifting away from me and onto his back to drift off, I wanted to remember what it was like on those quiet nights when he would press me into the mattress with his body, lying over me protectively, sometimes talking, usually quiet. We were mostly silent except for some bickering when he had to warn me off giving him a hickey; I think I was asleep before he was since I didn't remember him moving off me and on to his side of the bed.

I did need it, needed him. As great as it was to have Lynn's daily support, it was nice for the three of us to be home together again. Quiet, but nice. I didn't feel shy about showing affection in front of Logan or Rachael or whoever, but somehow I felt it inappropriate to be close with Justin when his mother was around. He thought it was ridiculous; hell, Lynn thought it was ridiculous when Justin decided to be a jerk and ask her in front of me if we made her uncomfortable. I guess it was just nice to feel like I wasn't being graded or observed all the time. Maybe I was too hard on her, maybe Lynn wasn't marking an invisible scorecard of my behaviour but considering her past dislike of me, I couldn't help but be a bit suspicious.

There was really little need for her to be around so much when Justin was settled into a routine again. With Rachael picking up the slack, I was even able to take on some work again, operating mostly over the phone or through email, nothing too complicated but enough to keep me busy when Logan was in school and Justin was asleep or otherwise occupied. For the first couple of days he spent a lot of time on the phone, I guess catching up with people after months of being out of contact. Part of me had hoped that his health would be vastly improved after the bone marrow transplant, but we still had a ways to go in terms of building his strength and immune system. He was tired a lot, so when he wasn't actually sleeping he was lying down or lounging on the couch, which was just fine, I was happy as long as he was resting. Thankfully he was more involved and coherent than he had been, in a better mood for conversation than before and so nice company for me when Logan was at school every morning. I missed him, and informed him of that; he wasn't allowed to leave me again, ever.

His greatest distraction was our wedding. He was mostly researching our options at that time and I let him work on it alone so that I could simply 'yay' or 'nay' his findings. The biggest change in our plans was the actual location, Justin decided that he no longer wished to wed in our back yard and instead suggested that we might marry in Memphis. It isn't like I actually minded where we did it as long as Justin awarded himself enough time to gain some strength before we went anywhere, but I couldn't help but think that Lynn had some influence on his idea. He insisted that he had always assumed that he would have his wedding in his hometown, and had seen our back yard only as a convenient setting for a rushed marriage. Now that he was more confident that we didn't need to hurry anything, he had different ideas than those initially suggested.

"When you were a kid or whatever, and you thought about your perfect wedding, how did you think it would be?"

"I don't know," I shrugged, bringing my coffee cup to my lips, "My idea of the perfect wedding has changed a lot since I imagined getting married to Kurt Cobain."

His smirk mirrored mine, "How would that have gone?"

"Not well," I asserted, pursing my lips in thought, "I have no desire to be anything like Courtney Love."

He shot me a small smile, resting his elbows on our kitchen table, "So you never thought about the ice sculptures or releasing of the doves or any of that shit?"

I paused mid-sip to consider it; "I guess when I started to think that we might take that step, I just saw like, you and me, some family, a romantic ceremony with our own vows and everything, maybe outside, at night…" I trailed off, "An amazing dress, of course."

He leaned back in his chair, arm resting across the back of the one beside him, "Of course," He echoed.

We both seemed to fall into our own thoughts for a moment, "At this point I just want to be married, Justin."

His head bobbed in understanding, "I know, that isn't how it should be, though. I know you, I know you want more than what you're pretending to."

I have to say I was slightly offended at that, "I'm not pretending anything," I clarified, arching an eyebrow at him in warning and setting my cup on the table, "Maybe a couple of years ago I thought I wanted something different, but a lot has changed since then. I've changed since then. I want everything to be as perfect as you do, but I don't think over-the-top is the way to go."

He had the good grace to look a little sheepish, "I just want it to be everything you want it to be."

"So stop pushing," I rose from the table, lifting my mug and his and moving towards the sink, "As long as you're there and you can say 'I do', I'm happy."

"That's not how we are, though," He insisted, sweeping his arms slightly, "We're epic. We're dramatic and poetic and all that good shit, bloodshed and bleeding hearts and passion."

He had to be kidding. I emitted what can only be described as an unattractive snort, "We are not. We are…"

"We are what?" He challenged, chin raised and shoulders back in confrontation.

"Simple," I stated eventually, running my hands under the faucet to test the temperature before squeezing some soap onto my palm, "Quiet, private, intimate."

I wouldn't say that Justin was dumbfounded but he was certainly muted, seemingly mulling over what I had said. Maybe he was right; maybe this was a big departure from what I should have wanted or what I would have normally dreamed of, but my priorities had changed. A huge wedding sounded like a lot of drama to me, I had grown protective of our relationship and a big guest list was a sickening idea. I had rarely felt the need to share my personal life with anyone outside our circle; I didn't have a huge family to show him off to and the little family that I did have were barely interested in our relationship. This marriage was not for the Timberlake or Mendell family newsletters, it was not for the cover of People or US Weekly, it was between the two of us, and for the security of a real family for our son.

When I had cleared up some around the kitchen, I joined him at the table, finally breaking the thoughtful silence, "If you want to do it in Memphis, we can," I started, "I really don't mind. Just don't go nuts with it."

"I can keep it simple," He assented, "You, me, Logan… momma and Paul, daddy, Lisa and the boys, grandma and pop, Rachael and her parents, Trace and Elisha and his family, Johnny and maybe Barry, Christine and uncle Jim, the guys from the group and I guess whoever they want to bring, Nick, Marty, Matt and Tim, probably Danny, maybe Amy and Andrew? Then your mom, Liam and Ryan, I guess Rhona and Brandon? Annie, Drew and Rosa, do you want Erika to come out?"

"If she can," I answered quickly, other obvious issues on my mind, like how my wedding was quickly becoming the MTV awards, "That's like sixty people already, Justin, by the time everyone brings a date or whatever."

"That's still a small wedding," He insisted, "If we can keep it around sixty it'll be cool."

"What about my family?" I asked quietly. I was feeling kind of embarrassed, some slight rumblings of pain in my chest.

"Well," He hesitated, "Who else to you want to invite?"

"I don't know," I admitted quietly, because I really didn't know. My family didn't consist of many more people than those who currently lived in my house, but for some reason I suddenly felt the need to compete with Justin's list. "Daddy, for one."

"Your dad," He repeated flatly, "Seriously?" He took my nod as an answer, "You have to be fucking kidding me, Beth. He doesn't do shit but make you miserable, and you want him there? You want it to be private and intimate and you think that'll happen when he's anywhere near us? If he'll even agree to go. And if he refuses that's only going to upset you more."

Finally registering his words, my mouth hung open slightly, I don't know if I was angry on my father's behalf or upset because Justin was right, "He's my father." Was the only real reasoning I had, "You asked me what I saw when I dreamed about getting married, and every time, I saw my father giving me away."

"He gave you away years ago, baby," He interrupted with a sad whine, though I felt his words to be more patronising than sympathetic.

"He should be there."

"Why?" He asked fiercely, "So you can sit him between your mom and Rhona and see who draws blood first? Come on, Beth."

"There's no need to be an asshole about it, Justin." I rose from my seat, hugging my arms around myself when he tried to reach for me, "I know you don't like my dad and I'm aware that my family isn't as close as yours is, but please consider my feelings before reminding me of that fact."

I left the room, I had to. I didn't want to be angry with Justin or with anybody else because I really had no one to place blame on but myself. There were numerous things I could have done to salvage my relationship with my father but I neglected to do anything, I didn't want to. Justin was absolutely right when he said that my father did little else but upset me and that it probably wouldn't contribute any kind of harmony to our nuptials were he to be anywhere near either of his ex wives, and maybe it was stupid and maybe I was just trying to be awkward for argument's sake but I still felt like he should be there.

So I went upstairs and spent some time approving sketches that Trace had brought over the night before, making notes and leaving ideas for him to think about. There were a few things that I simply drew a big X over. Sometimes I wondered where that man's head was when he was designing clothing intended for actual human people to wear.

My stomach churned in dread every time I heard footsteps on the stairs or in the hall, but thankfully I was left alone for a few hours until Rachael poked her head around the door to ask if I needed her to get Logan from school, I guess she wanted to go out or something and didn't really need the added hassle of collecting my son but was still kind enough to offer, though I guess that was what she got paid for. I didn't need her to, I wanted to go myself and I needed to take him with me to get some new uniform and gym clothes for school, since the ones he had were getting short on his ever-growing body, so I let Rachael go and went back to work. I found myself looking at the clock, calculating that I had about another hour before I had to leave for the school, and that it would be around 2.30 in the afternoon in Orlando. Honestly, I was unaware of my father's daily schedule and while I guessed that he was probably working, I didn't see the harm in trying to call his cell. When it went to voicemail I didn't try to leave a message, mostly because I didn't know what to say but also because I didn't want to talk to an answering service, I wanted to gauge my father's reaction in an actual conversation. Putting that idea out of my head, I ventured downstairs, and in seeing no sign of Justin in the kitchen I set about fixing him something to eat.

He was on the phone in his office when I entered, setting the small plate in front of him with a glass of water. I mouthed "Logan" and pointed over my shoulder as if to signal that I was leaving. As I turned to go I felt him grab my wrist and pull me back, kissing the back of my hand and settling a questioning gaze on my face, eyes searching mine for some kind of assent. A slight smile was all I had to offer; I wasn't quite sure how I felt about the situation yet, but I was starting to think that it was one more thing to add to the mounting frustration and anxiety I felt about our wedding.

My heart was in my mouth when my cell phone screen flashed 'Dad cell' just as I was climbing out of the car at the school, I contemplated not answering but was so surprised that he had actually returned my call that I decided to bite the bullet and hit the 'accept' button on my phone. "Hello?"

"Elizabeth?"

"Hi, daddy," I curbed the sigh that threatened to erupt at the use of my birth name and his always-stern tone. "How are you?"

"You called me," He observed, ignoring my question, "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," I assured, stalking quickly across the parking lot of the school with my head down. I didn't wish the other parents to know my business so I stayed outside; I hate people who talk on their phones in the lobby. "I just wanted to catch up, it's been a while."

"I hear you're getting married," He told me abruptly.

"I am," Were the only words I could come up with.

"To Timberlake?"

"Yes," I managed to keep the frustration out of my tone of voice, instead taking it out on my hair, pulling on the ends as I leaned back against the wall of the building, "Obviously to Justin. I actually wanted to know if you'd like to come, we're thinking about a September date, possibly in Memphis."

There was a silence that had me cringing, crouching against the wall of my son's school as if I wished I could disappear into it.

"And is this call some kind of financial request?" He asked finally.

"No!" I said a little louder than I had intended, "I don't need money from you, daddy, I have a job, Justin has a job, how can you-"

"It seems long overdue," He interrupted, seeming to have resorted to just listing problems as they came to him, "It has taken that boy several years to do the right thing, I hope you're taking the correct legal steps with regards to a prenuptial agreement."

"We've been together this long," I pointed out, "And we're still happy. Doesn't that show you anything?"

"I think you lose all logic when it comes to him," He continued, "You may think you're happy now, but this will not end well for you and you will need security after the fact."

"And which fact is that?"

"Divorce. Single motherhood."

"That won't happen," I insisted, "And even if it did, I have a job, I have security, and Logan is Justin's first priority, even if he didn't support me, he'd never desert Logan."

So maybe I had considered it a little, but that's not to say that I believed that it would actually happen.

"Is that intended to make me feel guilty?" He questioned with some incredulity.

"No, daddy," I told him softly, "I had intended to ask you to my wedding. I thought that maybe you could swallow your pride long enough to walk me down the aisle, but I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. I would like for you to be there and I'll mail you an invitation when everything is finalised. If you choose not to go, well, it's not okay but I'll still be getting married and I'll still be happy with or without your support. I have to get my son from school but maybe I'll hear from you soon. Bye."

With that I hung up the phone, angry with myself for trembling so openly. Taking a few moments to collect myself, I could see kids already filing out of the front door with their parents, and since I really didn't wish the other moms to feel any more disdain for me than they already did, I pasted a smile on my face, put a spring in my step and sauntered into the foyer of the school, took my little boy's hand and pretended that everything was much more perfect than it really was.

It was almost six o'clock when we finally returned home, having bought both uniform and casual clothes for Logan and some new underwear and socks for his dad. Mom didn't feel like trying on clothes so she treated herself to some ice cream in Whole Foods while picking up some other food to stock our almost bare pantry. If Mom kept comfort eating and talking about herself in the third person she would end up fat as well as crazy. In truth I was ready for something stronger than ice cream by the time we finally arrived home. Logan chose that day to completely drive me insane, whining and bitching about how long everything was taking and how hot it was in the store and how he was bored and he wanted to go home and he didn't even need new uniform…I was so close to strangling him I should probably feel ashamed.

It was frustrating enough trying to shop without listening to him whine and embarrass me in front of judgemental store assistants. Even more frustrating were the constant plagues of genius comments and comebacks that would have been perfect in conversations like the one I had with my dad, hours after said conversation had ended. There were so many things I could have said to him, "Do you even know that I have a son?" "Did you know that my boyfriend has leukaemia?" "Do you have even a tiny idea how my life is at the minute or any inkling that I might have needed you?" Even more frustrating was the fact that I had no right to even be upset because Justin had warned me exactly what would happen, and he was right.

"You still mad at me?" He enquired, standing close in front of me when I turned from the stove, our dinner sizzling and steaming behind us.

"I wasn't," I insisted, gripping each side of his zip-up sweater as it lay open, and pulling on them slightly, running my thumbs across the little teeth that joined when it was closed.

"You're upset," He observed, hands going to my shoulders and kneading there as he cast a quick glance to the table, where Logan was diligently doing homework, sometimes talking aloud to himself, "I'm sorry, this was what I was trying to avoid, I'm trying to stop you getting hurt."

"I called him," I admitted quietly, "He was…less than supportive. You were right."

"That doesn't make me feel good," He assured, "I didn't want to be right, sweetheart, I just didn't want you to even have to ask him."

Leaning forward slightly, I pressed my nose into the solidity of his chest, inhaling with comfort when I felt the warmth of his palms on the small of my back, "I told him he was invited but it's up to him if he wants to go. I guess my mom could give me away, or something."

"I don't know that anybody has to," I heard, shivering slightly as my hair was scooped up from around my shoulders and a kiss hit my shoulder, "If somebody gives you away it's supposed to symbolise that they have you in some way, and since you're already mine," I could hear a slight smile in his voice, "I think it's more appropriate or symbolic or whatever if you walk yourself down."

"I guess," I relented, quietly fearing that I would feel really stupid walking down the aisle by myself. Really, I didn't have the energy to even worry about that, so much was the weight of my father's persistent disapproval. It was always something I tried not to think of, and I definitely didn't need anybody's consent when it came to my relationship or my upcoming marriage, but it would have been nice to have some extra support from my side of the family.

Logan's request for help separated us; I checked on our food while Justin moved to the table to look over the work our son had completed this far. Could I tell the time when I was in first grade? Probably not. A lot of what he was studying seemed a bit advanced but he seemed to be handling most of it okay, and I guess the teachers knew better than I did. Thankfully we had the schoolwork cleared up before we ate, and over dinner I found myself cornered into more wedding conversation.

"There's a little bandstand by the river a couple of miles from my grandma's," Justin started, "We could get it cleaned up and put some cool lights on it, then we could have like, a couple seats or whatever for the guests with a carpet down the middle for the aisle, we could do it at sundown or something. Then I figure we just get a reception room at a hotel or wherever for the meal and the party."

"That sounds okay," I relented, pushing my fork through my food, not really hungry but aware that I should probably eat something, "Wouldn't people be able to see everything if we're outside, though?" I explained rather unclearly but he knew what I meant.

"Nobody even has to know what we're doing until it's all actually happening, they won't even know we're there."

"Why can't people see it?" Logan interjected, seemingly confused by the whole thing.

"We don't want strangers taking pictures," Justin clarified, "Just people who are our friends."

That appeared to satisfy his curiosity as he continued to eat. Justin and I shared an amused look.

"But if you invite all those famous guys, it makes it more likely that people will know something's going on," I pointed out, "If they can follow one of them, they'll find us, and if it's outside there's no way of hiding."

"I can't help it if some of my friends are well known," He said with his mouth full, "And you said you wanted to do it outside."

"Ideally," I specified, "But obviously everything isn't going to be exactly as we want it to be."

He swallowed quickly and kept his eyes on his plate, his voice low, "It'd be easier if you would stop putting blocks in front of everything I suggest."

I raised an eyebrow and cast my gaze quickly to my son, who wasn't as oblivious as I hoped, "Logan, if you're finished can you take your books upstairs and fix your schoolbag for tomorrow, please? I'll be up in a minute."

He sighed in such a bratty way that I found myself counting to ten; we had already had words when we arrived home, he knew I was already pissed off, which is why I'm guessing he didn't verbalise his disgust at being sent upstairs.

"I am not 'putting blocks' in front of anything," I hissed when I was sure Logan was out of earshot, "I'm trying to stop this wedding from becoming a circus, but if you want to invite everybody you know, go ahead, you know that I'm going to be there anyway no matter where it is or who is there to watch, so stop asking for my opinion when it's obvious that you're going to do what you want regardless of how I might feel about it."

He sighed in what seemed to be frustration but remained silent, moving to help me clear the table. When both your son and boyfriend are giving you attitude, you can't help but wonder if you're the common problem. I let it go, leaving Justin to clean up while I wrestled Logan into the bathtub, letting him splash around with some of his little boats and crap before drying him off and getting him into some pyjamas. Justin sat silently on the end of the bed as I dried our son's hair. Maybe I was being a little rough with my hands but it's not as if I was beating the kid. When Justin placed a stern hand over the blow-drier I shot him a look but relented, handing it over. I didn't have the energy for this any more. Kissing the little brat on the head - I knew I probably shouldn't let him go to sleep thinking that I wished physical harm upon him - I made a sharp exit, tossing a 'goodnight' over my shoulder. Justin caught me downstairs shoving a cookie in my mouth but didn't dare to comment, just watched as I chewed, swallowed and licked the chocolate off my fingers. I had planned to set up the ironing board in front of the television, primarily to press Logan's new uniform but also to tackle the mound of washing that had appeared in Lynn's absence, and moved to do so with him on my heels.

"I was thinking," He started, leaning sideways against the doorframe between our kitchen and utility room as I struggled to remove the ironing board from the cleaning cupboard. He gave me a few seconds before easing me out of the way and lifting it out himself, broom, dustpan and other items clattering within the cupboard as he removed it, "If we invite people to a party in Memphis-"

"Are you really bringing this up again?" I interrupted, taking the board from him and dragging it into the living room.

"Yes," He was insistent, "We don't have to say what it's for, we can come up with an excuse…and we get married in front of our folks and some family during the day," He followed me back to the kitchen where I handed him a basket of laundry while I lifted the iron, "Or the day before even, we can announce it at the party and celebrate it with everybody else then, we'll already be married and we won't be offending anybody by not inviting them."

"Whatever you want, Justin," By this time we had returned to the living room, where I switched on the television before grabbing for the remote, hoping that the noise from the news programme I turned to would stem the conversation.

"I want you to care about this," He said pointedly, standing on the other side of the ironing board and flattening his palms against it, getting pretty much in my face.

"I care," I insisted, turning to lift a shirt from the laundry basket, "That sounds like a good idea."

"I feel like you're just saying that to get me to leave it alone."

I fought a smile, "Is it working?"

"Beth," He pleaded.

My mood softened and I pondered the idea for a moment, thinking that it might actually work for me. I thought I would be more comfortable with that kind of set-up, anyway. "I'm happy with that," I relented, "If you're happy to have a smaller, private wedding and a bigger reception, then I guess we both get what we want."

His teeth bared in a smile, "You sure?"

"As long as you are," I cast my eyes to the ironing board, "Yeah."

"I feel like you're not excited any more," He observed, "Like maybe you don't even want to do this."

I shot him a look that I hoped conveyed how stupid I found that statement; lips pursed, eyebrow raised, hand on hip. I had to step around the laundry to actually get in front of him, settling my palms flat on his chest in an attempt to add some physical comfort to my words, "I want to be married to you. I'm sorry if it bothers you that I'm protective of that, that I don't feel like anybody else should be involved in it. I also understand that you feel differently about it than I do. So as long as you're satisfied with a small wedding and a slightly bigger party - emphasis on the slightly," I smirked and relaxed my shoulders as his hands came around my back, "I'm happy with that. Like I said, I just want to be married to you, overzealous, over-the-top tendencies and all."

"Cute," He breathed with a smile, "I just want to be married to you too, stubborn, paranoid tendencies and all."

I could have socked him one in the chest for that but I didn't, deciding that I had been awkward enough for one day and that I should be seeking comfort in him for my troubles instead of making him the target for my frustration. When it came down to it, regardless of what I thought should be happening or who I thought I needed in my life, I had my son and I would soon have my husband. That would be more than enough.