by Emilia Finn
“Uh…”
“Romance me,” she insists. “Make me fall in love.”
But who will romance me? I wonder. Who will I love?
Rob
Falling in Love
Emma doesn’t call me anymore. She doesn’t text. Her family owns the gym, as does mine; she was raised in that shed, but she never comes in anymore. She doesn’t come to watch me train. She doesn’t come to draw while I sweat. She doesn’t even go to Miss Dixie’s to gorge on ice cream – and that’s basically fifty-percent of EmKat’s DNA. Half ice cream, half bullshittery and sarcasm.
It’s like she’s fallen off the edge of the planet. But there’s no need for me to worry, apparently; her family talks about her all the fucking time.
Emma is designing a massive back piece for a favorite client. Emma was on the other side of the country last weekend at a tattoo convention, where she got to show off her designs and talk smack to other tattooed thugs’ faces. Emma traveled with Ian – her boss – and one of the other guys from the shop. Emma was in a hotel room… with other guys… for an entire fucking weekend. But hey, apparently we’re cool with that shit now.
Emma, Emma, Emma.
And not one single motherfucker stops to ask if I’m okay.
Though, of course, they have no clue anything is wrong. Grace was already a semi-consistent face in my world, and Emma has always been outspoken and independent. But the fact she and I aren’t really talking would be concerning news to our parents… if only they knew. And though it’s becoming common knowledge that Grace is often at my apartment, she hasn’t officially moved in, and I sure as fuck haven’t announced a damn baby.
So really, as long as I don’t break down and sob in the middle of the fucking gym, there’s no way any one would notice much is going on. Though, in my head, everything is in shambles. Broken columns, rotted walls, black-stained carpets; my entire being is a derelict home no one loves, and where no one would dare go.
Except Luke.
He’s my only confidant. And despite how crazy he acts, I know that he’s got my back.
Pulling into the parking lot outside Grace’s OBGYN, which is, thankfully, in the next town over, I cut the engine and try not to act as desolate as I feel.
I wake each day already exhausted. I go to bed each night, not because I’m ready to sleep, but because I’m finished with that day. I have nothing else I want from it except its end. Nine times out of ten, Grace is in my bed with me, but I’ve yet to turn to her, to take her, despite her willingness.
She tries, she hugs, she touches – both the innocent kind, and the not very innocent. I wake often to her trying to slide her hand into my boxers, but I’ve become skilled at the subtle brush-off. I learned fast not to say no; it hurts her feelings. Rather, I deflect, or get busy somewhere else.
It’s not that I want to be alone and miserable. Nor do I want to make Grace miserable; she’s as stuck in this situation as I am. But it is what it is. I can’t fuck with a flaccid dick, and the only time I can get it up, I’m sure as hell not thinking about Grace.
“Rob?” As always, Grace’s voice drags me out of my silent contemplation. It’s a constant state for us now; me thinking, and Grace trying to communicate our plans. Tacos on Mondays, Pinnochio’s on Friday. A scan today, and a trip to the local baby store after lunch. “You ready?”
I cough and clear my throat, and glancing across, I catch sight of Grace in a cute pair of jeans and one of those baby doll shirts – it shows off her stomach, and flares wide to emphasize the subtle bump she now has.
It’s a fact: that baby is in there, growing and taking up more of my life and mental health.
“I’m ready,” I tell her and unsnap my seatbelt.
I will not be a deadbeat. I will not be a prick who makes out like the pregnancy was all her fault, it’s her problem, and it didn’t take two people for us to end up here. I refuse to be that guy, so I push aside my constant longing for a different life, a different woman.
Reaching out just before Grace slides out her side, I take her hand and smile when her gaze whips back to me. It’s not a true smile; not the overwhelming kind I wear when EmKat does stupid shit. But it’s more than I’ve given in a while, and Grace deserves at least that.
It’s not my body that is changing. Not my stomach growing, my hormones swinging back and forth. If I think this is tough on me, I have to consider what’s going through Grace’s head.
And so, I urge myself to be here. To be present and kind.
“Are you okay?” She tilts her head a little, and sends a loose lock of wavy hair tumbling forward to conceal half of one eye. “You seem a little… ya know… distant.”
“I’ve been distant,” I admit. “I’m sorry. I’ve been in shock about this since you told me, but I’m gonna try harder, okay? I’ll try to be more supportive.”
“Okay.” Her smile is small at first, but it notches up as time passes and I don’t shout ‘Jokes!’ in her face. “Um… thank you. I’ve felt a little lonely lately, so…”
“Right. That was shitty of me. So let’s do this, then lunch, then after, we can go buy some shit for the nursery.”
“Okay!” Excitement washes over her face, big smile and glittering eyes. She gently tugs her hand from mine, then spinning out of my truck, she bounces her way to the front of the hood, and takes my hand when I offer it. “Are you excited to see the baby?”
“I’m not sure.” I know it’s not the answer she wants, but it’s my truth, so that’s what she gets.
I try to maintain my smile, to lessen the blow of my answer when she glances up at my face.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “And I’m still riding the shock, because this was never something I planned for myself.”
“Really?” She walks close enough that our hips touch, and wrapping her arm around mine, she pulls me ever closer. “You never wanted kids?”
“Well… I mean, sure. Eventually. When I was older, when I’d met the right one, and we’d decided we were settled in and ready for that step.”
“Do you think…” Grace is never nervous. Rarely does she slow her words and really think them through before committing. “Uh… do you think, if we go into it with the right mindset and we give it time, that I could be the right one?”
I glance down and meet her eyes.
“I mean,” she continues, “like, I know it’s not all in the right order, but people can grow and fall in love, right? It’s possible.”
“Sure, it’s possible. If both people are really in it for the long game.” We slow at the front entrance of the OBGYN, and when Grace steps to the side, I pull the door open and let her go first. “If everyone is ready to work through the hard, and enjoy the good. If both parties are willing.”
“And are you?” she asks. “Willing?”
My words stick in my throat. My breath stops, and my chest tightens. “Um…”
I try to verbalize something. Anything. Absolutely anything, so that Grace doesn’t feel the smack of rejection. But my annoying tendency to tell the truth means I say nothing at all, and before I find the ability to create a truthful platitude, the receptionist stands from her chair behind the tall desk, and smiles.
“Hello.” The woman extends a clipboard and a pen. “I bet you’re Grace.”
“Yeah.” Swallowing and shaking off my inability to throw all-in, Grace releases me and steps toward the desk. “I’m Grace. We’re here to see Dr. Kelly.”
“Of course. Just fill in your details, sign at the bottom, and then Dr. Kelly will be ready for you. There have been no emergencies calling him away today, which means we’re running exactly on time.”
“Emergencies?” Grace begins filling in the boxes on the form, but she still manages to glance up at the receptionist. “What do you mean emergencies?”
“Wait.” I step forward and scowl at the form Grace is filling in. “Dr. Kelly is a guy?”
The receptionist – her name is Lana, according to the pin on her shirt �
�� rewards me with a playful smile. “Dr. Kelly is in fact a man. He has more than thirty years’ experience, and has delivered almost twenty thousand babies.”
“Twenty thousand?” I choke out. “Is that, like, an exaggeration?”
“Nope.” Lana accepts the clipboard back when Grace is done. Setting it on her desk and dropping back down to begin typing, she maintains her smile for us. “If the timing is right, you just might be number twenty thousand. He’s getting close, and if prior year projections are reasonably accurate, we think early next year may get him over that line.”
“So he’s… like…”
“A complete professional with vast experience and knowledge?” she smiles. “Yes.” Then she looks to Grace. “And by emergency, I meant he hasn’t been called away to deliver yet today. He has patients due, but until they present at the hospital with contractions, he’s here with us.”
Lana stands again and gestures toward a door across the waiting room. “Through there. Please head straight in. You’ll find a gown on the bed; if you could change into that, Dr. Kelly will be with you in just a couple minutes.”
“Okay.” Grace’s voice shakes, and when she turns away from the desk and takes my hand, I notice that shakes too.
She’s terrified, and hell, but it’s kind of refreshing to see a vulnerable Grace. She’s always been the demanding one, the center of attention, and when she doesn’t like something, she makes her thoughts known. But here, in this office, she almost takes on an air of innocence.
And that, at least, is something I can work with. I don’t have to be in love with her to take care of her.
Releasing her hand, I wrap my arm around her shoulders instead, tuck her into my side, and lead her across the room. I quickly knock on the door when we reach it, and when there’s no answer – as predicted – I push the door open and guide Grace through.
In the waiting room, music played low. The water cooler gurgled, and there was a general sense of this space is occupied. But in here… silence.
I release Grace, who continues forward while I turn back and close the door. Grace paces the room; she trails her fingertips over the bed that has stirrups on the end, fingers the robe neatly folded in the center. She glances toward a massive machine that genuinely looks to weigh about a ton. Then when I flip the lock on the door, her eyes come up to mine, and she stops pacing and instead folds her arms.
“So I guess I need to get undressed and put my feet into those thingies.”
“I can leave while you change.” I turn back to the door and grab the handle. “I’ll count to sixty then come in to help you tie it up at the back.”
“You don’t have to leave.” Grace slowly, shyly, toes one shoe off, then the next. “It’s not like you’ve never seen me naked, so it doesn’t really matter.”
“It matters,” I assure her. “It’s not about what I’ve seen before, it’s about your comfort and sense of safety in this moment. So if you want me to leave, I can. If you want me to stay but turn around, I can do that too.”
“It’s fine.” Clearing her throat, Grace unsnaps the button on her jeans and pushes those down, and though I don’t turn away like I kind of want to, I look down at her feet, and watch as the denim bunches. She pushes her panties down next, and kicking those aside, she works on her top and bra.
Stark naked in my peripherals, she grabs the robe and snaps it out straight, then she feeds her arms through the holes, and covers herself all over again. “Can you help with…” She turns and presents me with her bare back.
No ink like EmKat. But she has deep dimple, and the bumps of her spine line all the way down her back.
I tie the robe with fast, sure movements, then I bundle her clothes and toss them onto the visitor’s chair so that her bra and underwear are folded into the jeans and shirt. It’s the smallest slice of modesty I can offer her, so I do that and make sure none of the lace pokes out, then as Grace tries to climb onto the bed, I move closer and help her up.
Surprised but grateful, she wraps an arm around my neck as I lift her, then sitting on the end of the bed, she forgoes placing her feet into the stirrups. Instead, she twines her legs together, then nervously, she links her fingers and picks at the hot pink nail polish that she painted on only last night.
“Are you ready for me to unlock the door?”
Grace nods. She doesn’t look up, she doesn’t meet my eyes. But I don’t take offense. She’s nervous, and she’s wearing a drab gown instead of her usual outfit that would be more about making a fashion statement than about covering a body.
This might be the first time in her life Grace has been vulnerable, the first time she’ll ever not be truly in control, so I accept that about her, and refuse to make it all worse by demanding things I neither want nor need.
I release the lock on the door and, going back to Grace’s side, I take her hand and wait for Dr. Kelly.
It takes him no more than thirty seconds to gently knock. Almost like he was waiting for the sound of the lock.
The guy looks to be on the other side of halfway; perhaps early-to-mid sixties. His hair is sandy brown, and though it has streaks of gray, it’s not so much that I would say he’s gone gray. He has a beard of the same brown with silver streaks, friendly green eyes, and a smile that says he paid a lot of money for his teeth.
The guy stands maybe five-eleven or so – not short, but not as tall as the men in my family – and though he has a paunch now, I suspect he was a bit of a sporty guy in his youth. He has broad shoulders – irony, I think, considering his chosen profession – and a square jaw that may have taken a few hits while in college.
Though of course, that’s purely speculation on my part.
“Miss Rissata?” Kelly walks in holding the clipboard Lana was last in possession of, and extending a hand, he shakes Grace’s first, then mine. “I’m Mike Kelly, and I’ll be your captain during this flight.”
Grace and I remain stony-faced.
Kelly lifts his brows in expectation. “No? Okay.”
He chuckles and tosses his clipboard onto the desk sitting in the far corner, then coming back with less I’m a doctor, and more let’s be pals, he stops just a few feet in front of us, and relaxes his stance.
“Alright, you’re not in the mood for jokes right now. That’s cool. How about you tell me about yourselves? Tell me what you’d expect from this relationship between me and you. How can I help assuage your fears, and bring us toward birth with your worries eased?”
“I’m… um…” Grace clears her throat. “Um… well, I’d expect a baby at the end, Doctor Kelly. And with as little pain as possible.”
“Alright.” He nods like he’s taking notes in his brain. “We can discuss pain management over our next several appointments. You’ll be seeing me a lot over the next months, Miss Rissata. In addition, I’ll provide you with my personal cell number. I’m always only a text away.”
“A text?” I narrow my eyes and try to see inside this guy’s brain. “You give everyone your personal number?”
“I do,” he smiles – I swear it looks genuine and everything. “Though I will admit, many of the questions I receive, I’ve had a million times before, so I often have answers already typed out and ready to go.” He looks to Grace. “That’s not to dissuade you from contacting me. I never mind helping, especially when it’s within my power to put you at ease. But sure,” his eyes come back to mine, “Especially in the early days, the questions are quite similar, so it’s rarely a time burden for me to answer them.”
“Do we have to do the thing…” Grace’s cheeks flame hot as our eyes go to hers, and hers go to her crotch. “Um, vaginal today?”
There’s a reasonable chance Mike is related to Santa. He’s the sportier cousin, surely, but he still has the friendly chuckle, the belly bounce thing going for him.
“Nope. We’ll be taking a look at your baby today, Miss Rissata. But Lana mistakenly told you to change into a gown – you didn’t need to. In fact, to get on w
ith what we will be doing, I’ll need you to put your clothes back on. Leave your jeans unbuttoned, and if you put your shirt on, push it up to sit…” he rests his hand at his pecs and smiles. “I’ll step out for just a moment and allow you to dress, then I’ll be back, and we can get started.”
Clothes off. Clothes on. Clothes pushed out of the way, Grace is changed again within minutes, and lays back on the bed now. Kelly is back and, firing up that one-ton machine I spied earlier, he presses buttons and prepares for whatever it does; which, of course, is take ultrasound scans of a woman’s stomach.
I stand on Grace’s right, hold her hand in mine, and smile when she desperately looks up for comfort. I hold on a little tighter when Kelly squirts gel onto her stomach, and she jumps.
“It’s not so scary.” I try to croon, to be gentle with my words, and to comfort her with my smile. Though I know damn well that I’m talking out my ass.
Again, I’m not the one whose body is changing. I’m not the one who’s about to see inside her own fucking stomach to find another human in there. Does she feel a little like Sigourney Weaver in Alien right now?
“Your paperwork says you expect you’re thirteen or fourteen weeks along?” Kelly hits a few buttons on his machine, and juggling the probe in his other hand, he works it a bit like Luke works a stress ball to burn off excess energy.
He’s yet to press the probe to Grace’s stomach, but it’s coming. Soon. And then the words that have flashed through my mind for weeks will have an accompanying six-by-four black and white image.
I’m going to be a father.
It wasn’t planned, and it’s definitely not with the woman I expected it to be with. But this is where I choose what to do with my lemons, I guess. I can embrace the bitterness, or I can add a little sugar, and run with it.
“Alright,” Doctor Kelly murmurs and finally glances down to meet Grace’s gaze. “You ready for this?”
Grace nods, jerky and scared, and when he presses the probe to her stomach, she jumps.