SEPTEMBER 16th, 1991, SEATTLE WA

REAGAN FELT DISTINCTLY cold, though there was no reason as to why she was shivering so vigorously with her denim-jacket clad arms folded tightly against her chest. The Beehive Music and Video Store was packed with people, positively overflowing with a mass of bodies that should have given off enough shared body heat to keep her warm through even a brutal winter.

But as she stood there with her arms crossed, fingering the torn inside sleeve of her jacket, she was slowly but surely beginning to truly understand that she was cold for an entirely different reason that had nothing to do with temperature.

Nirvana had just given a rousing performance at the front of the music store, complete with their branded touch of unrefined talent and thrashing teenagers tumbling over one another as they shook their heads along with the music. It seemed like everyone in the Seattle area had shown up for the gig, from budding fans to the people Reagan had known for years, always keen to be wherever the next source of upcoming music was.

It was an event that should have had her whipped into an excited state, but somehow, she felt god-awful. And it wasn't only because of the daunting prospect of Dave leaving for Nirvana's tour — no, that was merely one of many things. Trying to narrow down just exactly why she felt so low would have taken too long.

She had been, in her honest opinion of herself, the worst audience member of all time. She had barely mustered enough enthusiasm to match the energetic show Nirvana had just been put on. The guilt was already nibbling away at her insides, reminding her that she should have been front and center bouncing along to the beat and cheering them on. Even Shelli had abandoned her spot beside Reagan to disappear into the crowd.

She wished she could have formulated the reasoning behind her downtrodden mood into one sentence. At least just one, one string of words that she could mindfully mutter to herself in an attempt to explain why she was feeling so out-of-body. She craved the euphoric happiness she had felt two days prior when she and Dave had left the courthouse hand-in-hand, officially wed. But everything had seemed to become a little less rose-colored within those past forty-eight hours, as if the newfound guiding light in Reagan's world had been dimmed.

She supposed that she could have organized her troubles into a pyramid scheme, starting from the bottom up in order of what was irking her the most. The bottom of that pyramid would have been the easier matters that she had to deal with, those things that were ultimately fixable. Things like telling Ginny for example that she and Dave had gotten married on a whim without even letting her know.

That issue had been seemingly taken care of with a literal wave of Dave's hand. The morning after their wedding, when Reagan had babbled on for a straight hour over how rotten she felt for excluding Dave's beloved mother from the ordeal, Dave had hushed her by patting the air, encouraging her to calm her nerves.

"We'll tell her right now," he'd insisted, always eager to brush away Reagan's fears with whatever farce he could pull right out of his pocket. Reagan had balked at the idea, but Dave persisted until finally Reagan had found herself being held captive at his side while he'd dialed his old home phone number. Ginny had been surprised upon hearing the news, but was nonetheless supportive. She had made them both promise to exchange vows again, next time in front of her. She also assured them that she would pass the news along to Lisa, who would, without a doubt, hold the same expectation over their heads.

The most reassuring part had been when Ginny had said goodbye, telling them both that she loved them. That had certainly felt good for Reagan, knowing that she had earned her new mother-in-law's love even after only meeting her once. And maybe another wedding would be fun. Maybe she would even wear a white gown just to appease everyone.

And maybe the next time around, she would actually bother to make her own parents aware of the union.

That was another basic problem, the problem of Reagan's parents, but it didn't compare to the burden of all the other things on her mind.

Dave was leaving. Soon enough, she would be starting her new job, the one that Dave had so swiftly secured for her through his power of persuasion. And then there was the upcoming prenatal doctor's appointment that she was slated to have. Dave wouldn't be able to attend. He would be a few weeks into the tour already.

Just the thought of going to the doctor to discuss her pregnancy set her on edge. It would have at least been better if she were able to have Dave there.

Thinking about it caused Reagan's chest to tighten up. She couldn't believe that there were women out there who actually enjoyed being pregnant. The only way she wished to settle her paranoia was to drown it out with alcohol, but she couldn't even do that. And females were supposed to enjoy this?

But even besides Dave's future lack of presence, nothing peaked at the top of Reagan's pyramid of worries like the reminder of what laid ahead of her — motherhood. As accepting as she had become over her pregnancy, she still had her off days, the ones in which she would inescapably shrink in upon herself and bite her nails down to the quick over her future.

She would have killed to be a psychic, even for just a day. That way, she could have at least peered into her and Dave's conjoined fates and at least known whether or not they were about to fuck up the biggest responsibility that human beings could have . . . being parents.

She huffed under her breath. She shouldn't have lumped Dave into that forlorn wish. He was young and silly and still only just starting his life, but Reagan's intuitive gut told her that he'd make a good father. At least she hadn't gone wrong in mating with him. His heart was too big to deny any child of his the love that they deserved.

Again, she felt a stab of guilt. She was nitpicking her own problems, far too wrapped up in thinking about herself when she should have been focused on supporting Dave that day. She'd always been good at faking a smile (thank you, Kimberly) but concerning the present matter at hand, her face felt frozen into a permanent grimace.

Someone from behind who was making their way into the swirling pit of listeners elbowed Reagan hard in the shoulder; she staggered forward but caught herself, shrugging her arms down so that they wrapped around her midsection. On a normal day, she would have called the kid out for so rudely bumping into her. But she wasn't going to spare her energy on that. For once, there were way more pertinent things to think about.

Nirvana wrapped their impromptu performance and dispersed, setting down their instruments and mingling forth into the crowd. They were all swept in different directions — Kurt was shuttled into a cluster of fans from Aberdeen who had once been his acquaintances and Krist held Shelli on his arm, plunging into an animated discussion on the concepts of socialism with a listening pod of people to his right.

It took mere seconds for Dave to locate Reagan within the sea of bodies. He made his way towards her, briefly thanking the people who commended on him along the way. His shirt was off and his eyes were shining, a piece of his dark brown hair side-swept across his forehead. Reagan had the tender urge to brush it back.

"Hey," he said simply, grinning as he approached Reagan and roped both of his arms around her waist.

"Good job," she said with a half-smile, gravitating inwards.

"That's all? 'Good job?' I don't get anything else?"

"I'm saving the other part for later."

He laughed and touched his lips to her without any care for the milling crowd around them. Reagan appreciated this greatly. In the last hour, all she had craved was his touch, needing it like some kind of human safety blanket. When he kissed her, she could taste a trace of sweat on his upper lip. It only made her want to deepen the kiss, to kiss him harder and to test his limits. She was suddenly distracted when she felt someone staring at her.

When Reagan opened her eyes, she spotted two guys hovering over her and Dave, one of them gripping a Sharpie marker and the other holding a small print poster that the Beehive had put out advertising the event. They didn't seem to mind that Dave was otherwise occupied and were oddly patient as they stood there, their faces eager.

"Um," Reagan said quickly under her breath, maneuvering out of Dave's arms. He took notice of the two waiting teenagers behind them, flashing a genial smile as if he had not just been enjoying a kiss with his wife.

"Hi," Dave said warmly, happy to greet them both. He hardly looked perturbed to have been interrupted.

"Hey man," said Sharpie-kid enthusiastically. "You were fucking awesome."

"Sick," the other chimed in with a sage nod.

Reagan bit her lip, forcing back a growing smile. The two kids were only a few years younger than her and Dave, most likely still in high school. They didn't exactly fit the image of a pair of guys who thrived on punk rock, but it was obvious that they dug Nirvana's music. Their faces said it all.

"Thanks," Dave replied. He glanced down at their hands. "Is that for me?"

"Yeah dude. Will you sign it?"

Dave looked over his shoulder, catching Reagan's eye with an expression on his face as if to say, 'can you believe it?' Reagan smiled encouragingly, amused to see Dave's reaction to being asked for an autograph. He looked surprised, genuinely not having expected such a request out of the two newly minted Nirvana fans standing in front of him.

"So what kind of equipment do you use, man?" one of the teens asked as Dave scrawled out his signature.

"Ummmm," Dave said, his response muddled with the marker's cap fixed between his teeth. He re-capped it and handed the poster back to the kids, his writing forever inked upon the memorabilia. "The kit's a Tama Granstar. You can come check it out, if you want. I've got to get my shirt."

Both teenagers looked ready to give a kidney if it meant wheedling more conversation out of Dave. Dave turned to Reagan, but she waved him off.

"I'll meet you outside," she insisted. "Go."

He gave her another winning smile before slipping off into the crowd with both teenagers following closely behind him. Reagan watched their heads bob amongst the many others before she lost track of them. Many of the attendees had actually yet to walk outside and begin their journeys home. There was still much conversation to be had about the show and about Nirvana.

Nirvana. Nirvana. Nirvana.

The word travelled through the congregation of people like an electric current. It was akin to a whisper that was steadily rising into something that was louder, something that also packed a harder punch.

Suddenly feeling claustrophobic, Reagan directed herself toward the record shop's exit. She slipped through the gaps of free space in front of her until finally, she was outside in the breezy air. It was funny how only minutes beforehand, she'd been dying to attach herself to a source of heat.

Only a few steps ahead of her was Kurt, alone in the parking lot and smoking a cigarette. Reagan joined him where he stood, grateful for every clean gust of air that entered her lungs and cleared her mind. At her approach, Kurt looked up and smiled.

Even when he wasn't trying to be, he was charming. It amazed Reagan at how his moods seemed to operate like switches on a control board, easy to change with one sudden motion. For someone who had just performed what was a considerably damn good show, Kurt appeared to be quite calm.

"Hey," he said. He nodded toward the Beehive. "Needed a break?"

Reagan jerked her head up and down, sighing. Inevitably, just as she could sense Kurt's disposition, he could sense hers right back.

"Yeah," she confessed. "I just wanted some space."

"Me too," Kurt said, his eyes still trained on the record store and his cigarette fitted between his lips. He exhaled a breath of smoke before repeating himself.

"Me too."

________

The bedroom was shrouded in darkness as Reagan laid on her side, contemplating the coming daylight hours in silence. It had not been so quiet only a few moments prior — she and Dave had so far not slept at all that night, having decided to occupy their last few hours together doing other things. They had been up talking and talking and talking, seizing the opportunity to discuss even the most random of subjects while alternatively sharing the last few bits of intimacy they would have for awhile.

She recounted the past few days in her head, trailing all the way back to the day she had found out that she was pregnant. And then she remembered the day she had gotten married. All those recollections could be rehashed up until the moment she had watched Nirvana perform at the Beehive. They were memories that felt like they should have spanned across months or years, yet they had all taken place within that very September. But time was up. In the coming hours, Dave would be off with Kurt and Krist to Canada.

"Still up?" she whispered, clearing her throat which had gone raspy. She could see Dave's face, her eyes having adjusted to the absence of light hours beforehand. His eyes were closed and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed softly in and out.

"Yeah," he answered. Sleepiness was laced intricately in his one-worded reply, imbued with the grudging reminder that soon enough, he would have to climb out of bed and meet his band mates at the airport.

"You can sleep," Reagan told him, reaching her pointer finger out and carefully caressing his face from his temple to the curve of his mouth. He kissed her finger as she did so, opening his eyes.

"I'm not going to sleep. Not tonight. I'm not missing out on a single second."

As if to emphasize his point, he draped his arm over Reagan and tugged her closer. She automatically snuggled into his bare chest, squeezing her eyes shut and savoring what it felt like. They had both subconsciously decided not to wear clothes to bed for obvious reasons, though she was starting to get cold. It wasn't the same kind of cold that she'd been in the Beehive. That cold had chilled her to the bone.

"It's almost morning," she remarked. In the span of a minute, she could already see the first signs of daylight beginning to break through the clouds and slip through the blinds of their window. What she saw was followed by a wave of anxiety. There was no way it could be nearly time to say goodbye.

"Our first all-nighter," Dave yawned. "Cool."

Reagan remained quiet, wriggling closer to Dave while avoiding looking out the window again. She wasn't ready. She wasn't ready for goodbyes and she wasn't ready to be alone in that apartment with only their invisibly growing baby to keep her company. She couldn't see herself starting at her new job, introducing herself as Reagan Grohl despite loving the ring of her new name.

Things were fast-forwarding so rapidly. She felt like she could have blinked and missed five years of her life. Change had sucked Reagan into its vortex and although she had plenty to be thankful for because of it, there was still much more to come. More change that she wasn't sure she'd be all too fond of.

"What are you thinking about?" Dave asked, his voice clear and steady. She felt his finger wrap around a ribbon of her hair before he let it fall against her bare shoulder.

"You can probably guess what I'm thinking about," she told him. To snuff out the sting of tears that caught in the back of her throat, she sighed heavily, blinking as she stared past the line of Dave's body and towards the wall.

"It's not going to feel that long," Dave assured her, kissing her head promptly. "And you promised that you'll come visit on at least two tour dates."

"I promise," she repeated, affirming her declaration once again that they would hopefully be reunited soon.

Dave kissed her again, this time softly against her cheek. She was glad that her tears had not escaped from the corners of her eyes. He would have been able to feel their wetness as he kissed her with such gentle reassurance that it would be okay.

"I love you," he said. It was his go-to remark, the one thing he knew he could say to Reagan to make her smile. And she did smile — it was a weak attempt, but it was still there on her face.

"I love you too."

She turned into Dave, prepared to be as close to him as possible for those next few minutes of togetherness. But not once did Reagan take her eyes off of the window, where she monitored the rising sign with the heaviest sense of dread encased around her heart.