by A. M. Wilson
She releases a perfunctory gah sound. “I am sorry. This is … difficult for me, I’m sure you can imagine.”
“No. I can’t imagine how hard it is because I don’t have a problem with admitting when I’ve made a mistake.”
“Kiersten, please sit and talk.”
I ignore her and cross my living room. “You have it wrong. Our last interaction was a heck of a lot more pleasant because you sat in a corner at my baby shower and kept quiet.”
“I’m trying to make amends here!” The quiver in her voice does nothing to me.
“Wrong again. You’re trying to make yourself feel better. Which I’m sure you’ll do by tattling on me to Nathan. Now you can show yourself out. I’m going to take a nap.”
Without waiting for what else she has to say, I plod down the hall to my bedroom, somehow managing not to slam the door.
I don’t hate the woman. She is his mom, after all, and my son’s grandmother. But I refuse to allow her to treat me like garbage. Until she gets that under control and can act decent in my presence, this cycle will repeat until one of us gives up or Nathan steps in.
And if he doesn’t step in? I will die on this hill. My parents raised me to demand the respect I deserve. She doesn’t get a free pass to walk all over me simply because she’s his mother.
23
Nathan
My truck idles at the curb in front of my house, allowing Law to pull Kiersten’s car up to the garage. I offer a small wave to Cami as she parks Law’s truck behind me. Law unfolds his long body from the small car and tosses me her keys.
“You sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Fuck no. We both know she’s going to be pissed. Happy enough that I finally retrieved her car from the shop but not amused that I didn’t bring it to her home.”
Law gazes off at his woman in his truck. “Man, do I get it. She made it home fine without her car, but I’d say you need every advantage with this one.”
“No shit,” I mutter and study the mud on my boots.
“It’s worth it.” He turns back to look at me. “This waiting feels like shit. You have an added layer of bringing a baby into this, but for what it’s worth, I think she’ll come around.”
I give a curt nod. What else is there to do? Law and I aren’t close in a way that I’d share how in love with her I am, though he isn’t a stupid man. He knows, just as I’m sure Cami knows. Hell, the only person who doesn’t know is Kiersten.
There should be a manual about how to tell the mother of your unborn child that you’re so madly in love with her that it makes you absolutely crazy.
“Let us know if either of you needs anything.”
“Will do.”
He claps me on the shoulder and strolls to his truck. I climb back into mine, and we peel away at the same time. While they’re headed home, I’m on my way to Kiersten’s. I had no idea Kiersten left until mid-afternoon when my mom text me for her address because my house was empty. Since then, I’ve only received one cryptic text from my mom and radio silence from Kiersten.
I’ve been on edge most of the day, wondering if the two of them are getting along or avoiding one another. Things were left unrepaired after the restaurant, neither one of them making an effort to patch the relationship. Not that I’d put any of that on Kiersten. It’s entirely my mother’s place to apologize for the way she treated us over lunch.
That doesn’t make navigating this any easier. I meant what I said to Kiersten at the restaurant. My mom doesn’t get to treat her like that, and I’d cut her off faster than she can beg me not to if she pulls that crap again. One of my mother’s worst traits is she feels deep, deeper than most, but when it comes to others, she has the emotional well of a shot glass. She’ll be the first to say someone hurt her, but the last to apologize when she does the same.
However, in the past, she always, always comes around.
My hope is they can figure it out without much interference from me. That doesn’t mean I’m not ready to step in the second their interactions head south.
I park my truck at the curb in front of Kiersten’s and start up the walkway just as my mom pops out the front door with two massive trash bags.
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, wondering what the hell she’s gotten up to. “Mom! What’re you doing?”
She wipes the sweat off her brow with her elbow, careful not to touch her face with the plastic yellow gloves pulled up her forearms. I reach her as she tries to pick them up again, and I pluck the bags from her hands.
“I got it.”
“Nah, let me.” I use a tone that refuses an argument. “What do you have here?”
“I don’t think her trash has been changed since she went to the hospital. I just gathered it up from the bathrooms and kitchen and cleaned out her fridge.”
I keep the surprise out of my tone when I reply, “Interesting.”
“If you take care of those, I’m going to get these gloves off and run to the grocery store. Her cupboards are bare.”
She turns back into the house while I take the bags to the garage to dispose of them. When I’m finished, we cross paths again on the sidewalk. I grasp her loose around her bicep.
“Ma. Hold up.”
“Yes?”
I furrow my brow. “You’re being weird. How are things between the two of you?”
She rolls her lips between her teeth and looks at her shoes. “Quiet.”
I shake her arm to bring her attention back to me. She begrudgingly obliges.
“Did you apologize?”
“I meant to,” she whispers. Regret colors her tone. “I screwed it up, so for now, this is my apology.”
“Cleaning?”
She nods. “It’s an act of service. Until I can get her to speak to me again, I’m going to show her I’m sorry by helping.”
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate the help, but you can’t use this lame excuse. Apologize from your heart, or you aren’t going to be around much.”
She pulls free from my grip and takes a step toward her car before spinning back around. “I’m your mother.”
“I love her, Mom.” Emotion clogs my throat from the admission, and I rub the back of my heated neck. I don’t think I’ve ever told my mom I’m in love with a girl before. Even with Janessa, we just announced we were dating, and then our engagement, and that was that. This feels more like a teenaged boy with his first crush, and the embarrassment is real.
“Does she know?”
“No.”
She gives me a pointed look. “Tell her. You and I, we know loss. We know more than most that you don’t keep that sort of thing a secret. Tell her so she knows before you’re too late.” Without giving me a chance to respond, she trudges through the slushy walkway to her car.
Steeling myself for what I’ll find inside, I savor the freezing breath that fills my lungs and tilt my gaze to the cloudy, gray sky.
She’s right. I know she’s right, but there isn’t a good time to announce such a thing. Not only are Kiersten’s emotions all over the place due to hormones but they’re also out of whack from being stranded at home for days at a time. I can’t fathom what it’s like to feel well and capable, yet unable to leave the house, let alone the bed.
I’m glad my mom’s stepping out to the store because I’m empty-handed. The fastest way to end an argument with Kiersten is through food, and that would have been my first line of defense had I known things were tense here.
Before I go inside, I also rein in the part of me that wants to be mad at her for leaving my house. I wonder how she’ll take to the idea of me staying here for a while. If I had it my way, I’d already be moved in with a for sale sign in my damn yard. Or hers. I’m not picky when it comes to this.
The front door opens with an aged squeak as I step inside, and I pull out my phone to add WD-40 to my to-do list. The aroma of lemon furniture polish permeates the air. I toe off my boots by the door, noticing the kitchen and living room are sparkly clean b
ut empty. Kiersten isn’t up and about, and that concerns me. I know she needs to be resting, but I thought with company over she’d at least camp out on the couch, even if that meant giving my mother the silent treatment to tolerate being in the same room.
After pushing my boots aside, I set off down the hall in search of her. I need to check her pulse with my mom being over this afternoon. I’m more than willing to kick Mom out, though I figure Kiersten would be capable of doing that herself if that’s what she wanted.
Her bedroom door is closed, a strong indication she’s inside and hiding out. I tell myself to leave her be, to respect her privacy, but then I remember she’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met. There’s about a zero percent chance she’d come tell me what was wrong without a little prying.
I tell myself I’m only opening her door for a quick check because my knock is ignored. I don’t even need to go inside.
And as my silent feet carry me to her bed, I tell myself it’s because her back faces the door, and I can’t see her face to see if she’s asleep or angry with me.
The urge is strong to sweep away the hair covering her cheek. I tuck my hands into my pockets instead as I stand above her sleeping form. She’s surrounded by pillows at every angle, and a soft snore escapes with every other breath.
If it wasn’t creepy, I’d take a picture. With her belly swollen with my child, I can’t tell if she’s more beautiful asleep like this or with her head thrown back laughing.
It’s a toss-up.
I allow myself one last longing glance and tamp down the desperate part that wants to climb into bed and spoon her.
Then I exit her bedroom. But not before reaching down to touch the silver ring on her right ring finger.
I have work to do.
24
Kiersten
Disoriented in a moonlit room, I wake sometime hours later. My belly rolls beneath my tee shirt as my little man stretches and somersaults within the confines of my uterus. Lying back against a wedge pillow Cami gave me at my baby shower, I place a hand atop my rippling belly and allow the contentedness to wash over me.
Two months or less until my baby is earth side, and I can hold him in my arms for the first time. A trickle of irrational thoughts creeps in. I imagine it’ll feel strange not to have him warm and protected in my belly at first, and I’ll have to adjust to all the scary things that could happen to him. Like wearing my most life-giving organ on the outside of my body. We have ribs to protect our hearts and skulls to protect our brains, but we’re supposed to give birth to babies, leaving them exposed and vulnerable to all the harsh realities of life, rather than protected by flesh and muscle and bone.
How do parents do it? How do they adjust to loving someone so much you’d give anything to keep it safe but walk around with the knowledge that there are some things you can’t protect them from?
And when does that acceptance kick in? Because he’s not even born yet, and I’m already struggling.
I let my heart warm at the kicks and flips as I listen to the deafening silence from beyond my bedroom door. By the darkness permeating my bedroom, it’s safe to assume Regina took her unapologetic ass home. What surprises me is my phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook with calls from my baby daddy and friends. Either he got the message of me sneaking home and is giving me space, or he’s hiding out in my living room and giving me space.
If I didn’t love having him around so much, I’d seriously consider moving my spare key. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t give me a little thrill whenever he bursts down my front door like a hot, well-kempt caveman.
My immature side wants to lie here for the rest of the night and ignore anyone else who exists, but my bladder screams for relief. Something I can’t ignore since becoming pregnant.
I roll to my side and lower my legs from the bed, and prop my torso up with my elbow. The fact that my bones don’t creak and rattle when I move shocks me because I feel ancient at this stage. I exit the bedroom to a faint lit hallway and stop short beneath the doorframe.
A dim, yellow hue glows from my guest bedroom across the hall from mine. I’m baffled because I never go in there, but also because all my bulbs are white daylight and not soft glowing.
Curiosity is about to make me pee my pants. I shuffle off to take care of business one door over but promptly return after washing my hands.
One glance around the room and I need to prop myself against the doorframe for support. All I want to do is drop to my knees with emotion. The glow comes from a lamp, the base a brown tree trunk disappearing beneath a forest green lampshade depicting various jungle animals. On the pull cord hangs a cheeky monkey holding a banana. The lamp found its home on a brand-new white night table I hadn’t yet found the time to assemble.
The white changing table, not only constructed but stacked high with diapers, wipes, and clothes with the tags on, sits beside the table to my left. And right across the door, where I can see it from my own bed in my bedroom if the doors are open, is the crib. Also white, fully assembled, and a jungle-themed quilt folded neatly over the side with matching sheets.
“Do you like it?”
I knew he was there. Of course I saw him. My desire to take in my fully installed nursery outweighed any need to acknowledge him until he spoke. At the sound of his lulling voice, I turn my head to the last piece, my favorite piece. A wooden glider with a sliding footrest, and thick forest green cushions that invite me to sit.
Nathan sits in that chair, hand cupping his chin and his index finger ticks like a slow tempo metronome across his lips. His brown eyes remain soft as he regards me and awaits my answer.
“It’s perfect,” I force through a tight throat.
“Come here.”
I go to him. How could I not? At my approach, he holds out his hands for me to take. Clasping my hands tightly in his warm palms, he stands, reverses our positions, and helps lower me into the chair.
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
My head falls back against the cushion, and I kick the chair into a gentle rock.
“Cami did good with this one.”
Nathan surveys the room he spent an afternoon singlehandedly putting together. “I don’t think she forgot a single thing. She hooked our boy up.”
I rub my damp hands against the wooden arms of the chair. “You didn’t have to do this. Thank you.” My voice catches, and by the flash in his eyes, he doesn’t miss it. He tucks his hands casually into his jean pockets.
“It’s nothing. One less thing for you to stress about. We couldn’t have you going into labor before his room is finished.”
“It’s so surreal sometimes. I mean, I’m the size of the moon. I feel him kicking, so I know he’s real, unlike in the beginning. And somehow, we’re weeks away from becoming real full-blown parents.”
“Yeah,” he rasps, pulling my attention from my rambling.
“Are you okay?”
He clears his throat and rocks back on his heels. “I’m good. Tired, I think. Mind if I head home?”
I’m thrown for a loop. “Oh. Of course. This is beautiful. Thank you again.”
If I’m being honest, I expected another declaration about how we should move in together. Is he rushing home to give me space or because I’ve somehow offended him? Another downfall of being a strong woman who tries to keep a tight leash on her emotions is that it’s easy to hide from the people closest to us how we truly feel. When I wanted to burst into tears at the sight of my new nursery, I held it together, and now he probably thinks I’m ungrateful.
“You should get some rest. I’ll see you soon.”
This feels frighteningly familiar.
“Nathan!” I startle us both with my anxious shout. He turns, and some of his calm seeps into me.
“Please don’t disappear,” I whisper.
“Never. We’re having a baby together,” he states simply. His taut body loosens a fraction, and he rolls his shoulders. “But this isn’t easy, this giving you spa
ce when all I want to do is wrap you in a protective bubble. So I’m going to take some space too and work on that.”
“That’s reasonable.”
His smile is gentle. “I’ll check in tomorrow. There’s food in the fridge, though I see some of my meals made it home with you.”
“Where did you find the time to run to the grocery store between all of this?” I gesture around the newly decorated nursery with my foot.
“I didn’t. My mother did. I know her verbal apology was nonexistent, but she wants to try. What you do with that is up to you. She treated you like shit publicly, and I’m willing to stand with whatever you decide.”
All I can do is nod. That’s a nugget of information to dissect later, not when I’m the middle of appreciating the hard work Nathan did for me today.
He departs with a half wave, and I sink down into the glider, rocking myself as I stare off at the white painted walls and start making a list of all the things we still have left to do.
Doctor’s appointments.
Car seat installation.
Discuss baby names.
Agree on custody.
That last one roils my stomach. I could blame it on the fact I haven’t eaten in hours, but that’d be a downright lie. The truth is the thought of having to go any amount of time without seeing my baby boy is like willingly taking a knife and slotting it between my ribs one by one.
But I better get used to the idea because in a few short weeks, ready or not…
25
Kiersten
“Why is it you seem to always end up with Dr. Vagina Tickler?”
“Nathan!” I slap him on the chest and check the door that’s barely shut behind her. “She might hear you,” I hiss through bared teeth as I tug my pants back on.
“I’m pretty sure she gives you pelvic exams just for shits and giggles at this point.”