by Justin Tate
* * *
It was early-December. Denise was back in her apartment, feeling better and better about herself. Milestones came one day at a time. She was still coping with the morning sickness and animal-like hunger for meat, but she had a routine down now so that it was a simple song and dance. She was even starting to show, a happy baby bump that was impossible to resist rubbing.
There was bacon frying for breakfast, as there usually was, and she flipped it merrily in the skillet, humming a made-up song.
The trip to visit her mother had drastically improved her mood. Just as Denise predicted, Juanita Perkins burst into joyous tears when she told her. They chatted and cracked jokes just like best friends. Juanita moaned when Denise showed her the pictures of Andy in his military uniform. “Good Lord, Denise, that boy is sexy! What’s he packin’?”
“Mother!” Denise cried, feigning embarrassment, then told her. “Eight and a half, uncut.” They giggled at this for as long as their bladders could stand it.
“So you think it’ll be a girl?” Juanita asked rhetorically. They both knew the family had a history of firstborn girls. Neither of them had any doubt that Denise's baby would be different.
“Yes,” Denise said, beaming. They both smiled.
“I have a surprise for you,” Juanita said, becoming serious. “I’d been saving it for you since the day you were born.”
Denise followed her into the attic, where her mother unlocked a large chest and pulled out a wicker basket full of bright pink baby clothes. “I started sewing them while I was still pregnant with you,” she said. “I don’t know why I never let you wear them. I guess I always knew they were meant for another baby.”
It had been very hard to leave her mother, but Denise wanted to get back to the apartment and eventually return to work. Their farewell hug could have lasted forever, but Juanita finally surrendered the embrace and wished her daughter best of luck with her new life.
Denise gave the bacon a final flip. It wasn’t cooked all the way through, but the smell had become too intoxicating to wait. She transferred the strips to a paper plate and ate one without bothering to let it cool. The grease burned her tongue, but she barely noticed. It tasted amazing.
Now that she finally felt in control of her body, Denise decided to call Debbie to see what shifts were available. Debbie didn't answer her cell, so Denise tried the restaurant.
“Debbie’s Kitchen, this’s Debbie, what can I do for ya?”
“Hey, Debbie! It’s Denise, how are you?”
The restaurant sounded packed, but Debbie seemed genuinely happy to talk to her. “Well, I’m doin’ great, but how are you? We haven’t heard from you 'n so long me 'n the girls were startin’ to think you done gone and had that baby six months early!”
Denise laughed. “I’m doing great actually. In fact, I was wondering if I could get back to work.”
There was a small crash and scattered voices over the phone. Debbie shouted at someone to get a mop. “Sorry honey, this new girl is such a mess. Did you say you were ready to work again?”
Debbie always had a way of letting you know you screwed up. She might have understood Denise’s leave of absence, but she purposely mentioned the new girl as a reminder of how replaceable she was.
“Yep, I said I’m ready whenever. I feel much more in control now.”
“Well, sweetie, you can come in anytime you want. Tonight would actually be perfect. Christmas came early this year and we’ve been busier than a Catholic in Vegas. Wanna come in round six?”
“That sounds fine,” Denise said.
“All right. You sure you can handle it now? My second baby was such a bastard, he made the whole nine 'n a half months a livin’ hell.”
“I’ll be fine, Debbie,” Denise laughed, and hoped she was telling the truth. It was unlikely that she would be forgiven for blowing chunks on another customer.
“All right, see you at six!” Debbie said and promptly disconnected.
Denise slid the last strip of bacon into her mouth and considered cooking more when a pounding began on the front door. It was loud and persistent, followed by a masculine voice. “Denise, it’s me. Open up.”
Andy?
She opened the door and there stood the man of her dreams. He was wearing gray sweat pants and a white undershirt. “We need to talk,” he said, letting himself in.
“I know we do,” Denise said. Hell yes we do, she was thinking. About the wedding, names for the baby, looking for a home. So, so much to talk about. She was almost mad at him for taking this long to see her, but that sexy shirt revealed his muscular arms and Denise melted as she visualized him gently holding their daughter.
“You want to explain why my mother called this morning and said she talked to some girl who was having my baby?” He sounded violent. Denise thought he must have had a hard day at training.
“Well, because I called her, silly.” Being cheerful was sure to lighten his mood. “Your phone must be broken or something because I kept calling and you didn’t answer. I figured you had already mentioned it to her, so I asked if she wanted to be involved.”
“Denise, I don’t know who you think you’re kidding, but I haven’t had sex with you in over a year, so whoever’s kid you’re having isn’t mine.”
“You don’t remember Jerri’s Halloween party?” Denise asked curtly. She was tired of his games. Love required openness and right now he wasn’t playing fair.
“Halloween party? When was it? September? I was in Missouri the whole month of October for basic.” He was no longer kidding, Denise noticed. But was he telling the truth?
Is it possible? She thought, rubbing her belly. Yes, the night had been hazy and there were questions even she couldn’t answer, but you didn’t get pregnant in your sleep. Anybody knew that.
“You’re just being mean,” she tried again. “I definitely remember you being there.”
“Denise, I wasn’t there. If you’re pregnant it’s not—” He stopped then, seeing a picture of himself at the ROTC stuck to the refrigerator alongside a caption reading My Husband written in black Sharpie. “What the fuck is this?” He stormed into the kitchen and crumbled each picture. “What are you?” He explored the rest of the apartment, tearing apart the e-mails she had framed and the love notes that were written but never received. There was endless Andy memorabilia, but what set him off most was a baby blanket marked “For Little Lily” and a Barbie doll with a note saying “for Jasmine Elizabeth Stutler”. There was a receipt still attached from last January.
“How many times have you been pregnant?” he asked, “because it looks like you’ve been buying baby shit for nearly a year. I can’t believe it. You’re literally crazy! You’re not even pregnant are you? If this is some kind of sick joke, it’s on you, sweetheart.”
Denise was overwhelmed. She figured the news would surprise him and even thought that he may become upset, but never had she expected anything like this. There was literally fury in his eyes. He hated her, she realized. The father of her baby hated her.
Denise’s heart broke.
“I-I’m not crazy,” she stammered through clenched tears. “I can show you. I still have the test.”
Andy stopped, considering this. “All right,” he said. “Show me. I’m actually curious, because right now all I see is a desperate girl who doesn’t understand the concept of a one night stand.”
Snot dripped from Denise’s nose as she picked up the music box. Its song floated out, wistful but hopeful. “My pregnancy test,” she said, handing it to him. “I took it just five weeks ago and I've only had sex with you. I still have the box, too, so you can read the label. It’s official, Andy.” She grabbed the package out of a drawer and gave it to him with a frustrated shove.
After a quick examination, Andy surprised her by chuckling. “Oh yeah, real official,” he said. “The ‘100% error proof, always positive pregnancy test.’ Made by ‘Pesky Pranks, Inc.’”
Denise stood very still. Andy rave
d.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME?” he roared. “I REALLY, REALLY DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT! CAN YOU NOT JUST LEAVE ME AND MY FUCKING FAMILY ALONE?”
Crazed, Andy smashed the music box against the wall. One of the dancing children broke off and skidded across the floor. “I DON’T KNOW IF YOU’RE REALLY CRAZY OR NOT, BUT YOU NEED HELP. DELETE MY NUMBER. DELETE MY E-MAIL. GET OUT OF MY LIFE—”
He continued to rage. Denise stared at him, becoming emotionless. She realized now that there was only one option. She had to save the baby, she had to save her beautiful daughter from growing up in a family where the father didn’t believe in her.
As her mood changed, she felt for the first time empowered by her weakness. She was not just a girl, but a tigress protecting her cub. This is what her mother would have done. Perhaps what she did do. It would explain her missing father.
Denise bent down and picked up the metal baseball bat that she kept under the bed for protection. In one furious swing, she hit Andy in the balls hard enough to score two home runs. His stunned expression was priceless. While he was sniveling on the floor, she reared back again and brought the bat down on the top of his head with a hideous, metallic crack. Denise hoped that the baby could hear the sound it made.
At six o’clock, Denise was in uniform and ready to work. Her hands were still shaky from the heavy lifting and her mind elsewhere, but she was determined to stay focused, to show Debbie how strong and capable she was.
Business was immediately booming. She barely had time to chit-chat with her coworkers about the miracles and miseries of pregnancy before being thrown into a section where nearly every table was filled. Fortunately there were no customer complaints and no crazy women requesting a sodium-free meal. When ten o’clock arrived, it was from exhaustion, not cramps, that Denise collapsed into a booth to take a quick breather. Getting off her feet was bliss, but she saw Debbie eyeing her from the office so she moved to the ladies room. It was more peaceful in there anyway. No high pitched clinking of silverware, no liquids pouring against ice, no phony hospitality.
For the first time Denise began to think seriously about her confrontation with Andy. She had no emotional regret for killing him. After all, she was merely protecting her child. The only troubling thing would be the accusations. She had gone through them all before in Millstone, but she wasn’t pregnant then. Some trials lasted a long time, even ones that were obviously a matter of self-defense. She didn’t want the baby to go through any of that, even as an infant. You learn things at that age and remembered them forever.
She was thinking about this when the restroom door burst open and Denise saw Courtney’s blonde hair through the slits in the stall.
“Denise, are you in here?!” Courtney was a high-strung personality who got excited over anything, but from her tone it sounded as if someone died. Then Denise laughed, knowing that that was probably just what it was. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Your boyfriend is named Andy Stutler, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh, my God. Come to the break room quick, he’s all over the news.”
Exhausted, Denise followed and sat in front of the little sixteen inch television set. A female newscaster looked grave as she spoke of the untimely death and murder of Andy Stutler. She warned viewers that the following content may not be appropriate for all audiences. The next image was of the dumpster Denise had tossed Andy into by pushing his corpse out of the apartment window. There was a throng of police officers carrying away a black body bag.
“I think I better go,” Denise said.
During the drive back to her apartment, Denise Perkins's mind was on other things. She was happy for the most part. Happy to be a mother, happy that evil Andy was gone, even happy that the police had found his body so quickly so she could get the technicalities out of the way. But even as distracted as her thoughts were, it was a young man named Logan Strong who ran a red light and T-boned her car hard enough to make it flip. Due to some otherworldly miracle, Denise was found with mere bruises and lively enough to be in a state of hysteria. “My baby! My baby!” she screamed between tears.
At the hospital, the doctors and nurses treated her very strangely. They kept asking obvious questions about her pregnancy. Like, How long were you pregnant? And, Are you sure you were ever pregnant? Stuff they should already know after all their examinations.
Once the hospital finally hushed down for the night, Denise looked through Logan’s packet of insurance information. He had also left a note written on yellow stationary. It said, “I’m so glad to hear that you are okay. Please give me a call if there is anything else I can do.” Included was a wallet-sized photograph of Logan in a police uniform. At the bottom it read, Graduate of the Oklahoma Police Academy. He was undeniably cute.
Denise dialed his number. They both agreed that the best way to talk about the accident was over dinner and a bottle of wine.
About the Author
Justin Tate grew up in Ada, Oklahoma, and now resides in Tempe, Arizona. He is the Catherine Gurley Adams Award-winning author of The Death Sonnets and many other works of poetry and prose. If you would like updates on the release of future books, including exclusive freebies, please “like” his official Facebook page:
www.facebook.com/JustinTateAuthor
THANK YOU FOR READING
Morning Sickness
by Justin Tate