Baby Crazy (Matt & Anna Book 2)

by Annabelle Costa

  Except when I call, he doesn’t answer.

  Why isn’t he answering his phone?

  He always answers his phone when I call, especially now that I’m getting closer to delivery time. Why isn’t he picking up? Is something wrong? Is he injured? Is the house on fire because somebody broke in and tried to do laundry when the lint screen wasn’t clean and now he’s busy fighting the fire so he can’t get to his phone?

  I suppose that last one isn’t likely. But still. Why isn’t he answering?

  Maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. Who could blame him?

  When his phone goes to voicemail, I immediately call again. And then again. And again. And before I know it, I’ve called him eleven times total.

  I hesitate before I call again. If I call a twelfth time, then I’ll have to call twenty-two times. And that might be too much.

  Before I can press the call button, the door to the break room swings open. A woman named Marissa enters the room—she’s another female programmer who came to the company a few years ago. She seems uncertain of what to do when she sees me. But finally, she grabs her mug from the cabinet on top and starts brewing coffee.

  “How are you doing, Anna?” she asks me.

  I frown at her, wondering if she genuinely wants to know how I’m doing. Probably not. It seems when people see each other, they say “how are you,” but they don’t actually mean it. It’s a more elaborate way of saying “hello.” Given the overwhelming likelihood that Marissa is simply being nice, I answer, “Fine.”

  Am I now supposed to ask how she’s doing? Is that the social convention? Even though I genuinely do not care?

  Oh well.

  “When are you due?” Marissa asks.

  “Two more months,” I say.

  “That’s so soon!” she exclaims. She does seem genuinely interested. “You’re so tiny! I wouldn’t have thought you were so close.”

  “Yes,” I murmur, even though I feel gigantic.

  “Matt said it’s a boy,” she says. “Is that right?”

  Of course, Matt would have conversed with this woman about our baby. I simply nod.

  She leans toward me eagerly. “Do you have a name picked out?”

  “Otto,” I say instantly. Even though we haven’t technically agreed on Otto, I’ve been thinking of him that way in my head sometimes. It comforts me for the baby to have a name.

  “Oh. That’s… different.”

  “It’s a palindrome,” I explain.

  Marissa glances at the coffee machine. I can tell I’m losing her interest. That’s fine though. If Matt can’t join me for lunch, I’d prefer to be alone.

  “So, Anna,” she says, “me and my husband are done having kids… and I mean, done. So I was just wondering if you need a breast pump? I’d be happy to give you mine.”

  I stare at her. “A breast pump?”

  She laughs. “You know, to pump breastmilk?”

  “Oh.” I shift in my seat. “I won’t be breastfeeding, so I don’t need that.”

  “Seriously?” Marissa stares at me as if I told her I’d be feeding my infant regurgitated worms from my mouth. “How could you of all people not be breastfeeding? It’s so much healthier for the baby!”

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t tell Marissa about the medications I used to take prior to getting pregnant, and how despite some evidence indicating they are safe during breastfeeding, Matt and I decided we would not take the risk. Research states there is a “low risk of harm” during breastfeeding, but I can’t deal with any risk of harm. If I breastfeed, I will only do it if I am off all my medications. And that’s clearly not a possibility.

  “I just don’t have time,” is what I tell her instead.

  “Really, Anna, you should make time,” she says. “Breastmilk contains tons of antibodies and reduces the risk of illness and infection. There are also studies that show babies who have been breastfed have a lower risk of obesity later in life.”

  “Yes, well,” I mumble.

  “Let me forward you some articles, okay? I think you’ll change your mind. And I’ll bring the pump in for you.”

  I don’t want any articles. I don’t want to know what my baby is missing out on because I need to be back on my medications. Matt and I already agreed on this. I’ll be a better mother with my medications, even if I’m not breastfeeding.

  Thankfully, my phone rings, allowing me the opportunity to end the conversation. I see Matt’s name on the screen and breathe a sigh of relief. I wait until Marissa leaves with her coffee before I answer.

  “Anna?” Matt sounds almost frantic on the other line. “What’s going on? Are you having contractions?”

  “No,” I say. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you called me eleven times!”

  I frown. “Well, I was eating lunch and I was lonely.”

  “But…,” he sputters. “Why did you call so many times?”

  “Well, why didn’t you answer?”

  There’s a long pause on the other line. “I was… in the bathroom.”

  A chill goes down my spine. Matt is lying. He’s lying to me. I can’t imagine why he’d be lying, but I know he is. He wasn’t in the bathroom. I don’t know where he was or why he chose to ignore my calls, but it’s clearly something he doesn’t want to share with me.

  I think of the other day, when I found him awake in the middle of the night, watching television downstairs. I think of how furious he became when I told him I wouldn’t have sex with him anymore. I touch my belly protectively and the baby kicks me from within.

  “Okay,” I say.

  He lets out a long sigh. “So, um, do you want to talk now?”

  “No,” I say quietly. “I’m done eating. I’ll go back to work now.”

  “Yeah, I better get back to work too.”

  Back to work. Work or whatever else he’s been up to.

  Chapter 44: Matt

  I pull the meatloaf TV dinner out of the microwave carefully. I grip it as tightly as I can with my right hand, but my wrist starts to shake with the effort. I’m glad Anna is hiding from the microwave in the living room and not here to see this display. The space between the microwave and the towel on my lap is big enough to be dangerous. And it’s even harder to get the food from my lap to the table.

  Don’t drop it, Harper. Don’t fucking drop it.

  I get the dinner to the kitchen table and let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t drop it. I don’t have to explain to Anna about why I’m not capable of carrying a plastic tray of food weighing eight ounces from the microwave to the table. Not today, anyway.

  “Dinner’s ready!” I call.

  Anna emerges from the living room, dressed in one of her many black maternity pants and white dress shirts that she wore to the office today. She’s waddling a little, but not too much because she still isn’t all that big, even though she thinks she is. She’s now nearly eight months pregnant. In one month, we’re going to have a baby in the house. It’s hard to believe. I can’t wait.

  When I look at her carrying that weight around all the time, tossing and turning all night in addition to waking up every two hours to go to the bathroom, I love her so much. I’m sure pregnancy is rough for any couple, but I’ve got to believe it’s been harder for us than for others.

  In one month, Anna can go back on her meds. That means maybe she’ll be willing to sit in my car without having a panic attack. She won’t have to wash her hands a hundred times a day. She’ll be able to use knives again. Maybe we can have sex again.

  Fuck. I really miss having sex with her.

  Got to be patient.

  “Thank you,” Anna says as she slides into the table across from me. There’s something overly polite about her lately, like I’m someone she’s only just met instead of her husband.

  “Uh, you’re welcome.”

  “It looks delicious.”

  I can see by her face it does not look delicious to her. It looks disgusting. To
anyone. The meatloaf is rubbery in texture and the sauce is alternately too thick or oily and thin. The mashed potatoes are a congealed lump. This meal is a joke compared with the dinners Anna used to cook for us. I don’t mind it that much, but she’s got a more refined palate than I do.

  “Sorry,” I say.

  “Why are you apologizing?” she says. “You made us dinner.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a gross TV dinner.”

  “It’s fine.” She takes a bite to demonstrate and grimaces. It’s almost funny. “It’s food. Nourishment. That’s all I need.” She chews, wincing with each working of her jaw. “Even if it’s a little salty.”

  I shrug and dig in. If she’s going to pretend it’s fine, then so will I. It was her decision to stop cooking, anyway.

  “So how was your day?” Anna asks brightly.

  I lift my eyes from my plastic tray of food. There’s something off about Anna’s smile, but I can’t put my finger on it.

  “It was fine,” I say. I worked from home today, so we didn’t see each other. “How about you?”

  “Fine, also.” That smile again. “Did you get out of the house at all? Or just worked all day?”

  “Uh, I went out to grab some lunch.”

  That’s not entirely a lie. I did go out to grab some lunch because I can only do that when Anna isn’t around. But right after that, I went to my occupational therapy. For the last few weeks, I’ve been staying home on the two days of the week I do therapy so that she doesn’t know I’m going. I’ve also had to be sneaky about doing the home exercises the OT assigned me.

  I hate to hide all this from Anna, but really, it’s the last thing she needs right now.

  “How nice,” she says. “Where did you go?”

  “McDonald’s,” I admit.

  Anna is trying not to react to that one. She thinks fast food is beyond disgusting—even worse than the TV dinners in front of us.

  “And you didn’t get sick?” she asks with something just short of amazement.

  “No, I survived.”

  She sniffs. “Well, you know the employees there are minimum-wage and don’t really know or care about proper handwashing techniques or proper temperatures for cooking meat.”

  “You don’t have to eat there.”

  “I won’t.”

  We stare at each other for a moment, the tension almost palpable. What is going on lately? Anna is weird—it’s something I accept and even love about her. But lately there’s something else. I can’t put my finger on it.

  “Are you coming to work tomorrow?” she asks me.

  I nod. “Planning to.”

  She puts one hand on the swell of her belly. I wonder if the baby is kicking—she almost never lets me feel anymore.

  “Is the baby kicking?” I ask.

  She nods and smiles. This time the smile is more genuine.

  I put down my fork. “Can I feel?”

  She visibly cringes. She puts both hands protectively on her belly and bites her lips. “I’m just worried that…”

  I get that surge of resentment I’ve been trying to ignore. Not only does Anna never let me feel the baby, she barely lets me touch her anymore. Even when I try to kiss her, she doesn’t seem thrilled. It really hurts. All I can think about is soon she’ll have the baby and get back on her meds, and I’ll have my wife back.

  “Never mind,” I mumble.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I just worry that the baby might get hurt.”

  One more month. We can do this.

  Chapter 45: Anna

  Every night, I dream about Matt.

  It’s always some variation of the same thing. Either he gets angry at me or tells me he can’t be with a woman who won’t let him touch her or he tells me he’s found someone else. Then he packs up and leaves.

  Every night, I wake up shaking.

  I want to believe it’s just my defective brain playing tricks on me. I want to believe Matt loves me and would not pack his bags and leave. But I can’t deny Matt is doing something he doesn’t want me to know about. I don’t know for sure what it is, but I have suspicions. When I look at him over the dinner table, I sometimes feel like I’m dining with a stranger.

  As things have become more distant between me and Matt, I’ve noticed him talking more to that receptionist Nicole. The one who told her friend she thought he was cute. I’ve attempted to spy on them when they talk, but I am not exactly inconspicuous anymore.

  This afternoon, I found the two of them talking quietly in the break room. The door was partially open, and I did my best to try to stay close to the opening and pretend I was doing something on my phone so nobody would think I was listening in on them.

  It was hard to hear because they were speaking so quietly, Nicole’s face just inches from Matt’s. Nicole is attractive in a very obvious way—young, golden blond hair, far too much makeup, large breasts. Even though my breasts have enlarged during pregnancy, hers are naturally big without the added burden of an enormous belly. I suppose the majority of men would find Nicole’s looks preferable to my own.

  I wonder if Matt would.

  “…Really starting to get pissed off…” I hear Matt say. “I mean, I don’t think I can take much more…”

  Nicole nods, her big blue eyes focused on him. “I don’t blame you…. Sounds terrible.”

  He murmurs something I can’t make out. “…All the time! Christ.”

  “Some people are just… difficult,” Nicole says.

  Matt is nodding. He rakes his hand through his hair, a haunted look in his eyes. It doesn’t require the master’s degree I earned to know he’s talking about me. He clearly has had enough of my recent behavior. While it’s perfectly understandable, considering I haven’t even allowed him to touch me in the last month, it doesn’t hurt any less.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he mutters miserably.

  Nicole raises eyebrows that have clearly been professionally groomed. “Would you consider… leaving?”

  I hold my breath. This is what I’ve been having nightmares about every single night. Matt leaving. I wait to hear his answer.

  “It’s…” He sighs loudly. “Not a good time. Not now. Obviously. I mean, the baby is coming… I couldn’t…”

  “Maybe after, then?”

  “Yeah.” He nods. “If things don’t get better…”

  I turn my head away, unable to listen to another word. Matt and Nicole. Her plotting to get him to leave me. I knew she wasn’t the nicest person in the world, but how could she do this?

  And he didn’t say no. He didn’t tell her she was making a ridiculous suggestion. He just nodded and said he’d do it if things don’t get better. I told Dr. Hayward this would happen. He said I was being ridiculous, but I knew.

  I walk quickly in the direction of the bathroom for the sixteenth time today, only this time I’m not going there to wash my hands. I’m going there so nobody will see me cry.

  And also to wash my hands.

  Chapter 46: Matt

  When I got to work this morning, Jack Rogers was waiting for me. I wasn’t late, but the first thing he did when he saw me was tap his wristwatch pointedly. It was one minute after nine o’clock. Not late. Fuck that guy.

  And before I can even log on to my computer, he lays in on me. He gets all up in my space, which I’m not happy about (it must make Anna nuts when he does that). “I’m worried about making our deadline, Harper,” he says. “Really worried.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. I pushed him back to mid-January, which he wasn’t thrilled about. Even that’s going to be tight, but it’s better than Christmas.

  He looks at me pointedly. “I’d feel better if you came to the office more…”

  I grit my teeth. “I get more done when I work from home. Peter said it was fine.”

  “Yes, but that was before.”

  I look up at him. I know it would be unprofessional to punch this guy in the face, but I want to. It might be worth it for that moment.
>
  No, it wouldn’t be worth it. Can’t lose my job. Not with a pregnant wife.

  “I come in three days a week,” I say defensively.

  “Tell me if you can’t handle this, Harper,” he says. “Tell me and I’ll put someone else in charge. Someone who…”

  Someone who isn’t in a wheelchair?

  Fucking Jack Rogers.

  “I can handle it,” I say.

  He doesn’t look convinced though. He’s going to keep riding me until this project is done. And then after that, I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t blackball me. Say he doesn’t want to put me in charge of any other projects because I dragged my feet on this one.

  This used to be the kind of thing I’d talk to Anna about. She works right next to me, and she knows how Rogers has been riding me. She’s survived in this business longer than I have, and she’d know what to do. But I don’t want to burden her right now. The last thing she needs when she’s going to have a baby in a month is to hear her husband is struggling at work.

  Instead, I vent about it to Calvin when we get lunch together, who tells me to just suck it up. I unload my gripes to Nicole, one of our receptionists, while we’re having coffee in the breakroom. She doesn’t like Rogers much either, because he grabs her ass. Her advice was to leave the company, which isn’t something I can do right now for a lot of reasons. I mean, how could I do that to Anna?

  Also, the truth is, I’m scared about my chances of getting a new job. When I interviewed to work here, I was twenty-four years old and in perfect health. Now… well, I’m still fairly young, but… shit, I don’t know about interviewing for a job in a wheelchair. I know there are laws against discrimination, but I’ve got to believe there are plenty of companies that will rule me out the second I roll in.

  I don’t know what the rules are. Am I supposed to alert the employer in advance that I use a chair? Do I just surprise them? I guess I need to ask to make sure the place is accessible, at least.