by Kim Bailey
A baby can’t be that horrible, right?
Looking back at the pretty, pink of the test stick, reality finally catches up.
I’m having a baby.
A strange sensation hits me. It’s like the undertow of a strong wave, but instead of pulling me under, it feels like it’s pushing me up.
It’s that crazy bitch hope, and she’s blooming bright and clear. This time, she wasn’t lurking in a dark corner, waiting to attach herself to the first sign of light. No, this time, she grew out of nothing at all. This time, hope created a light all her own. She’s flashy and golden. Hard to ignore.
But I turn my back on her anyway—I’m not ready.
***
Caleb
“DID I JUST HEAR you say you’re going back to Montreal?” My brother Eric’s voice echoes loudly as he enters my parent’s living room with his entire family in tow. “Didn’t you just get home?”
“That was over three weeks ago,” I remind him.
Scooping up my baby niece Mia, she giggles wildly as I tickle and blow raspberries on her belly.
Her older sister, Brooklyn, hops up and down in front of me. “Uncy Caleb! Me, me, me!” she demands. I lift her in my other arm, wrestling them both into hysterics.
“Where’s grandma’s love?” Mom complains. She’s always slightly disappointed when the girls don’t run to her first.
“So,” Eric prods, after I send his children over to hug our mother. “You’re going back?”
“It’s not a big deal,” I tell him.
It’s a huge deal, but I’ve made up my mind. When it came down to it, it wasn’t a hard decision. Dealing with my family—that’s the hard part.
“How long are you going for?” my nephew Hunter asks, crouching awkwardly to unpack a bag of toys for his little sisters.
“Not too long, I hope,” Jamie declares. “I have a feeling this baby’s not going to wait the way the others did. I’m already huge.”
We all watch her maneuver her six-months pregnant body into a chair. I can’t help but smile when she waves off Eric’s offered assistance. She’s still the most beautiful sister-in-law in the world, and I’m going to miss the hell out of her.
I’m going to miss them all.
“Well, I was thinking of a bit more than a visit this time,” I admit. “I’m going to stay—for good. Or, at least until I don’t want to be there anymore.”
“You’re moving to Montreal?” Mom cries anxiously. Her voice rises an octave, her French accent even more pronounced than usual. “But, you cannot! You have school and doctor’s appointments. Mon ange, what if something happens?”
“Mom, I love you, but you’ve got to stop worrying about me. I’m fine. I’ve been healthy.”
The weight of this conversation’s already heavy. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. I’ve been struggling with how to tell my parents about my decision since making it. Even now—with the words out—I’m not sure I’m ready.
“That doesn’t answer your mother’s question about school,” Dad insists.
“Right, school... I think school and I might need a break.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Eric interrupts.
My brother has a way of unintentionally reminding me of all my short-falls. Maybe if I were more like him this conversation would go smoother. Eric’s the kind of guy who makes everything look enviable—even messing up. In some ways, he’s my third parent. In most ways, he’s simply my idol.
I hate the idea of letting him down.
“I was sort of failing a couple classes. So, I dropped out.” I hold my head high, refusing to feel guilty.
My mother gasps, her eyes so large, they take up half her face.
“Why would you do something so drastic, without telling us?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know... I didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t want you to try and talk me out of it.”
“I wish you would have told us sooner. We can help you with this,” he assures.
“That’s the problem, Dad. I don’t want the help. You all seem to think it’s your mission to make my life easy, to shelter me. Even Jamie’s turned into a mother hen. But all this helping is going to hurt me, in the long run.”
“I’m not a mother hen!” Jamie cries. “Am I?” She looks to Eric for reassurance.
He gladly gives it to her, with a kiss to her crinkled forehead, before flashing a look of murder my way.
“How can you say such things? We are hurting you?” Mom sounds truly distressed.
“It’s okay, Sylvie,” Dad soothes. “Caleb’s right. He’s an adult. We’ve not been respectful of his maturity.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I interject.
“No but it’s the truth,” he continues. “As your parents, it’s our job to protect you, without smothering you. That’s a hard balance for a normal family, but for ours it’s nearly impossible. The cancer affected us all. Your mother and I’ve tried to make things easier for you because we hate to see you struggle. You’ve already suffered so much. Perhaps we’ve created a bigger issue by not allowing you space to grow on your own.”
“Glenn, this is not your office. Please, do not psychoanalyze our family,” Mom demands. “Caleb, please explain how Montreal is your answer. I don’t see how this helps anything.”
“It’s just a feeling I have.” A wonderful, freeing feeling. “I can’t explain it, but I know it’s what I want.”
Mom looks skeptical, but I keep tight lipped. There’s no way to tell her the whole truth. How could I explain my emotional exhaustion? How do you tell the people you love you need a break from them?
“Your mom’s right,” Jamie speaks up again. “Running away doesn’t solve anything.”
“This is true. You can’t go wandering and expect to find happiness,” Dad agrees—always the diplomat.
“Yes! Listen to Jamie, she knows,” Mom exclaims.
My sigh is heavy and loud, sounding closer to a frustrated groan. The entire room goes silent. Even my young nieces halt their play to see what’s going on.
“Sorry, everyone,” Eric breaks the tension. “But I think I see Caleb’s point. Jamie, beautiful girl, you can’t compare Caleb’s experience to your own. It’s not the same.”
With a small humph, Jamie concedes, “You’re right. I know.” Looking my way, her gorgeous blue eyes shining with unshed tears, she gives me a tender smile. “I guess I really am a mother hen. You should do whatever your heart is calling you to do—even if it takes you away from us for a little while. Just promise you’ll be back here when your new nephew makes his appearance, okay?”
“Of course, I will,” I promise. “Thanks, for understanding.” Turning to my parents, wanting to say so many things, I settle on, “Sorry, Mom. Dad.”
“Fine,” Mom gives in. “But I want to always know what’s going on. You have to keep us up to date and make sure you find a doctor for emergencies.”
“A doctor won’t be an issue, I’m moving in with Chantal. I will literally be living with someone who can save my life in an emergency. It’s what she does.”
“Don’t be a smartass, son. It’s not all that endearing,” Dad cautions.
“Sorry. No more smartassery, I promise. Chante’s going to hook me up with someone in her hospital, and she’ll be on hand in case of an emergency. But, Mom, you know my chances of needing her are about the same as anyone else, right?”
She stares disapprovingly at me, refusing to budge on her position.
Giving in, I tell her, “I’ll be cautious, and you know I’ll keep in touch. I love you guys too much not to be.”
My mother nods her head sharply, as though she’s won the argument, even though I’m going against her wishes.
“Okay then.” Dad smiles at me. If I’m not wrong, there’s a bit of pride shining in his eyes.
“Okay, problem solved,” Eric barks. “Caleb, can I get a hand in the kitchen for a minute?”
Following behind him, I mentally prepar
e for the speech I know is coming. As soon as we’re alone he turns to me, but it’s not reprimand I see in his expression, it’s concern.
“Tell me what’s really going on,” he urges.
“I told you —”
“Come on,” he interrupts. “I know there’s something more to this story. Something you’re not telling us. You’re not acting like yourself.”
“I’m never myself,” I admit. “I’m always putting on a show, and I’m tired of it. I just need to get out on my own. It’s not like I’m running away forever.”
“For fuck sakes, you little shit. Tell me what the real fucking problem is now, or I swear to Christ, I’ll beat your ass.”
I can’t help but laugh at him. Leave it to my brother to say I love you with threats of bodily harm and a string of F-bombs. He really is my hero. Not because he cares for me like his own child. Not because he loves me unconditionally. Not even because he put his own life on hold to save mine. It’s the honest way he treats me—there’s not an ounce of bullshit between us. He’s the only adult in my family that hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass.
“I met a girl,” I confess.
“Yeah?” He smiles brightly, the crease of his pinched brow, melting away. “More than just a wink and a nudge this time?”
“We talked a bit. She’s beautiful, funny, incredibly bold—and she kissed me.”
“That’s fantastic, little brother, but please don’t tell me you quit school so you could move closer to a pretty girl.”
“No, I was thinking about making a change before I met her. She’s just an added bonus, I hope.”
“You hope? You didn’t make plans to see her again?”
“No plans, but I know I’ll see her again. She’s Chantal’s best friend —”
“Chante’s friend?” Eric interrupts, laughing. “Not much of a girl then, eh? Guess that shouldn’t surprise me—you’ve always been infatuated with older women.”
“Yeah, yeah. You know your wife loved me first.”
“Get your mind back on your own woman,” he growls.
Like I’d ever be a threat. He knows if it weren’t for me, they’d have never met. Sure, I still get a little pang of heartbreak and jealousy every time I see Jamie and Eric together. But I was never in love with her. Although when I was fourteen, thinking cancer might kill me, I tricked myself into believing I was. I lived with that illusion for a couple of years before finally figuring out it wasn’t Jamie I wanted. It’s the bond she and Eric share. That’s the thing I’m craving.
“Zadie’s not mine. I’m not sure she wants to be anyone’s. She told me she doesn’t believe in love.”
“Was that before or after you kissed her? I told you, little bro—practice. You can’t just dream about kissing girls to be good at it.” He laughs.
“When are you gonna learn, you’re just not that funny?” I shake my head, skillfully hiding my smile. “I told you, she kissed me, and it was phenomenal.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m worried I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’ve never done this before, Eric. I like her, a lot—probably too much for someone I just met. What if I mess it up?”
“We all fuck things up from time-to-time. So, you’ll just learn as you go and keep trying.”
“Yeah, but I’m not sure if the timing’s right. She just got out of a relationship with a guy who sounds like a tool. I’m moving there, but I’ve got no expectations. Hell, it’s been three weeks, she’s probably already forgotten about me.”
“Who the hell are you?” My brother asks, the pinch returning to his brow. “Listen here, shit-head, I’m only going to give you this advice once. Stop acting like a pussy. You want her, then go for it. If she’s forgotten, then remind her. And screw the douchebag ex—you can’t let an asshole get in your way of happiness. Fuck, Caleb, if anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you.”
“Thanks. I love you too, man.”
“Yeah, well... I’m still pissed that you gave Jamie a hard time,” he grunts. “She’s going to have a fucking complex about her mothering skills now.”
“I’m sure she’ll be fine. Besides, you guys are going to miss having me around. Who else is going to constantly harass you?”
“We have three kids who do a fine job, thank you very much.” He smirks.
“Do you think Mom and Dad will be all right?”
“They’ll get over it.”
“I hope so. They’ve gone through enough, but I can’t put my life on hold. I can’t let their fears hold me back—I’ve enough of my own. Know what I mean?”
“Fuck, do I ever. Don’t let it stop you.” He clamps his hand tightly to my shoulder. “You’ve got to do what’s right for you. Fear’s an asshole—you’re the one who taught me that. You’re the one who taught me to live without it.”
I laugh through the tears forming in my eyes. “You still haven’t learned,” I chuckle. “You can’t live without fear. You’ve got to live, despite it.”
“Yes, you do. So, I guess you’re moving to Montreal.”
I don’t bother telling him that I was going with or without his permission. Instead, I pat him on the back and smile. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
Zadie
WORKING IN THIS SHITTY nightclub sucks. Plain and simple. It sucks balls—big ‘ol donkey balls.
It’s just temporary, I remind myself. Besides, if it’s so shitty, why do you spend so much of your free time here?
Okay, so the place isn’t all that bad. It’s loud, it’s fun, it’s freeing.
It’s where I kissed Caleb.
Even though it’s putting me through school, working in a bar at twenty-nine years of age has a way of making me feel like an epic failure. That’s on a good day.
Today has not been a good day.
Today was just one more bad day, in a string of very bad days.
“Hey, chica,” my co-worker Larissa yells at me over the blaring music of the club. “You’re not looking so hot.” She frowns. “You feel okay?”
How do I explain to her that not only do I not feel okay, but I may be losing my mind? I know I’m not okay. I’ve been dwelling on all the bad shit, wallowing in my own misery. Pregnancy has my emotions flying all over the place. It sucks.
I’ve wanted to hang out with Chante—to curl up on her couch in my pj’s, like I normally would when feeling crappy. But there’s something strange going on with her. She’s been unusually quiet, making one excuse after another every time I ask her to talk to me. Even though I told her I wasn’t ready to discuss whatever secret it is she’s been keeping, not knowing is way worse. Although I may not be ready, I’ve realized I need to know, for sanity’s sake.
So, I’ve been avoiding my best friend—because really, what kind of best friend holds onto secrets when they don’t have to? I hate the divide growing between us, but I don’t know what to do about it.
I’m still avoiding Sean too. I’ve picked up my phone a few dozen times, convinced I can call him, or shoot him a text. Although, a text probably isn’t the best way to announce his impending fatherhood. Regardless, I’ve chickened out every single time.
If I didn’t have the obligations of work and school to keep me going, I’d probably be hiding out, avoiding the world.
It’s all too much to put into words, and way more than I want to disclose to Larissa. She already knows more about my life than she should. “I’m just tired and cranky,” I tell her, instead.
“Honestly, Zee, I don’t know how you manage with school and working here as much as you do. I’m surprised you’re not a zombie. When do you sleep?”
“Well, I slept in class this afternoon,” I admit, still angry at myself. It frustrates me, knowing how hard it’ll be to catch up on the lesson I missed, while drool collected under my cheek. “Nothing’s more embarrassing than being called out by the professor because your snores are interrupting the class.”
“Oh, ouch. I can imagine
that must have sucked. Actually, no, I can’t imagine. I hated school and hardly ever went to class. Guess that’s probably why I’m stuck working here.”
“Well, I like school. Or, at least, what it’s going to do for me. I’m usually focused in class. I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I lie. “Maybe I’m coming down with something.”
Who knew that being pregnant took so much energy? My muscles all ache, my head hurts constantly, and I’ve been beyond tired—freaking exhausted.
“My sister had that flu going around,” Larissa tells me. “I sure hope you don’t have that. She just about died—got so dehydrated she had to go to the hospital.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I do feel like I’m dead on my feet right now, though,” I admit, stifling a yawn.
“Well it hasn’t stopped J.P. from checking you out.” She gives me sly smile, shifting her eyes to the man who’s likely standing at the other end of the bar, behind me.
“Please tell me you’re lying, or at least exaggerating,” I beg.
“Sorry, can’t do that. His eyes are glued to your ass right now.”
My skin crawls. It’s not that I dislike Jean-Paul. He’s a decent guy, I guess. At least, he’s never done anything to show he’s a bad guy. But he’s asked me out at least a dozen times. I’d consider it flattering if he didn’t hit on every female he meets. Unfortunately, he will not be deterred. I’d say it’s the language barrier, since his English is poor and he prefers to speak in French. But I think the communication issue is more about his ego—and his inability to hear anything that might deflate it.
“Maybe he’s waiting for me to leave so he can come chat you up,” I suggest to Larissa.
“Get real, Zadie. He couldn’t handle me. Besides, he’s got a crush on you,” she taunts, when suddenly her eyes go wide and she exclaims, “Incoming!”
Of course he is. We invited his attention by talking about him—like reciting a spell and then wondering why you’re cursed.
“What we talking about over here ladies?” He asks in his stilted English, his shoulder brushing mine as he stands beside me—too close. He’s always too close.