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Chapter Text

Ashley Spinelli let out an exhausted sigh as she entered her home—the exhaustion coming from both the long day and her mother’s annoying personality. She could hear her mom singing along to oldies in the kitchen. A whiff of something awful reached her nostrils and she resisted the urge to barf.

“Mom, did Teej call?” she called out, letting her arrival be known.

“Well, hello to you too,” replied her mother, turning down her music.

“Hi,” said Spinelli, irritation in her voice. She threw her bag onto the couch and slumped down next to it. “Did T.J. call?”

“No, he didn’t call,” said her mother. “Let that boy be—he’s under enough stress as it is.” Spinelli rolled her eyes at that; why was her boyfriend suddenly the favorite in the family? It wasn’t like she got pregnant alone. “How was school?”

“It was fine, mom,” she said, grabbing the remote and turning on the tv. She had no interest in watching anything—only to block the sound of her mother and that God-awful music.

“And work?” continued her mother.

She groaned. “Fine, mom.” She placed the remote on her expanding stomach and watched as the baby made it wobble. T.J. told her the other night it would grow up to be a kickball star, and she was inclined to agree.

“We’re having meatloaf for dinner,” said her mother.

She said nothing in response, but the smell of it told her she would be skipping dinner that night.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. I ran into Muriel the other day at the supermarket.”

“Who?” asked Spinelli, raising an eyebrow.

“Muriel Finster,” said her mother, leaving the kitchen and entering the living room. “Your fifth-grade teacher, remember? I invited her to dinner tonight.” She glanced at her daughter, specifically the remote on her stomach. “Ashley, sweetie, get the remote off your belly. That can’t be good for the baby.”

Spinelli clicked the tv off and threw the remote next to her bag.

“You did what?”

“Don’t worry,” said her mother, walking back into the kitchen. “I explained your little... situation. She was very understanding about it all.”

She groaned and pulled out her flip phone. Since telling her mom about the pregnancy, all she did was gossip to her friends about it. She hated T.J. for making her tell her parents about the pregnancy. ‘SOS,’ she texted T.J.

‘???,’ T.J. texted back. And then quickly right after: ‘R U OK? Is bby OK?’

She groaned, lifting herself off the couch, and dialed his number into her phone. “Hey—yeah, I’m fine. I just... could you come over.” As she entered her bedroom, her mother began to sing again, turning up her tunes on the radio. “Yeah, Flo’s bugging again. And get this, she invited Finster over for dinner—yeah, how is she not dead yet?” She kicked her shoes off and plopped down onto the bed. “Well, when do you get off work—what do you mean an hour ago? I thought you said you’d come over right after.” She felt the baby kick and she mindlessly placed a hand on her belly. “No... I don’t need anything. Yeah, okay.”

The doorbell rang and she heard the crackly old voice of her fifth-grade teacher greet her mother in the distance.

“Oh, Ashley,” called her mother. “Come out here and say hello.”

“She’s here. I gotta go,” said Spinelli to T.J. “Thanks, I’ll need it.”

“Ashley, sweetie,” called her mother again.

“Get here fast,” she begged T.J. before hanging up.

She glanced at her swollen ankles as she stood. Her body ached and all she wanted to do was lay in bed until she fell asleep. When she arrived back into the living room, she noticed her mother had moved her bag off the couch and onto the hanging rack near the door, and Finster now resided in that seat. She and her mother were distracted, laughing about one thing or another.

Her mother caught sight of her first. “Nice of you to join us,” she said. Spinelli felt like screaming.

Finster turned to her. First looking at her pregnant teenage belly, like everyone else did, and then at her face. “Spinelli,” she greeted, “or do you go by Ashley these days?”

“Spinelli’s fine, Miss Finster.”

“Oh, you can call me Muriel,” she said. “I’m not your teacher anymore.”

“I’d rather die, thanks, Miss Finster,” she said.

“Ashley,” said her mother, shooting her a disapproving look. “Well, dinner’s just about ready. Shall we head to the kitchen?”

“Great, I’m starved,” said Finster as they both stood and quickly made their way into the kitchen. Spinelli trudged along behind them.

“Ashley, sweetie, would you be a dear and set the table,” said her mother. “Bob won’t be able to join us. He got held up at work.”

“Oh, that’s unfortunate,” said Finster.

“Yeah, really unfortunate,” mumbled Spinelli, grabbing the silverware out of the drawer. She reached the table and began aggressively placing forks and butter knives down. “Guy finds out his daughter isn’t the Virgin Mary and suddenly he gets held up at work all the time.”

“You cut that attitude right now, young missy,” said her mother. “I don’t want to have to tell you again.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

She kept quiet during dinner, mostly playing with her food and resisting the urge to barf all over it, while her mother and Finster talked themselves silly. Midway through dinner, though, while Finster was going on about some boring story, the doorbell rang, and Spinelli sprung from her seat to answer it.

“I’ll get it,” she said.

She opened the front door and kissed the man behind it. T.J. found her passionate greeting most enjoying.

“Who’s at the door, Ash?”

“It’s T.J., mom,” she said, taking him by the hand and dragging him to her room.

“Hello, Mrs. Spinelli,” T.J. called out.

“T.J., come join us. We’ve got plenty of food.”

“We’re not hungry, mom,” said Spinelli. “We’re just gonna hang out in my room, okay?”

“Well, okay. I guess that’s alright. But keep your door open.”

“What’re we gonna do, mom? I’m already pregnant.”

Still, she abided and left the door wide open. She flopped onto the bed and lifted her foot. “Rub my feet will ya, I’ve been on them all day.” T.J. grabbed her foot and obliged. “What’d I miss today?” she asked.

“Nothing really,” he said. “We had a pop quiz in 4th... And some freshmen kids got into a big fight in the cafeteria. Nearly put the place on lockdown because of it. How was work?”

She shrugged, emptying her pockets. “I’m making better tips now that I’m showing. I guess they take pity on the rowdy teenage pregnant waitress.”

“How much?”

“About ninety, give or take,” she said. “I spent seven of it on a coke and some chili fries. But I get paid Friday.”

“Even with all that, we’ll still be two hundred short,” he said.

“Damn,” she muttered. “Can’t you talk to the guy—explain what our situation is?”

“I did,” said T.J. “He said, ‘Welcome to the real world, kid.’ And hung up on me. If we don’t come up with the money by tomorrow, he’s giving the place to someone else.”

“Man,” she said with a groan. “Bob can’t even be in the same room with me, let alone look me in the eyes. And Flo’s constantly breathing over my neck, nagging at every little thing I do. Honestly, I’d rather live in your busty old van than here.”

“How fitting. He can be born in the exact same car he was made in.”

Despite herself, she laughed, but then her expression turned serious and she grabbed his hands firmly. “Promise me something, Teej. Promise me we’ll be out of here when my eighteenth birthday comes around. I think I’ll go insane if I’m here for much longer.”

He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her eyes and kissed her. “I promise, Ash,” he said. “But apartments aren’t cheap. It’ll take a few months.”

“I’ve already quit school and started working full-time,” she said. “And once you—”

A knock on her open door interrupted her and they both turned to see Finster, in her large form, standing at the doorway.

“Say, you kids happen to know where the bathroom is?” she asked awkwardly. “Your mom gave me directions, but I kinda got turned around.”

“Next door on the left,” said T.J.

“Thanks, Detweiler,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I, uh, couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation...”

Great, thought Spinelli. Now she was going to tell her mom their plan about bailing and ruin the whole thing. “Yeah, so?” said Spinelli.

“If you’re looking for a pad, I got an extra room in the basement I’d be happy to rent out.”

“What? Really?” said T.J., taken aback. “How much?”

“Oh, I’m thinking about two fifty a month.”

“The other place is asking for three times that, Ash,” he told Spinelli.

“What’re you doing?” said Spinelli, crossing her arms. “This is clearly a trap—look whatever trick you have planned for us… we’re not buying into it. Just go tell my mom already.”

“If you ask me, I think this should be on the down low for right now,” she said. “You can scope out the place Friday. It’s poker night, so come with your wallets full and your stomachs empty.”

Spinelli gaped at her.

“We’ll be there, Ms. Finster,” said T.J.

Finster nodded and headed for to the bathroom.

“What’re you doing? Are you crazy?” said Spinelli. “I don’t want to live with Finster. That’s worse than both our parents combined!”

“It wouldn’t hurt to check out the place,” said T.J. “Two fifty a month—you gotta admit that’s a pretty good deal.”

“Yeah, well... I guess.” She lifted her foot and he began to massage it again. “But if she makes me do another luau while we’re there, you’re getting punished for it, mister.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Spinelli,” he said. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Chapter Text

Spinelli and T.J. approached the home cautiously. It looked like how she remembered—same paint, though chipped; same brown door with the small entrance for stray cats to come in at the bottom. As they walked up the steps, a large grey cat emerged from the bushes and hissed at them before entering Finster's home.

"What're the chances this is all a trap and behind those doors is our death?" said Spinelli.

"It can't be that bad," said T.J., though his voice showed doubt. He reached to knock on the door, but Spinelli stopped him.

"Teej, wait," she said. "You haven't been here before, so I gotta warn ya, it's unbelievably dull. We go in and we might not come out the same."

"Relax, Ash," he said. "We'll be in and out like that." He snapped his fingers to emphasize his words. "Before you know it, we'll be in the car heading to the game."

He knocked confidently, and they waited.

The door swung open and Finster greeted them in her scratchy old voice: "Glad you could make it," she said, leading them inside. "Pop a squat, you two. I'll deal you in." She made her way to the poker table that occupied the center of the room. They recognized Principal Prickley's old secretary, Miss Lemon, sitting in one of the chairs around it with a cigarette in her hand. "You remember Lemon, don't you?"

"Uh... Yeah," said T.J. "Hi, Miss Lemon. Nice to see you again."

Lemon glanced their way, her eyes finding Spinelli's pregnant belly. Spinelli rolled her eyes. Why did it have to be the first thing people looked at? Lemon huffed her cigarette, and breathed out the smoke from it. "I ain't putting this out," she told her.

"I've got a casserole heating up in the oven," said Finster. She sat down next to Lemon and started shuffling the cards. Spinelli and T.J. remained quiet near the door. Finster glanced their way. "Shouldn't be too long now. Come on. Take a seat. Take a load off, kids."

"Uh, actually, Miss Finster... we were wondering if we could just see the room. We're actually on our way to Vince's game."

"Alright, suit yourself," she said, standing. "Follow me. It's just down here—if Pete or Hank get here, just let 'em in, will ya Marge?"

"Sure thing, Muriel," said Lemon.

Finster grabbed a single key hanging by the door and led them to a dark brown door at the far end of her house. She jiggled the key inside and pushed the door open with her shoulder. Switching on the light, T.J. and Spinelli followed her down the steps into the basement.

Spinelli felt a chill reach her as they descended. She shivered and T.J., taking notice, pulled her in close to him.

"Well, this is it," said Finster, taking in the room.

Boxes stacked one on top of the other filled one wall. A record player, with a bag full of records, sat on top of an old vintage television near it. A small bathroom occupied the space below the stairs with a dryer on top of a washer next to it. The bed squeezed in the corner in between the laundry machines and a few boxes.

"It isn't much now," admitted Finster. "Hank and I'll move the boxes out—'bout time I sort through them, anyway. You can decorate the walls however you like, just no posters of Sonny Bono. Makes the strays go bonkers."

"There's... only one bed," said Spinelli, her eyes fixated on the queen-sized mattress before her.

"Not like you run the risk of getting pregnant. You've already done that," she said with a slight chuckle. "Rent's due first of each month. No exceptions. The laundry's down here, so I'll be coming down here from time to time to do my laundry. We'll work out a schedule. The tv works if you get the antennas in the right places... Oh, and the bathroom sink doesn't like to run sometimes."

"So, the sink's broken," said T.J. "That's what you're telling us?"

"I never said it didn't work, Detweiler. The toolbox is... somewhere in one of these boxes. Just take a wrench and play with the pipes a little. You'll get some water out eventually. Sometimes banging helps too. Do you want the place or not?"

Spinelli and T.J. turned to each other, exchanging worried looks.

"Hey Muriel," shouted Lemon from upstairs. "This cat is either dying or coughing up one big hair ball."

"Oh, that's just Princess, always marking her territory," muttered Finster as she headed up the stairs. "'Scuse me, kids. I'll be right back."

Spinelli felt the baby move and she instinctively grabbed her stomach, as she sat down on the mattress. She tested the bed a few times before laying on it completely. "Well, at least the bed's comfy."

T.J. followed her down. He grabbed her hand. "And it's a lot better than living apart."

She turned from him, sighing. "But it's Finster," she said. "Why... why do you think she's being so cool about it? My mom would freak if she found out we were looking for our own place together."

"My old lady would probably drop dead," said T.J. He waited for a retort. When Spinelli said nothing, he sighed. "I think this is it, Spinelli."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said. "I mean, it's only for a few months. We can bear it until then, can't we?"

She sat up, gesturing towards the bathroom. "How do we know this isn't some kinda trick? That our parents aren't hiding in that bathroom just waiting to find the perfect moment to pull us apart?" She stood and opened the bathroom door. It was empty. And small, with a toilet and sink on one wall and a bathtub and shower combo against the other.

"We're the only ones down here, Ashley," he said.

"I… I know that already," said Spinelli. "But this is Finster we're talking about, T.J. How can she be trusted?"

"We're not kids anymore," said T.J. "Whatever recess conflict we had with her before has long since passed. I'm sure she knows that."

She huffed, closing the bathroom door. She tried to understand his words, but the fire inside of her was just too powerful to reason with. "I'm sorry, Teej. I just don't buy it," she said, stomping up the stairs.

"Hey, where's Miss Finster," Spinelli said as she reached the top of the stairs.

Lemon did not turn to Spinelli; she had cards in one hand and a cigarette in the other. "In the kitchen," she said, a cloud of cigarette smoke above her.

Spinelli swung open the kitchen door. Finster was near the stove. "Hey there, Spinelli," she said, quickly glancing at the teenager before turning her attention to the oven. "Hand me those oven mitts, will ya?"

Begrudgingly she obliged and watched as Finster pulled out the food from the oven. Surprisingly the smell of the casserole did not want to make her puke. She resisted the urge to ask her what was in it.

"So, have you decided yet?" continued Finster.

Spinelli clenched her fists. She wanted to give it to her She wanted to know what Finster's game was. She opened her mouth to speak, but Finster got there first:

"I do sympathize with you kids. I remember how it was with Aggie all those years ago," she said.

Spinelli's fists unclenched. "Wait. Are you saying Grandma Aggie got knocked up?"

"Now, don't you go blabbing about this to just anyone. Your mother doesn't even know," said Finster. "Your grandma had me swear I take it to the grave—I guess she never specified which grave to take it to."

"I... never knew."

"She married your grandpa right after, of course. It was different times back then," she said. When Spinelli told T.J. she was pregnant, the first thing he did was propose; she refused him. Not because she didn't love him or anything, but because she didn't want the baby being the only reason they got married. "Me and Aggie lived together while your grandpa finished up his time in Guam. I went to school to become a teacher and your grandma stayed home to learn how to be the perfect housewife. I'll tell you, though, Spinelli... your grandma and me had some wild times together, but those last few months were especially special to me."

Spinelli slowly approached the old woman, bashfully observing her as she moved the food onto clean white plates.

"You're not going to tell our parents about this, are you? About us moving in, I mean?"

"Me? No," said Finster. "That's something you kids need to figure out on your own."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but... thanks," said Spinelli. "I think you're the first person to actually treat us like we're not just a couple of stupid kids."

"So, you want the room or not?"

Spinelli crossed her arms. "Yeah, we'll take it. But don't get used to us. We'll only be here a couple of months."

Chapter Text

"What about... John? Yeah, I don't like that name too much either, bean," she said, patting her stomach. "How 'bout Kenneth? Yeah, you're right. That's a lame name too."

Spinelli rented a book of names from the library and she was currently reading a list of the names out loud to her stomach. If the baby kicked, she took it to mean it liked the name. He was usually restless around this time of day, but the baby refused to budge.

"Okay, here's one I think you might like. Louis." The baby did not kick, but she contemplated the name. "Louie Spinelli-Detweiler." Still, the baby did not budge. "Eh—maybe you're right. Too European."

She heard voices approaching and soon the basement door swung open, and in came Finster descending the stairs. She looked shocked to see Spinelli there in bed, but her facial expression quickly changed into a warm greeting.

"I'm sorry, Spinelli. I would've knocked if I knew you were down here."

"My shift at Geo's doesn't start for another hour. Just trying to kill time 'til then."

"Well, Hank and I were planning to move the boxes today. Is that okay?"

Spinelli shrugged. "Hey, it's your basement. I'm just living in it."

Hank appeared at the doorway, looking older than Spinelli remembered him being. She and T.J. saw him last Friday—but only for a quick moment; Gretchen called to ask them where they were, and when they were walking out, Hank was walking in with a plate of green Jell-O in his hands. They exchanged quick hellos before getting back into T.J.'s car. Hank's hair and mustache had since turned pure white since their old Third Street days and he now wore circular glasses.

"Hey there, Spinelli," greeted Hank. "What keeps you out of school on this fine Wednesday morning?"

"Didn't Finster catch you up?" said Spinelli. "I dropped out—at least, I will officially when I turn eighteen."

He looked shocked for a moment, before coughing the judgement away. "Oh, that's a shame. You were always such a smart kid."

She instinctively rubbed her stomach. "Yeah, well, I've been dealing with more important things lately."

"Hey, you can always get your GED," offered Finster. "I've heard the program at the high school is great."

Spinelli frowned, looking down at the book of names in her hand. She found the name Lincoln—she hated it on sight. And thankfully, the baby didn't stir either when she spoke the name in her head.

"What do you have there," asked Hank, gesturing to the book. He moved to the stacks of boxes and grabbed one from the top.

"It's a book of names," she said. "You know... for the baby."

Part of her waited for the judgement to come—even if it was Hank, the judgement always came eventually. Last week, a lady at the baby story was shocked when she found out they weren't putting it up for adoption.

But all Hank did was smile. "So, what're you having?"

"It's a boy," she said awkwardly.

"Find a name you like yet?" he asked.

"No, not really," said Spinelli. "They're all a bunch of lame names, anyway. T.J. wants to name it T.J. Jr. and call it T.J.J. for short."

Hank laughed right as Finster put another box into his arms. He slumped further to the ground, then adjusted himself to the new weight.

"Move that into the living room, Hank," said Finster, eying the boxes in his hand. "I'm not paying you to chit chat with my tenant."

"You're not paying me at all, Muriel."

Finster smirked to herself as Hank obeyed her order and headed up the stairs. "Yeah, that's what you think, mister," she said, snickering to herself. She grabbed a box for herself and began rummaging through it.

Spinelli resisted the urge to gag. There should be a law that people over forty shouldn't be allowed to be affectionate, she told T.J. once after she caught her parents making out on their living room couch. Instead, she quietly observed the old woman, who seemed to be searching for something.

"Hey, take a look at this," she said, tossing a photo album onto the bed beside Spinelli. "That was me and Aggie's first week in Guam." Spinelli opened the album; the first picture was of Finster and her grandma posing with a group of soldiers out on the beach. They all looked so happy—especially the men who surrounded them. "Your grandpa's somewhere in that crowd—I think he's the one gawking at Aggie on the far left."

Finster went upstairs while Spinelli observed the image closely. Finster was right—that was her grandpa. Spinelli recognized him in an old photograph shown to her some years ago. Finster and her grandma looked to be in their prime, dressed in nothing but bras and hula skirts. Finally, she tossed the photo album aside and went back to her book of names.

"Michael," she said to her stomach. No kick. "No, you don't want to be named after your Uncle Mikey? He's not going to be too happy about that."

As she flipped the page, she saw Hank coming down the basement again. On his way down, he spotted the record player and quickly dashed to it.

"Well, this thing's a beaut," he said, running his fingers across the dusty top of it. He quickly wiped his hands on his pants and began examining the records in the bag beside it.

"Does it still work?" Spinelli asked.

Hank smiled. "Let's find out." He pulled out a record from the bag, blew the dust away and examined it. "Buddy Love and the Diamondettes. Ever heard of them?" Spinelli shook her head. "Eh, before your time. Before your parents' time, even." He carefully opened the record player and set the record inside. Carefully, he turned it on, and music began playing:

Hank mimicked the guitar solo at the start of the song with his hands and fingers, pretending he had a nifty guitar in his hands.

Oh, Candy girl

(Candy girl!)

You make my heart soar

(My heart soar!)

Oh, caaaandy girl

(Candy girl!)

You are my world

(My whole world!)

The baby began to kick frantically almost as if it was dancing to the music, and Spinelli instinctively began rubbing her stomach. "Hey, I think he likes it."

"Hank, would you stop playing that garbage and get back to moving some boxes!" yelled Finster from above.

Hank turned it off and Spinelli felt the baby stop its kicking.

"Guess we're the only ones who appreciate Buddy Love's talent, eh Spinelli?" He grabbed the player and the bag full of records and headed up the stairs again.

When she was sure he was gone, Spinelli turned back to her stomach again. "Buddy," she said to it, and she felt a kick. "Buddy Spinelli-Detweiler." She thought about it for a moment before checking the time on her phone; she needed to start getting ready for work, if she wanted to make it there on time. She tossed the book aside, next to the photo album, and got out of bed. "Eh, we'll talk it over with Teej and the gang."