Heart & Soul

by Nicole Williams

Sometimes a compromise was the only way I got through to him. They said compromise was the key to any successful relationship . . . I just never imagined that meant divvying up an organic peanut butter and all-fruit spread sandwich in a gynecologist’s waiting room so my husband wouldn’t pass out from lack of sustenance.

  Jesse took the sandwich half and nodded. “Deal.” He waited to dive in until I’d freed my half from the baggie and had sunk my teeth into it.

  I wasn’t hungry. My stomach was still swimming with pancake, but if that was the only way to get him to eat, I could suck it up. He’d barely managed to get down one pancake that morning, and I hadn’t pushed him on it because I knew how nervous these appointments made him. The only reason I was pushing the PB&J issue was because I was worried he’d go into hypoglycemic shock or something if he didn’t get something in his system. All of that stress and the way it manifested in bouncy legs and twitchy hands had a way of eating into a person’s energy reserves.

  We nibbled at the corners of our sandwiches in silence. That was something else that had taken some getting used to—the silence. Not just any kind of silence, but the kind I was acutely aware of. Jesse and I had been comfortable in the quiet places from the start of our relationship and had never felt the urge to fill a peaceful moment with mindless chatter, but this silence was different. Not exactly awkward, but noticeable. I preferred our shared silences to pass so naturally I didn’t even realize they were happening. Our quiet moments together didn’t pass effortlessly anymore.

  I was halfway done with my sandwich half when a couple staggered into the office, both yawning. The guy carried a car seat with a sleeping infant who couldn’t have been older than a week or two. “Zombies” was the term that came to my mind as they shuffled up to the check-in desk before dragging themselves toward a free row of chairs and collapsing into them. The baby was asleep because he or she was tired from keeping the parents up all night. I didn’t think the mom had finished her yawn before she fell asleep with her head draped across her husband’s shoulder.

  I nudged Jesse’s leg with mine and indicated the new family. “That’s what we have to look forward to in a few short months. You up for it?” I had to wrestle with my smile when the man broke into a snore chorus that sounded like he was wrestling with an unruly chainsaw.

  I guessed Jesse hadn’t noticed them when they’d first staggered in, because when his gaze lifted to them, he studied the family as if he was seeing them for the first time. For a moment, the corners of his eyes ironed out. That almost peaceful expression didn’t last long though. Not even long enough for me to hope that once this was all over, that look would return.

  “I would love to look forward to that actually,” he said softly, studying them as though he wasn’t just seeing the big picture but the fine details too. The things most people missed when they looked at others.

  I didn’t miss his use of the word would, as if being exhausted and sporting two different-colored socks like the dad camped out in a waiting room wasn’t a guarantee for us . . . but I also knew better than to call him on it. I’d spent two months calling him out on those kinds of comments before realizing that he might retract his statement and try to get me to believe that wasn’t how he meant it, but all it took was one look in his eyes to find the truth. Jesse was entitled to his worries, as I was entitled to mine. I just did a better job of hiding mine than he did his, and that was why he hadn’t noticed. I was glad he hadn’t noticed because here was the thing—I worried about him, but he was already so worried about me that if he knew I was nearing freak-out zones like he was, it would only make his anxiety chart new levels of unhealthy. So I kept my worries to myself.

  Jesse had been the strong one for me in so many things. I could return the favor this time.

  “So?” I checked the time on the clock behind the reception desk for the who-knew-what-number-of-times since we’d arrived almost an hour ago. “Since it would appear Dr. Stuart is delivering yet another baby at this month’s scheduled appointment time, have your views on the whole name thing changed? We’ve got time to kill and nothing to fill it with unless you want to read about how to make the perfect four-layer cake.” I eyed the magazine sitting on one of the chairs beside us.

  Jesse shook his head. “No.” It kept shaking. “I’m not ready to go over names, Rowen. I’m sorry. Just . . . not yet.” His bouncing leg froze when I suggested the name thing, but it had just restarted and was moving double-time.

  “You’ve been saying that since I dropped that dictionary-sized baby name book in front of you right after finding out I was pregnant. When do you think you’ll be ready?”

  He set his half-eaten sandwich on his leg. “I don’t know. I just know I’m not ready right this minute.”

  “We’re running out of minutes before this little thing in my stomach will be out of said stomach, and it would be nice if we had a few names to choose from before we leave the hospital with Baby Sterling-Walker on the birth certificate.” I stuffed what was left of the sandwich back in the baggie. We’d choked down enough. “Although the upside to that name is that one day we might get to experience some strapping young rebel marching up to us and saying, “Nobody puts Baby in a corner,” before whisking her away to a stage and iconic eighties movie glory.”

  Jesse wasn’t smiling. Not even a hint of one. Either he’d totally missed my Jennifer-Garner-meets-Patrick-Swayze reference or he didn’t find it funny. At least I did.

  “Come on, Jesse. What is it? What’s the thing about the names that’s so hard for you?”

  His gaze flickered to my stomach, making the lines at the corners of his eyes etch deeper. “It’s just too much like . . . I don’t know, inviting tragedy or something.” He swallowed, not blinking as he studied my stomach. “Talking about names before it’s here or before we know what’s going to happen . . .” He let the silence fill in the dot, dot, dot because neither of us needed to hear the words. They played on repeat through our minds every day. “If we decide on a name and start referring to it by name, then . . .” He paused to swallow. “Then . . .” It didn’t look like any number of swallows could get him past the ball sitting in his throat.

  “Then what you’re so terrified of happening does, and you don’t just lose a Rowen but you lose a Michael or a Michelle too?” I twisted in my seat to face him, holding tightly to his hand.

  He couldn’t look at me, he couldn’t make words come to the surface, but he nodded.

  “That’s why you don’t want to know the gender of the baby, isn’t it? Because the less you know about it, the less hard it will be if . . . you know?”

  He was still staring at the ground, but I didn’t miss the flash that tore through his eyes, almost as if he was ready to tear whatever dared threaten his family’s lives limb from limb. “Nothing would make that any less hard. Nothing.” Letting go of my hand, he clasped his hands in front of him and leaned forward in his chair.

  Since he had his hat on, I couldn’t see his face from that angle, but I didn’t have to. His back was so tense, I could see the ridge running down the center of it through his shirt. I leaned down beside him, but my stomach got in the way. “Then what is it?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “If it was nothing, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  His knuckles were white, his eyes narrowed at the floor. For a second it looked like he was going to answer, but that changed instantly.

  “Come on. You can’t keep all of this bottled up or you’re going to explode. You need to vent a little sometimes. You need to talk to me, Jesse. I can’t help you if you won’t be open with me.”

  “I’m supposed to be helping you, not the other way around,” he replied in that rough voice he’d taken on recently.

  “Oh, yeah? Where did you read that? The Unhealthy Relationship Bible?” I nudged him with my elbow. “Come on, I can take it. Whatever you have to say, I promise. I know I might seem fragile and emotional, but those are the out-of-whack hormon
es talking.” I dropped my hand on his leg, above his knee. “Come on. Give it to me.”

  “I can’t.”

  I watched the sleeping-slash-snoring family sitting across from us. I wondered if they’d had to go through the same kinds of obstacles to wind up where they were—together. A step above comatose, but still a family. I couldn’t look at them for long without feeling that hole in my stomach start to open. The one I’d told Jesse nothing about because if he knew I was worried about me and the baby making it through this thing, unlike I let on, he wouldn’t make it through the next three months without suffering a nervous breakdown.

  “Come on, if you don’t tell me, I’ll assume the worst,” I continued, having to sit back up. Leaning forward with a hard beach ball in the way couldn’t be endured for very long. “And you know me, I can assume the very worst. I have an imagination that knows no bounds. Curse of the artistic types.” My eyebrows pulled together. “Well, one of them at least.”

  My attempts at pleading and rationalizing the truth out of him didn’t seem to be working. I was just preparing to go to phase two and plaster on a face he couldn’t say no to—at least not for very long—when he shifted, and a few words tumbled from his mouth. “It’s this dream.” His voice was quiet. “I seem to have it every time I fall asleep. That’s why I’ve been having a tough time sleeping.”

  “You’ve been having an impossible time sleeping,” I said gently.

  “Not that it really matters much, because even if I’m not dreaming it, I can’t forget about that dream for very long.”

  “So it’s a nightmare?” I checked the clock again, and this time, instead of wishing the nurse would call my name already, I found myself hoping she wouldn’t. Not when he was finally opening up.

  His head shook. “Nightmares aren’t like this. You wake up from a nightmare and know it was a nightmare, but this . . . this seems real. I can smell things, feel things, taste things. This isn’t like any other dream where only one or two senses are involved—in this, I can feel everything.” He was still leaning forward, so I couldn’t see his face, but I knew enough about that tone to picture his expression.

  “What’s it about?” I asked, trying to sound as matter-of-fact as I was capable of. Jesse was no stranger to bad dreams, and I didn’t want to be responsible for bringing more into his life.

  He took two long breaths before he could answer. “It’s just me wandering around at night in some large empty field I don’t recognize.” One of his shoulders quivered. “I’m walking around trying to find you, but I can’t. So I start running around, screaming your name, and that’s when I trip over something.” His back rose and fell. “That’s when I see the headstones. Your name is on one, but the name on the one beside yours is blurry. I can’t make it out.”

  Jesse managed to keep his voice level, his breathing even. I was able to do the same, but only because I was working really hard to stay calm. Nothing about what he was saying bred calm.

  “Whenever I reach out to rub at the name, to try to see the letters, that’s when I’m jerked awake. Not wanting to see that name is what snaps me out of that place, and that’s why I don’t want to decide on names.” Finally, he looked at me over his shoulder. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and there wasn’t a square inch of his face that didn’t show the wear and tear of the months of self-torture, but still, he managed to work a smile into place for me. A real smile that reminded me of the first time we met and how curious it had seemed to me at the time that someone could smile so effortlessly and mean it.

  “You’re afraid that if you see that name on the headstone, you won’t be able to wake yourself up?” I dropped my hand to his neck and combed my fingers into the light hair at the base of his neck.

  His head shook once. “I’m afraid that if we name our baby before it’s born, death will have an easier time finding it.”

  I nearly choked on the ball that had decided to take residence in the middle of my throat. It came out of nowhere, derived from emotions that extended past understanding. I felt the same sorrow I supposed he did every time he relived his dream. I felt my own worry dial up a few notches when I thought of everything we had ahead of us. But I also felt relief. It was a strange emotion in the lineup, but it was the only welcome one.

  Jesse tipped his head at me, leaning back in his seat. “Why do you look like all of your worries are gone?”

  I guessed the relief was what manifested on my face. “Because this whole time, I thought you didn’t want to know the gender of the baby or discuss names because you wanted to keep your distance from it.” I had to clear my throat before I could say anything else. “I thought it might have been because you were upset . . . resentful . . . of what might happen to me.”

  Jesse’s face softened before I could finish my sentence. Then his arm went around my shoulders, and he gently guided my head to his shoulder. “I’m sorry you felt that way. Although I suppose it’s not too hard to understand why you felt that way. I have been removed and keeping my distance from the baby, but not because of my lack of feelings for it. It’s because of my abundance of them.”

  His voice was so strong and soothing in my ear, I found myself closing my eyes and basking in it like the first warm rays of sunshine after a long, hard Montana winter.

  “I’ve been afraid that whatever it is out there that seems intent to even the scales when someone experiences more happiness than the average person should will rush in and rectify that. I’m worried that I’ve lived so many happy moments that I’ve hit some lifetime limit and they’re all going to disappear.” He sighed then kissed my temple. “I’m worrying because that’s all it feels like I can control with this. I’ve gotten really good at it too.”

  Given the conversation, I knew I shouldn’t feel continued relief. I accepted that in most instances, a pregnant wife would be freaked out if her husband had just told her about a recurring hellish nightmare he’d been having and his premonitions about life evening the scales. But I didn’t. I felt as if I’d been climbing a mountain with a giant pack strapped to my back, and it had been pulled off and I’d finally scaled the summit.

  “I wish you would have told me this earlier. That’s a heavy burden to bear all on your own.” When I breathed in, I smelled his favorite soap on him, and the world felt a little more right again.

  “You’re telling me I’ve got a heavy burden to bear? I’m not the one with a living thing growing inside me.”

  He was trying to get me to laugh. It worked. “So I’ve got the physical burden to bear, but you’ve got the mental one. It would make it a lot easier if we helped each other out with of our burdens. Don’t you think?” When he didn’t answer right away, I added, “Come on, no fair. You’ve helped me with my burden so much.” I highlighted my stomach with my hands. “I know you’ve thought about carrying me down the hall or up the stairs or through the store, but you know better than to try it because there’d be no end to my wrath. But you make more meals these days than I do, give me nightly back rubs, and you got that cocoa butter stuff for my stomach to prevent the stretch marks I was worried about, so now all I’ll have to worry about is a giant incision scar running down my lower abdomen.” I was hoping to pull a laugh from him, but no dice. “You’ve helped me the whole time. Let me help you now too.”

  The baby curled up in its car seat across from us woke up and started to make the tiniest little cries mixed with coos. No joke, the passed out parents snapped awake as if a tub of ice water had been poured over their heads. Both of them reached for the baby like it was an involuntary reflex, but in the process, they managed to bonk their heads together. It barely slowed them down though. The sleepy-eyed dad chuckled and gave his head a rub, letting the yawning mom who’d issued an oww! wind the baby out of the car seat.

  It was like a not-so-carefully orchestrated dance. They moved together in an undesignated way, but somehow, it all worked. They were a family. They had only been one for maybe a week but were already working
together in such harmony that it struck me how adaptable we humans could be, and how we were wired to form bonds and connections.

  I was still staring at the exhausted, happy family when the nurse called my name. From the look on her face, it wasn’t the first time she’d called it either.

  Jesse was already up, extending his hand for me to take. When I did, he pulled me up smoothly, draped an arm around my shoulders, and guided me to where the nurse’s frown had turned upside down. I took one more glance over my shoulder at the family, emotion burning my throat. I wanted that bad.

  “How are you feeling, Rowen?” The nurse held her smile as Jesse and I passed through the door.

  “Like I’m a giant petri dish.” I generally spewed those kinds of comments to get a smile or chuckle from Jesse—he’d needed every one I could pull out of him lately—but he was in another world and tiny beads of sweat were starting to dot his temples.

  The nurse definitely caught my comment though. She tilted her head back at me, her shoes continuing to squeak down the hall. “A petri dish?”

  I shrugged and eyed my stomach. “I feel like my sole purpose right now is to let this little thing grow.”

  Her smile was definitely forced as she turned into one of the rooms. I supposed she was probably used to expectant mothers answering her with phrases like Not bad or Pretty Good or maybe even Really pregnant, but she hadn’t asked someone else—she’d asked me. I felt like a petri dish.

  “We’re going to have Ben do your ultrasound, then Doctor Stuart will see you.” The nurse lifted her head at the tech in the corner, who flashed us a wave before scanning my chart. “You already gave a urine sample, correct?”

  My bladder felt like it had the stamina of a ninety-five-year-old woman instead of a girl in her twenties. I could barely make it through the trailers at a movie before having to waddle for the bathrooms.

  I nodded. “The highlight of my day. Peeing into a cup and passing it between a double door.”

  Forced smile number two. Man, either I was off my game or Mrs. Stiff Lip wouldn’t even find Taylor Swift rapping while tap-dancing in a straitjacket funny.