Anchor

by M. Mabie

  He rolled to his side and lit up his phone. “It’s about five thirty. Merry Christmas.”

  “Merry Christmas,” I repeated and snuggled close to him. Our tree was overflowing with presents. We had a lot of time to make up for and a new little someone to buy for, which made it fun. We’d wrapped the many things we’d bought for the baby’s room. I wasn’t due until June, but it was hard not to.

  “Do you want to get up and open stuff?” he said with one hand cupping my ass. “Or do you want to stay in bed for a little while?”

  One thing about being pregnant, I was horny all the time. He never complained, telling me it was his job to make sure I had everything I needed. That included him. I fought my Christmas curiosity and chose to stay in bed with the sexiest present I’d ever received. I answered with my mouth kissing his chest.

  “I love Christmas,” he said.

  I love Christmas, too.

  Days passed, months passed, and we found a rhythm.

  I remember him telling me once he wouldn’t be satisfied until we were sleeping on the same pillow and fighting over stupid things. All of those things that seemed like shots in the dark were our dreams come true.

  “Can you take this trash out?” I asked as I waddled around the kitchen. I could take it out, but my feet were so swollen from the night before. Our soft opening at The Two Ships. It had taken us about five months to get it open and I’d really wanted it up and going before the baby came. The night went off without a hitch. We didn’t have the brewery part quite up to speed yet, but the restaurant side was going to have a strong start.

  “Yeah, why don’t you go sit down, Momma?”

  He doted on me. Hand and foot. It was hilarious how he’d had cravings, but I hadn’t. The only thing that really grabbed my attention was something I couldn’t have.

  “Yeah, and could you get a beer?” He’d stocked our house with ice cream and pickles and every kind of cheese you could imagine, but it was beer I craved.

  He laughed, knowing the drill.

  After walking to the curb and washing his hands, he found me on the couch and brought my favorite Porter with him in an ice-cold pilsner glass. I watched as he took a long drink and placed it on the end table. Then he kissed me.

  Just the taste of it on his tongue was enough to pacify my craving. I looked at it like a win-win. Beer and Lou. It was a delicious combination.

  “My genes are strong, honeybee. That baby likes beer.” I giggled because it was true and my big fat belly bounced. “Don’t you? You know the good stuff.” He slid his hand in my shirt, like he did every night, and talked to the baby as it did flips on my bladder. His voice always caused movement, so it seemed they were already a pair I didn’t stand a chance against.

  Tuesday, May 17, 2010

  I DIDN’T STAND A chance against Blake and that baby. They had me right where they wanted me. Around their tiny pinky fingers. Becoming a husband and then finding out I was going to be a father, was like someone saying you won a brand new car, and free gas for life, and an island in the south of France, and a mansion, and all the beer you can drink, and blow jobs on the hour.

  Okay, it wasn’t quite that obnoxious, but it was good.

  Blake was incredible and every day I found new reasons to love her. When I watched her try three times to get her shoe on because she couldn’t bend around her big belly. When I made her laugh and she held her crotch to keep from peeing. When it took her two tries to roll over so she could wrap an arm around me in the middle of the night. My heart wasn’t just full, it was growing.

  The house was alive with projects to get done before the baby came. A crib to put together. A room to paint. Shelves to hang. But I was too busy watching her. We’d bought Hook, Line, and Sinker and turned it into our dream jobs. I’d be making beer, hands on, and I could change it up whenever I felt the whim. The best part was we could work together.

  No more solo road trips.

  No more good-night texts.

  No more missing her. Ever again.

  It was perfect, too. I had my space in the building, which we’d expanded to accommodate the kitchen and microbrewery. She had her zone and I had mine. But we could ride to work together and at night when one of us was buried under, the other was there to help.

  I’d watched my girl transform as the pregnancy progressed. After we made it through morning sickness, her belly seemed to pop out overnight. Thin shiny lines striped her skin where she stretched to hold our baby. At first I think she was a little embarrassed of them, but I thought they were bad-ass. They were like self-creating tattoos.

  Her boobs got huge and a little aggressive, I might add, but I knew how to stay out of their way. Her rosy nipples had darkened, bringing a new reason for me to study them.

  As time passed and the baby’s due date came closer and closer, it got more uncomfortable for her to sleep, and when she wasn’t working, eating or sleeping, she wanted to be fucking. I didn’t know pregnant women were so insatiable and unapologetic. I’d never heard, “Fuck me, Casey,” so many times in my life as I did in that nine months. She blew the fifty-eight times average right out of the fucking water in the first trimester. I was sort of proud.

  It had only been that week when she’d lost some interest. She was napping more and cleaning non-stop. Micah said she was making a bird’s nest or some shit, but her restlessness was freaking me out.

  We’d just fallen asleep when I felt her jerk and hitch her legs up to her stomach.

  “Ow. Ow. Ow,” she panted.

  I knew that sound. I was there when Foster was born, but we were still about three weeks until D-day. I flipped the light on and she was sweating. Just like I’d seen Micah do. Teeth bared and that crazy look in her eye.

  “Blake, are you all right?” I’d been gently scolded yesterday. All I did was worry about her. About the baby. I was kind of losing my mind. Thing is, being overprotective isn’t a choice. I was innocent, but I was getting on my own nerves at that point.

  Still, she’d never made that sound before. She’d never looked like that.

  “No. Ow. No. Ow.”

  We didn’t even have the bag packed. The fucking bag wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready. She was in labor and I was already fucking up.

  “What can I do?”

  “I don’t know. Ow.”

  Casey, get your shit together. This is not a drill.

  I sprang from bed and started throwing things in a duffel bag. Clothes. Her iPod. Shower stuff. I grabbed some clothes for myself. I made sure I had cash in my wallet. I found shorts, and slipped on my tennis shoes.

  “Blake, what do you need, baby?”

  “Don’t call me baby. Oh my God, my water just broke.”

  Everything was going too fast. Water was breaking. I knew we were forgetting everything we’d read we should expect.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I said as I started pacing.

  “Ow. Come here,” she told me. I sat down next to her and she grabbed my hand. I thought it was sweet until she damn near broke it. “Casey, listen to me. We can get stuff later. Ow. We need to go now.”

  Stuff later. Go now. That made sense.

  I helped her stand up and she found her legs, although they didn’t seem so sturdy.

  “Can you grab me some new pants and a bra?”

  I went to the closet and found what she needed. I helped her dress and I tossed the wet clothes in the bathroom on our way out.

  She took a few steps, then she’d stop. I rubbed her back. I felt so damn helpless.

  When we were in the car, I felt better. I felt like I could do something. Driving her to the hospital was my purpose. The dashboard said 1:50, so I guess we actually had fallen asleep, it just didn’t feel like it.

  Did I tell you how fast everything was going?

  I dialed the number I had programmed in my phone under Go Time.

  “Hello, labor and delivery,” a female voice answered. “This is Janel.”

  “Janel, my wife is
in labor. We’re coming in.” I said quickly. I didn’t want to be on the phone long. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, but I needed to drive. I had more than my boner and cheesecake to protect.

  “Okay, what’s her name and who’s her doctor?”

  “Blake Moore and Dr. Garcia.”

  “All right, how far away are you?” she asked calmly.

  Didn’t she understand we were having a baby? Then again, she did this every day.

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.” I wished it were faster though. At that point, Blake was breathing and hanging in there, but I could tell she was in a lot of pain.

  Janel chuckled. “Okay, Mr. Moore. Drive safely. We’ll be down there waiting for you.”

  She wasn’t joking. When we pulled into the lane, a nurse was waiting for us. I slammed the car in park and ran around to help Blake out as the nurse came to us with the chair.

  “Mr. Moore, you can park your car around the side of the building. Have the desk let you up to the third floor. Someone will tell you where we are when you get up there,” she instructed.

  “No. I’m not leaving her. Fuck that car. They can tow it,” I stated. No fucking way was I leaving her.

  “How will you bring baby home without a car? It’ll only take you a minute.”

  Blake winced as another set of contractions hit. I saw her zone out and focus. She was a lot different than Micah in labor. Blake was a quiet fighter, where Micah almost murdered me. I was kind of expecting it to be more like that.

  “Casey, please go park. It will only take a minute. Please.” She drew a long breath in through her teeth. Pulling the car around didn’t sound so bad when she asked me.

  “Okay,” I said and kissed her. “I’m right behind you.”

  I whipped that motherfucker into the first spot I came to that wasn’t designated for every other person on the damn planet. Doctors. Emergency patients. Inpatient. Outpatient. I just needed a spot.

  Then I sprinted back to through the doors.

  “Three, please,” I said to the person working the desk. She buzzed the doors open for me to pass on my way to the elevators and I rode up. The damn thing was slow. I’m pretty sure I heard the whole Michael Bublé Greatest Hits album in my ride. It took that damn long.

  I walked off and found another nurse sitting at a desk.

  “I’m Casey Moore. They just brought my wife up. She’s having my baby.” The last part was redundant, but it just came out.

  “She’s right down this hall in room 315.”

  My mind flashed back to the night we met.

  Honeybee: Room 315.

  But I didn’t stop to write it in my journal or anything. I had shit to do. She was having my baby.

  The room was already busy. There were two nurses getting her hooked up to stuff and starting an IV.

  “So your water already broke then, Mrs. Moore?”

  “Yes, just before we left. It happened suddenly,” Blake said as she inhaled through her nose and out her mouth.

  “Okay, I’m going to check to see how far we are along.”

  I found a spot and stood next to Blake as the nurse examined her. It had taken about nine months for me to get used to that. It was awkward having someone else touch your wife.

  In that moment, I just wanted them to say everything was fine and then they’d make her feel better. We’d decided drugs were the way we were going. Blake didn’t want to be really out of it, and she’d said if she could handle it she’d do it that way, but there was no question she was in a lot of pain and about to take what they gave her.

  She reached for my hand and I bent down to her ear.

  “You're doing really good, honeybee. I’m right here.”

  “Well, you’re dilated to four centimeters, but it seems like baby has moved around. Did they notice baby was turned around at your last appointment?”

  “No. Dr. Garcia said everything seemed fine last week.”

  “Oh, everything will be just fine.” We both listened, hanging on every word the nurse said. “I’m going to call the doctor and let him know how you are. I’m sure he’ll be here very soon.” She moved the gown Blake had been changed into down, and pulled the sheet up over her legs.

  “What does that mean?” I asked nobody in particular.

  “I think the baby is breech, Casey. I thought I felt something weird the other day, but I just thought it was a big kick or a flip. This kid is always moving.” She didn’t sound worried as she said it. It was a good thing one of us was trying to stay calm. Her eyes said otherwise, though. “It’ll be okay. Let’s just wait for the doctor. Talk to me.”

  Talk to me.

  “Did you know this is room 315?” I asked her.

  She shook her head no.

  “That was your hotel room number the night we met.”

  “It was?” She smiled.

  The poor woman was in labor and I made her smile. My life had just been made.

  “Yep, I remember thinking how pretty you were. How out of my fucking league you were, but I wanted you so bad.”

  She tensed and pushed a hand into her stomach like I’d been seeing her do the past few days and she rolled on her side toward me. I pulled up the chair and let down the rail so that we were face to face.

  “You were so hot, pretending to want to talk about beer, all the while drinking my beer.”

  “It’s good beer.”

  “It is good beer. I really was going to break up with Aly in person that night, but I didn’t want to leave after we met. After I met you.”

  “You were being a jerk,” she said. “You didn’t want to talk to me.”

  “Yes, I did. I just couldn’t figure out what to say, and I hoped you’d come back over to talk to me.”

  “I did,” she said on an exhale. “I think we have a good story, Casey.”

  I leaned in and kissed her lips. “I think so, too.”

  “Would you do it all again?” she asked.

  I thought back on the pain, the laughs, the hurt and the anger. I contemplated it. Weighed it all up, pros against cons. There was only one answer.

  “In a fucking heartbeat.”

  Blake was right. Our little one was breech and raring to come out. We sat on one side of a blue curtain while they pulled our baby from her. We couldn’t see anything, and I wasn’t about to look, so we stared at each other waiting. My honeybee, wearing a hair net and a pink hospital gown, was radiant. I loved her even more.

  “It’s a girl!” We heard one of the nurses say.

  Those elongated minutes, while the doctor and nurses worked, were like standing on the edge of a cliff. Then hearing her wail, as she took her first breath, was the jump.

  She screamed bloody murder.

  It was the most exhilarating moment of my life. I cried like a girl, but that wasn’t so bad. My wife was a girl and, man, was she bad-ass and our daughter would be too.

  My heart grew new chambers and filled with fresh blood and purpose.

  Then our little girl screamed some more.

  They held her up so we could see her. She was pink and white and her mouth was huge. And open. And loud. Her little chin quivered and the nurse pulled her away to do whatever they do to babies right after they’re born.

  I kissed my wife over and over again. How was I ever going to repay her for giving me such an incredible life?

  The doctor stitched her up and moved us into a different room while they waited for Blake to recover a little more. It was sort of nice. The hustle and bustle was dying down and it was only us for the first time.

  “What should we call her?” Blake asked, in a new voice I’d never heard from her. It was her mommy-voice and I liked it. It was low and sweet and soft. It came naturally like most things do for her. I’d been suggesting names for months. None of them were ever any good, but nevertheless I was throwing something she could swing at.

  There was one name I’d been thinking about that I hadn’t mentioned. It was more of just a word that made me t
hink of her, even before she was born.

  “Wake,” I said. “Wake Elizabeth Moore.” It was a long shot. I’d suggested far more normal names, which had all been respectfully shot down.

  “Wake,” she rolled it around on her tongue, testing it out. “Why Wake?”

  “Because that’s what she is. After everything. After all this time. She’s what we made. She’s the result. Through rough storms and calm waters we kept moving. Our love kept us going forward and it made the perfect wake.”

  Present Day

  “DADDY, TELL ME THE one about Lou and the honeybee again,” Wake requests as we are getting her all snuggled down for the night. She loves when we read to her at bedtime. But most of all, she loves when we make up our own stories. Little does she know her favorite one is true. Well, kind of.

  We skim over a few parts.

  “You like that one the most, don’t you?” I pulled her covers tight around her.

  She’s tenacious. Wild and curious. Wake has my hair and Blake’s big brown eyes. She has all of my favorite parts of her mom really. She’s gentle and has a big heart. She forgives easily and always wants to do the right thing.

  “Yes, I like when Lou gives the honeybee the angel’s ring. When he sur-poses to her. It’s so sweet, Daddy.”

  “Pro-poses. And I like that part, too.” I clicked off the overhead light and turned on her lamp, then took my seat on the bed next to where she lay.

  “Okay, once upon a time, a long, long time ago. Lou fell in love with a honeybee, but the world wasn’t ready for their love just yet …”

  As I told the embellished, kid friendly version—including the big, bad robot and the phone stealing witch—she begins to drift off. She bats her heavy eyelids, just as they draw closed for the night, fighting to hear her favorite parts.

  Blake waddles in and crawls into the bed beside our little girl. Her big belly hanging out from under her tank-top.

  We’re having a boy this time. My wife gives me everything. I’m such a lucky man.

  Our baby girl falls asleep, but I finish the story.