I can’t help myself. I’m staring at her pregnant belly like a creepy stalker. I wonder if Ivy has thought about names yet. I think she probably hasn’t. I know she thinks naming the baby will jinx it somehow.
“Do you have any kids?” Charlie asks, catching me staring at her belly.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Oh, I just thought with the way you were looking at my baby bump …”
“Sorry,” I say. “I know someone who’s pregnant and you look about as far along as she is.”
“Really? When is she due?”
“I’m not exactly sure.”
“I’ve got six more weeks to go. It can’t come soon enough.” She touches her stomach again. “Did you hear that, baby? If you want to come a few weeks early like your brother did, that’s perfectly fine. I’m so over this.”
“You look radiant,” Murphy says.
“Thank you.” Charlie shifts around in her chair. “I just wish she’d quit kicking me in the ribs.”
“Is she kicking right now?” Murphy asks. “Can I feel? I miss that feeling so much.”
“Sure,” Charlie says, putting Murphy’s hand on her belly.
I watch as Murphy’s face lights up when the baby kicks.
Charlie looks at me to catch me staring. Again. “You can feel, too, if you want. I have to admit, it’s pretty amazing.”
“Uh …”
She grabs my hand and puts it on her bump.
“Six years ago, if you told me I’d enjoy being pregnant, I would’ve called you crazy. But then fate intervened and gave us Eli. I hated being pregnant with him. I didn’t even want kids. And then there was the whole not knowing who the father was.”
“You didn’t know who the father was?” I ask. Then I realize what I said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to ask such a personal question.”
“No, it’s fine,” she says. “I’m the one who blurted it out. Ethan and I weren’t really dating back then. We were just hooking up occasionally. And there was this other guy one night. I still can’t believe I was that stupid. But, hey, shit happens.” She rolls her eyes and says to her bump, “Don’t tell Daddy Mommy said shit.” She looks back up at me. “But everything turned out okay. And now, here I am knocked up again.”
I feel a kick under my hand and look up at Charlie.
“You feel that?” she asks.
“That’s incredible,” I say, looking at her stomach.
I know I should remove my hand. This woman is practically a stranger to me. But I feel compelled to keep it on her. To feel the life growing inside of her. I leave it there until I feel another kick, and then I pull it away, instantly mourning the loss of the feeling.
“Excuse me,” I say to the four of them. “I need to go wash up before dinner.”
In the bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror, the pathetic man who is so hung up on a woman that he gropes a stranger’s pregnant belly. “Either man up or get over it,” I tell my reflection. “But cut this shit out.”
I’ve spent the last two weeks willing myself to go back over to Ivy’s. To tell her I won’t take no for an answer. I even texted her a few times. Texts she didn’t open. Aspen is probably right—there isn’t anything I can do unless Ivy makes the decision to be with me. Maybe I need to let her go.
But I know as well as the guy in the mirror that it will never happen.
Chapter Thirty-six
Ivy
Eli rolls over in bed, spooning me from behind. I smile at the feel of him pressed against me. We don’t get to sleep together much. After all, we just graduated high school and both still live with our parents. But this weekend, Mom and Dad are out of town, so we’re playing house.
We spent all day yesterday making plans for the future. Even though our parents aren’t exactly happy that we’re eighteen and having a baby, they’ve agreed that we can live together after Jonah comes. But with Eli going to college for the next four years, it’s not like we can afford a place of our own with just my salary from the flower shop.
Mom and Dad’s house is a lot bigger than Eli’s parents’ house, so we’ll live here. There is a large room over the garage that they’re converting into an efficiency apartment for us.
Eli’s arm is wrapped around me, rubbing my large belly. He loves to feel the baby move, so he’s poking around, hoping Jonah will protest and kick him back. His rhythmic caress of my stomach is putting me back to sleep. When I wake up an hour or so later, I turn around to see Eli’s concerned face.
“I can’t get him to move,” he says.
“Maybe he likes lazy Sunday mornings like I do,” I say, giggling.
Eli sits up in bed. “No, really. I’ve been lying here for two hours with my hand on your belly and he hasn’t moved. Not once.”
“Babies sleep just like we do, Eli.”
He rubs his forehead and I can see how upset he looks, so I sit up next to him and poke the baby. When Jonah doesn’t respond, I push harder.
I look back at Eli, who’s tapping around on his phone.
“Do you have any orange juice?” he asks.
“Orange juice? Why?”
He holds out his phone to me. “It says that a boost of sugar can get the baby moving. They recommend orange juice.”
“I think we might have some.”
Before the words are fully out of my mouth, Eli darts from the room, coming back a minute later with a large glass of juice. I drink all of it quickly, appeasing Eli, then I set the glass down and we stare at my belly.
“Does it say how long it takes for it to work?” I ask.
He shakes his head, putting his hands on me to do more pushing and poking.
“Something’s wrong,” he says. “We should take you to the hospital.”
“Nothing is wrong, Eli. He was doing somersaults yesterday, and last night, he had the hiccups.”
“Humor me,” he says, worry etched into his brow.
I roll my eyes. “Fine. But I’m getting dressed first.”
Eli calls a cab and has it waiting when I emerge from the bathroom. The cab driver looks at my protruding belly, then at the two of us. He shakes his head in disapproval just like everyone else does when they see me.
When we get to the hospital, they put me into a gown. Then someone in a short white coat comes into the room with an ultrasound machine and introduces himself as an intern. “You said you haven’t felt the baby move since yesterday?” he asks.
“Last night,” I tell him. “He had the hiccups. I’m sure it’s nothing. He’s just sleeping.” I nod to Eli. “My overprotective boyfriend made me come here.”
“Let’s take a look, shall we?” He tries to squirt the gel on my stomach, but it ends up getting all over my hospital gown instead. “Sorry,” he says, giving me some tissues to wipe it up. He tries again, hitting the target this time. Then he awkwardly moves the wand around my belly.
I get the idea this guy hasn’t done this very much. He said he was an intern. Does that mean he’s a new doctor? Maybe he’s not even a doctor, just some guy who does ultrasounds.
He moves the wand around for a minute or so, all the while, glancing at me apprehensively. Then he puts the wand down.
“I have to get my superior,” he says.
“Is something wrong?” Eli asks.
“I … I’m new here and, uh … I really should get my superior.”
We watch him leave the room in a hurry.
“That guy doesn’t have a clue about what he’s doing, does he?” I say.
Eli just stares at the ultrasound monitor. “That or he saw something bad.”
I look up at the monitor, seeing a blank screen because the intern turned it off before he left. I think of the ultrasound we had a few months ago—the one that showed us Jonah was a boy. You could actually see his fingers and toes. It was so cool seeing this little life that’s inside me. I’m glad Eli made me come today, because I realize how excited I am to see the baby again.
A woman with a long wh
ite coat walks in with the intern guy trailing behind her. “I’m Dr. Marbaugh,” she says. “Ben tells me you’re concerned that the baby hasn’t been moving?”
I point to Eli. “He’s concerned.” I rub my stomach. “It’s actually nice not to have this one kicking me in the bladder every five minutes. He’s taking a long nap. Probably because of the walk we took yesterday. I was exhausted afterward.”
Dr. Marbaugh turns the monitor back on and squeezes more gel onto me. She moves the wand around far longer than Ben did. Her face is stoic as she studies the screen. Then she puts the wand away, wipes my belly, and takes my hand into hers.
“Ivy, I’m so very sorry, but there isn’t a heartbeat.”
“Because he’s sleeping?” I ask.
Eli makes a noise beside me. It sounds like a sob.
Dr. Marbaugh sits on the bed, holding my hand in a motherly fashion. “There isn’t a heartbeat because the baby isn’t alive, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”
“What? That’s impossible. He was moving last night. Eli, tell her Jonah was moving last night.”
I look at Eli, but I’m not sure he can see me through the tears in his eyes.
I hold my belly protectively. “Oh my God. The baby is dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” the doctor says.
“I … I … how?” I say through my own tears. “Did I do something?”
She shakes her head. “No, Ivy, you didn’t. Sometimes these things just happen.”
Eli climbs on the bed, pulling me into a hug. We sob into each other.
We might not have planned for this baby. We might be too young to be raising a child. But that doesn’t make this any easier. As the gravity of the situation sinks in, my sobs become heaves and I find it hard to catch my breath.
Dr. Marbaugh puts an oxygen mask over my mouth. “Breathe, Ivy.”
“What now?” Eli asks the doctor.
She looks at us sympathetically. “You have a choice to make. You can go home and wait for labor to start naturally, which should happen in the next few days, or we can admit you now and induce labor here.”
“Labor?” I cry, removing the mask so I can speak. “I have to go through labor?”
“You’re well into your third trimester,” she says sadly. “I’m afraid you do.”
“Eli.” I bury myself into his shoulder, knowing I’m not strong enough.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
I look up at him. But it’s not Eli, it’s Bass. “I’m not going anywhere, Ivy. I’m with you no matter what.”
~ ~ ~
I wake up, crying into my already wet pillow. I can’t even count how many times I’ve relived Jonah’s death in my dreams. And when I’m not dreaming about Jonah or Dahlia dying, I’m dreaming about this baby dying. Vivid dreams of him being born blue. Except that in my dreams, he’s not a he, he’s a she. And Bass is there. Bass is always there.
I grab the fetal Doppler and put it on my belly, relieved to hear the rapid whooshing sound of his heartbeat.
I look at the calendar on my wall. February 12. Three days past my due date. My doctor said she will induce me if I haven’t gone into labor in a week. But I’d rather just keep him inside me. As long as he’s inside me, we don’t know. We don’t know if he will have to live his life on dialysis, waiting for a transplant. We don’t know if he will suffer from hypertension, anemia, liver disease, or breathing difficulties. And even if he’s born seemingly healthy, ARPKD can present itself later in life. If he tests positive, we’ll always be wondering when it’s going to strike.
But as long as he’s inside me, we don’t have to worry about all those questions being answered. As long as he’s inside me, I can still fantasize about him being a normal, healthy child. One who isn’t tied to doctors and hospitals and machines. One who can run and jump and play without worrying that his cysts will rupture or that he’ll catch a cold from another child that could turn into a life-threatening infection.
I try to go back to sleep, but it’s too bright in my room. Besides, I’d probably just have another bad dream. I prefer the good dreams. The ones where I’m back in Hawaii. Oh, how I wish I were back there with him. I long for the days when the only decision I had to make was which bikini to wear.
I pick up my phone and page through the pictures of Bass and me. Then I open the text messages he sent me more than a month ago. The ones I didn’t read.
December 23rd
Sebastian: Reason #1 why you should be with me: I love you and you love me.
December 24th
Sebastian: As if Reason #1 wasn’t enough - Reason #2: I want you AND the baby. I will love him as if he were my own.
December 25th
Sebastian: I know this day must be hard for you. You always said how much Dahlia liked Christmas. Reason #3: I want to help you remember all the good things.
December 26th
Sebastian: Do you recall back in Hawaii, you asked me how long I would wait for you? Reason #4: I can’t see myself with anyone but you.
December 31st
Sebastian: Happy New Year, Ivy. I wish I could celebrate it with you. Reason #5: Every new year is a clean slate. A new beginning. I want to be your new beginning.
I put down my phone and curl up with my pillow, wishing it were Bass.
That was the last text I got from him. He hasn’t sent any more. Maybe because two days later he met someone at Aspen’s wedding. I’ve seen the pictures. There were several photos of him with a tall, gorgeous, plump redhead.
So much for Reason #4.
I wanted so desperately to call him after he showed up at my apartment. I should have called him. But now I’ve lost my chance. It’s been too long. He’s finally given up on me.
It’s my own fault. I knew that what I was doing was going to alienate him. That was my intention. But, deep down inside, I guess I thought he really would wait for me. I thought he would keep trying. I thought he would wear me down.
And he did. Damn me for not reading his texts sooner. I’m such an idiot.
I take a handful of his shirt and lift it to my nose, wishing it smelled like him and not me.
I think about how he is the best man I’ve ever met. The best person. He didn’t have to do what he did in Hawaii. Most men would have run the other way when I acted like I did. Most men wouldn’t think twice about being with someone so obviously damaged. And what kind of guy still wants a woman when she’s pregnant with another man’s child?
I stare at a picture of Bass, tracing the outline of his face with my finger.
I guess the same kind of guy who risks his life day after day to help strangers. The kind of guy who orders flower pancakes and sends me daisies. The kind of guy who sends me texts with all the reasons I should be with him.
I close my eyes, squeezing the tears out of them. Because I realize just how much I want him. I want him no matter what happens. I want him whether or not this baby lives or dies. I want him to help me remember Jonah and Dahlia. I want him to be my shoulder to cry on. I want him to take me back to Hawaii if things go bad. I want to love him like he’s my sunshine, my waterfall, my puddle in the rain. I want to love him forever.
The problem is, I might just be too late.
I get out of bed, halted by another Braxton Hicks contraction. This one makes me stop and hold on to the dresser. I sit back down, wondering if I’m in labor. I look at the clock and mark the time. But after fifteen minutes, when I don’t have another one, I get up and get ready for work, knowing that Holly will have some good words of wisdom for me when I tell her what a fool I’ve been. Well, maybe not words of wisdom, but she is the queen of getting men to notice her. And maybe, just maybe, she can help me win him back. Because despite the fact that I feel fifty-two weeks pregnant and can no longer see my feet, I’m on a mission. And it might just be the most important mission of my life.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Sebastian
I’m lying on my cot, sta
ring at the ceiling, trying to get in a few more minutes of shut-eye since we were out on calls almost all night. But it’s no use. I can’t sleep. My mind is racing. Is Ivy okay? Did she have the baby? Is the baby sick?
I don’t even know her due date, but I assume it’s right around now based on how she said she got pregnant on Dahlia’s birthday. I’ve done the math. She could be in the hospital right now giving birth. She could be at home with a healthy baby. She could be burying another child. The not knowing is killing me.
I still jog past the flower shop a few days a week, but I’ve kept myself from looking in the window. Every time I’ve wanted to, I remind myself what Aspen said about Ivy needing to come to me. That is what Aspen meant, isn’t it? That I should wait it out and let Ivy come to me? Wait for her to have some epiphany or something?
Despite my better judgment, I pull out my phone and page through my Hawaii pictures again. Then, just to torture myself even more, I open up our texting thread so I can go back and read what we said to each other the week after I came home. But I notice something. I see that she finally read the texts I sent over the holidays. I can’t remember the last time I checked—it must have been at least a week ago. And since then the indicator has changed from ‘delivered’ to ‘read.’
She read them sometime this past week.
Does that mean anything?
Before I can think too much about it, dispatch comes over the speaker sending us out for a commercial structure fire. I pocket my phone and race down the stairs, pulling on my turnout gear before I hoist myself into the back seat of the truck.
“What does it look like, Duck?”
Steve is our driver. He knows every address, street, and building number, so he can usually tell us where we’re going before we get there.
“Garment factory,” he says. “Some local designer owns it. High-end stuff, if I recall. My sister loves the brand.”
The Men On Fire: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 25