by M. Mabie
“We’re having a baby, Casey,” I said. Was it hormones fueling my emotions, or my emotions amplifying my hormones? Regardless, it was splendid. It took him down on his knees. The poor things gave right out. I giggled as he braced himself on the mattress in front of me, grinning like a mad man. Then almost as if a switch flipped, it rocked him and he started to tear up.
There were a few moments during the ceremony earlier when I thought he was about to lose it, but he never quite did. It was a moment shared between just us, in a hotel room, on our wedding night, in our underwear that stole the show.
“You’re having my baby?” he said in disbelief.
“I am.”
“You’re giving me a baby,” he stated and it sounded like he was testing it out.
“Yes.”
“Like right now? Not let’s make a baby?” He sniffed. “Like we already made one and it’s in here?” He tapped a soft finger at my belly.
“Uh-huh,” I answered.
“We’re having a baby? You’re giving me a baby.” He crawled up the bed and I inched back to give him room.
“You gave me a baby.”
“You surprised me,” he admitted, out of breath. The shock made his body tremble and I felt it as he laid us back on the mattress.
“You surprised me too. I didn’t know you were doing that.”
“I wasn’t kidding. I was really putting babies in you.”
“Uh, yeah you were,” I agreed.
He kissed me and it only intensified when I turned my head to deepen it.
“Thank you,” he said around our lips. “Thank you so much. You married me. You’re giving me a baby. You’ve given me everything.”
I hoped for all women’s sake that his reaction was typical, because it didn’t get any better than that. Everyone should get to experience that kind of happy.
The fever in his kisses increased and I felt his excitement change to arousal. My hand found him, hard. I gripped his length and he moaned into my mouth.
He bewitched me.
His arms surrounded me as we lay side-by-side, touching and exploring as if we couldn’t already write the manual to each other’s bodies.
His hand cupped my tender breast. Squeezing like they were brand new to him.
I slipped my hand under the waistband of his silk boxers and teased as he moved in and out of my grip. His fingers traveled south and my whole body sunk into the plush pillow-top mattress when he put his hand on me. My bones turned into liquid and I felt like I could slip through the bed to the floor. As much as I wanted to please him, when he took control of me, my focus faded like fog as the sunshine melted it away.
“I really get to keep you. All of you. These are mine,” he said before he sucked a fortunate nipple into his mouth.
“And this is mine.” His long finger parted me. I swear I felt every ridge and line in his fingerprint as one by one they pressed. He put pressure where I craved it, working my body like a marionette doll. A touch here and I arched. A feather-light graze there and my fingers dug into the sheets above my head. A flick and my toes curled.
What little control I had was blown away like delicate seeds off a dandelion in the wind.
I was somewhere else, and when I came back to us, he'd taken off my panties, and his boxers were kicked off as well. I held onto his face, and he hitched my leg up his side; his erection needed no guidance, and our hips moved together in one motion into one another.
“Oh, you feel so good, Casey,” I whimpered on an exhale when he was completely inside me. I pushed against him more to see how close we could fit. “I want you. Only you. Forever. I’m yours forever.”
Our wedding night was something indescribable. We’d already said all of the words. Thought the thoughts. That night we just felt each other, communicating with each other by touch. He gave me what I needed, no holding back. All speech reduced to murmurs and moans, our names the only words that made any sense.
We didn’t even get up when we were finished to straighten up the bed, get water, or brush our teeth. We were sated just as we were.
I fell asleep listening to his heart beating slowly and his shallow breathing, tucked into his arms where I belonged.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
THERE WAS NO PLACE else in the world I’d rather be. My wife was in my arms.
Our wedding had been flawless. Best day of my life.
But our wedding night was something completely different. I’d expected ravenous sex and arms and legs everywhere. After the reception, I wanted to consume her. There was a feeling inside me to claim her like I never had before.
Then everything changed.
She was having our baby.
I’m not saying my passion went away, or I didn’t want to fuck the hell out of my brand new bride—I did. I probably always will. But it was different. I was different.
It wasn’t about getting to a climax because I already felt like I was there. Her telling me I was going to be a father was the single biggest rush of my life. It was the best gift. The biggest present. The most valuable thing anyone had ever given me. I was blown away.
“When did you find out?” I asked her the next morning. The sun was just coming up and she was looking through the room service menu.
“Only earlier this week. It was killing me not to tell you. I had to drink shitty sparkling cider all weekend. I wanted it to be special.” Mission accomplished.
“It was. I almost passed out.” She tossed the binder aside, rolled over and perched her head on my chest. I’d been laying there staring at the ceiling for a while. I remembered when Cory told me about them being pregnant and how freaked out he’d been at first. I didn’t feel anything like that. Of course, we were a few years older than they were then and we were married—just barely. Kind of.
“Are you still happy about it? It’s not too soon?”
“Yes, I’m happy. I was shocked, but honeybee, this is the best thing ever. We’re having a baby. Our very own little person to play with and teach and dote on. I couldn’t be happier. Seriously.” It was the truth.
There wasn’t one negative thing I could think of. Sure, some couples like to wait awhile and get a house or spend more time together first, but all of that was bullshit.
We had a house and having a kid would only make it worth more to me. In one night my attention had shifted. My priorities had changed. Somewhat.
I still loved what I did, but I didn’t want to be away from her—especially now. It would make me a lunatic thinking I was missing something or not there when she needed me. I had a lot of thinking to do.
“Good, because I’m really excited. It didn’t even freak me out, Casey.” Her eyes got glassy as she stared out the window. “All I could think was, everything just keeps getting better. You know? Like maybe everything we went through, all of that crap from before, was a price we paid for all of this. Like we’d done our time or something.”
I understood what she was saying. Sometimes I felt like that too.
I said, “Yeah, like the past two weeks when I couldn’t have sex with you made last night so fucking good.” My analogy was weak, but it was the same thing when you boiled it all down. Bad times helped you realize how good the best times are. They give you perspective. Teach you how to appreciate what you have.
“Yeah, something like that.” She snapped out of whatever daydream was floating around in her pre-coffee daze. “I’m hungry.” She hadn’t had her post-coital snack last night. I bet she could eat one of everything on the menu. I was starving too.
We ordered omelets, fruit and coffee and when that wasn’t enough, she ordered some oatmeal and orange juice to top it off. She said that she’d have to start cutting back on coffee, but not today.
There wasn’t much we had to do before we left on our honeymoon, and I’d intentionally not booked our flights until Monday, hoping we’d stay all day in bed.
I’m a smart man because we did just that.
We didn’t watch T.
V. We didn’t leave the room. The only time we left the bed was to answer the door for food and once to take a shower. I rediscovered all of my favorite places on her body and let her explore mine.
If that first day as man and wife was an example of how our life would be, I’d never have to worry about some dumb married couple sex fifty-eight time average I read.
We were only on day one and had five tick marks on the calendar. I wasn’t keeping count, per se, but it was hard to miss a tally like that.
Sex or no sex, though, the next year would be pretty damn exciting.
Monday, September 20, 2010
WHAT A WAY TO start off our first year married. Pregnant and going to the last American frontier. I was on to him; he wasn’t fooling anybody.
“Alaska, Casey?” I asked for the ninety-fifth time as we boarded our flight.
“What?” he asked innocently. “You make it seem like a bad idea. Neither of us has ever been.”
I knew better. We weren’t just checking a destination off some arbitrary bucket list. He wanted to ensure we were having sex more than the typical fifty-eight time average that year. Taking me to some cottage in the wilderness would be a sure-fire way to do it. There was no way I was going to outrun a bear. Or a wolf. Or any other wild animal that was frolicking around. He had me right where he wanted me. He was a genius, but I’d never let him know that.
“Fairbanks isn’t like the middle of nowhere,” he reminded me. “They have indoor plumbing and everything.”
Turns out that indoor plumbing came in handy. Where the first night and day was spent eating and exploring the cool city, then driving to our cottage, day two found me in the bathroom of said cottage until around noon.
“Are you all right?” Casey brought me a 7-Up as I sat on the floor in front of the toilet.
“Yeah, I think so.”
“That shit is serious. How do you feel?”
Who knew morning sickness started so soon? I thought I’d have a few weeks to get used to the idea. I’d only known for less than a week.
“I feel fine right now; it just happens all of a sudden.”
He set the drink down on the counter and offered me a hand up.
“Do you think we should call a doctor or go home early?” Casey had been on his phone all morning googling how to combat my symptoms. I was going to learn a lot that day if I didn’t start feeling better and occupy his time. The more he read, the more anxious he got.
“No. We’re on our honeymoon.”
“Yeah, but you’re barfing every thirty minutes. One website said that as long as you’re not feeling crampy, morning sickness is actually a sign of a healthy first trimester.”
He was speaking in trimesters and he’d only known for three days. All in Casey’s world was alive and well. Full-steam ahead.
“I’m pretty sure I’ll be barfing no matter where we are. We might as well be shacked up in a real shack,” I teased. Our cabin was nothing remotely close to shack-like, but it was fun giving him shit.
“Blake, this place has a movie theater. It’s far from primitive.”
Carrying the soda with me, I walked back into the master bedroom and climbed back into bed. “I’m sorry I don’t feel good this morning.” Even though he’d brought up babies on more than one occasion, and I’d only thought about them in theory, finding out I was pregnant made me unconditionally happy.
“Shut up. You still look hot. And if you’re hunched over the toilet, you’re an easy target if I want a little doggy action.”
“Ew, you wouldn’t.”
“No. I wouldn’t,” he confessed. “Some people are into that though. I bet I could find us a movie to watch later on that big screen, if you’re curious.”
He plopped down next to me and perched his head on his hand. Casey looked fine in anything, but the way his pajama bottoms hung low on his hips and his T-shirt fit just so, well let’s just say he had casual down to a science. His presence made the yuckiness bearable. I wasn’t alone and he was my favorite thing to look at.
And so began our honeymoon routine.
Mornings were rough, but by the time lunch would roll around, I’d feel right as rain. If you have to be sick with someone, I’d suggest finding someone who could make you laugh. He was a master at distraction.
“Is it too early to pick out names, honeybee?” he asked from his spot on the bathroom floor. After you do the same thing five mornings in a row, you find your places. I leaned against the tub and he against the wall facing me. Mostly we just looked at our phones and talked about the wedding, or how it had been a dumb idea to come all the way to Fairbanks.
I laughed at his question. Was it too early? I didn’t think so. I’d already been racking my brain too.
“I don’t think so. What do you have in mind?”
“I think we should name him Ringo.” I waited for the telltale Casey smirk that usually followed when he was kidding. And I waited. Then I threw up and waited some more. I’d like to hope my non-answer was answer enough.
The names he thought up were preposterous at best. It was easy to tell he found inspiration quickly, and impulsively he’d throw them at me. “Janet? Ms. Nasty? No, never mind that one. I hope it’s a boy. Those names are easier.”
Our honeymoon wasn’t even close to ruined by the shitty mornings. Looking back, the pukey-bathroom-floor mornings were some of my favorite memories of the trip. I got pretty good at toilet paper basketball. One morning he brought up an instructional video of how to fold washcloths and towels into origami. We played Name That Song or rather I lost at Name That Song. Who in the hell would guess “The Fabulous Thunderbirds”?
We didn’t tell people about the baby for a while and it was our fun little secret. Casey bottled a couple cases of root beer in Bay Bottles for me at work and when we’d go to visit his dad and Carmen or Cory and Micah came over, I’d drink those as to not raise any suspicion. It felt like we were Russian spies hiding a secret love child in plain sight. Those were his words, not mine.
“We could call her Nakita,” he’d suggested. Then he bared his teeth to look fierce.
“Veto.”
“For a boy? Like Danny DeVito?”
He was such a smartass, but I loved it.
The morning sickness hung around a lot longer than I’d like to admit, but we got through it.
As the months got cooler, I got fatter but I didn’t care. Casey worshiped my body, always curious about how I was feeling or how I was changing as our little one grew.
“Maximus. That’s a good name.” He looked hopeful that time. I didn’t mind Max, but you shouldn’t name your child based on what you watched on Netflix. We could do better.
“Veto.” I denied him, like always, as we cooked together the night before Thanksgiving. It was the first holiday we were hosting in our home. We planned to tell everyone the news then and calling whoever couldn’t make it. We weren’t finding out the gender until it came out. Casey said it was too much fun guessing and he didn’t care either way as long as he or she had my smile. I hoped whoever had his.
I chopped vegetables for stuffing and baked piecrusts, and he cleaned up as I went.
“So do you think they’ll accept our offer?” I asked him.
He finished chewing the celery he’d stolen and nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I think they like knowing it’s going to still be a bar, you know? It’s not like we’re tearing it down and putting up a parking garage.” He had a point. We’d never tear down Hook, Line, and Sinker.
What had been a pipe dream on the bathroom floor in Fairbanks turned out to be attainable. He was going to keep his portion of Bay Brewing, but he wanted to build something that was ours. I wanted to be in our restaurant, not just make plans for other people’s. I was a chef; he was a brewer.
My whole world began in that bar. The first time I made him smile. The first place he called me honeybee. Our first kiss was on those bar stools. Our first dance on the old wooden floor. There was no conceivable way we could let
something unfortunate happen to it. That place held a special spot in our hearts.
So, we were buying it. As long as everything went through.
“I have a name for that too,” he informed me as he circled my waist and placed his hands on my little belly bump.
“Hit me.”
“The Two Ships.”
Now that was perfect. “I love it, Casey. That’s it.”
It was moments like that when it was hard to believe we were ever not on the same course. When things clicked into place. When everything worked out as if it had been in the plan all along.
“It’s going to be a lot of hard work, honeybee. Are you sure you want to do this?” I think we were both a little apprehensive. We had a baby on the way. The next few months would be full of meetings with contractors and doctor’s appointments, but it felt right.
“I’m sure. I really want it.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. The Two Ships it is.”
I turned around in his arms and kissed my husband. I think every business deal should be made like that. I hugged him and did my best to show him how much I loved him.
Around the dining table with his dad and Carmen, Troy, Micah, Cory and Foster, Audrey and Morgan, Casey announced, “Happy Thanksgiving. Honeybee is having my baby.”
“Oh shit,” I sat up in bed and held my stomach.
“What?”
“I just felt it.” It was the weirdest sensation. A quick rolling flip of a movement. I’d been waiting patiently. We’d heard the heartbeat and we’d had the sonogram, but it didn’t feel real until that second. “Casey, I felt the baby move.”
There was no way he could feel it, but he put his hand beside mine anyway. Then it did it again. A dull tickle on the inside. It was magnificent.
“Did it hurt?” Always worried, always concerned. He’d taken the vow to protect me seriously. A little too seriously at times, but I let it slide because he was him.
“No. It felt cool,” I explained as I lay back into the bedding. It was our first Christmas morning together. After all the absent years, it was the first one we were going to share. “What time is it?”