“It’s called morning sickness,” I informed him as I buckled myself in. “Please, drive slowly. For my sake.”
He nodded, shifted the car into gear and zoomed out onto the road.
He didn’t exactly drive slowly, but he did drive smoothly. We arrived at the doctor’s office in plenty of time for my appointment. And, a bonus, I didn’t puke on his nice leather seats. I felt rather proud of my accomplishment.
Inside we went, Kent holding my elbow as if I might keel over at any moment. His protectiveness was excessive, to say the least, but it was kind of nice. I could tell he cared about me and the baby. I just hoped he wouldn’t get too carried away with the overbearing protective papa thing, checking in on me constantly, obsessing over my every ache, every pain. Things would get really uncomfortable for both of us if he did.
Inside the single-storied brick office building, I checked in at the desk and took a seat next to a woman whose stomach looked big enough to house at a litter of children. Kent stood in a nearby corner, silent, eyes wide, face a little pale. The waiting room was full of women, all in various stages of pregnancy. Some of them were accompanied by men who looked weary and bored, unlike Kent. Others were alone, flipping through parenting magazines. Still others were carting along children, in strollers, car seats, or toddling around on wobbly legs.
One little girl stared openly at Kent, massive blue eyes blinking up at him. She was a doll, with curly dark hair and smooth, ivory skin. I wondered if our child would look like her.
Kent didn’t know what to do with her, which was pretty funny. There he was. Mr. Suave. Looking uncomfortable and awkward, all because of a child. A mini-woman... He glanced at her again and again, but didn’t speak. Occasionally, he looked to me for help. As if I might tell him what to do. But before I could make a suggestion, my name was called by the nurse. I stood and threaded through the crowded room, Kent behind me.
At the desk, the nurse, wearing a cheerful smock with grinning cartoon babies all over it, smiled and motioned me toward the scale, asking me how I was feeling.
Kent piped in before I had a chance to respond, “She’s been throwing up.”
The nurse looked at him and then me. “First baby,” she said, nodding.
I laughed, giving Kent a see-I-told-you grin. “Is it so obvious?”
“A little.” She smiled at Kent. “Vomiting is very normal early in pregnancy. No need for concern.” Then she returned to operating the equipment, poking a thermometer into my mouth and taking my blood pressure. After finishing up, she handed me a little paper cup to fill and motioned me toward the bathroom. “After you’re through there, you’ll be in room number two. We need you to change into a gown. Ties in the back.” To Kent she said, ”You can wait for her there.” She pointed the way.
I headed to the bathroom to make my deposit. I joined Kent a few minutes later.
He was grimacing. “The doctor hasn’t been in yet.”
What was he expecting? There was no such thing as no-wait service. Not even in fast food restaurants. Was he that out of touch with the reality that everyone else lived in? “Of course not. We just got here,” I reminded him as I quickly took off all my clothes and donned the flimsy gown.
“We shouldn’t be left waiting.”
I felt my brows climbing to the top of my forehead. “Your doctor never makes you wait?” I climbed up onto the table, white paper crinkling under my butt.
“Well, I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been to a doctor in… a while.”
“I guarantee you would have to wait at least ten minutes.”
Just then a knock sounded on the closed door and in strolled my new OB/GYN, looking all doctor-y in her white coat and scrubs. She had a friendly smile and kind eyes. Instantly I trusted her. Good morning,” she greeted, grinning at me and then Kent. “I’m Dr. Thompson.” She offered her hand, and we shook. “I see we have Dad here today.”
“Yes, we do.” I smoothed the gown over my thighs.
“Congratulations. Is this your first?”
Kent and I looked at each other and nodded.
“How are you feeling?” Dr. Thompson asked as she pulled up a stool and sat.
“Fine,” I said.
Kent scowled.
“Nauseous,” I added, giving him a glare.
“That’s normal in the first weeks of pregnancy. As a general rule, the nausea eases up by twelve weeks.” She pulled a little white circle from her coat pocket. “When was the first date of your last period?”
“August fifth,” I said.
The doctor fiddled with the white circle thing in her hands. “That puts you at eight weeks today. Your due date will be May eleventh.”
May eleventh. My life would change dramatically on May eleventh.
It was real.
I was going to be a mother.
Tears blurred my vision for a brief second. Tears of joy. And of sadness, too.
Kent was there. He would continue to be there for our child. I had no doubt. But this wasn’t the way I’d wanted to start a family. I’d wanted the husband first. A husband who adored me. Who would lay on the bed next to me, a hand on my stomach, sharing the wonder of those first little flutters. Who would tell me he loved me and thought I was the most beautiful woman in the world as my body changed and my belly swelled. I wanted the husband who would hold my hand in the delivery room and coach me as I brought our child into the world.
Would I hear the three words I longed to hear from Kent by then?
Or would we go our separate ways, coming together only for doctor’s appointments?
May tenth.
It was only May tenth.
It wasn’t supposed to happen yet.
But it was.
And Kent wasn’t with me. I had no idea where he was.
In the last nine months I’d done plenty of reading about birth. My head knew what to expect. The pain. The urge to push. The blood and mess.
But my body was taken by complete surprise.
My insides were ripping apart. The pain was beyond anything in my worst nightmares. It was so unbearable I actually fell asleep between contractions. I could see the next one as it came rushing toward me. A massive swell of thrashing water that tore my body from limb to limb.
In the distance I heard voices. Nurses. Doctors. Ransom. Mom. They were shouting at me, but I couldn’t comprehend what they were saying. All I knew was the pain, the blinding pain. And pressure.
Push. Push. Push! That was what my body told me to do. I could do nothing else. I bore down as hard as I could, breathing through waves of nausea. Then the pressure was gone and I sank into oblivion again. Too soon I was at it again, and again, and again. Push. Push. Push. Every blood vessel in my head was going to explode. Push. Push. Push. My muscles were weakening. Breathe. Push. Push. Push. My body was wearing out. Push. Push. My energy was bleeding away. Push.
Push.
I couldn’t go on.
Push.
Nothing left.
I just wanted to sleep.
I felt a hand, gripping mine. I heard a voice in my ear.
“I’m here, baby. I won’t leave you again.”
Kent?
Kent.
My eyes teared. I swung my hand, smacking him hard across the face. “You bastard! I hate you! I fucking hate you!” I screamed. Then I fisted his hair in both hands and yanked his head down until his mouth was almost touching mine. “Don’t you ever do this to another woman again. You hear me? Never!”
“I love you, Shayne,” he said.
I. Love. You. Those three words I’d been waiting to hear for over a year. He’d said it. At last. Finally. Just in time. I hated him for making me wait so long. But at least he’d said it before our child came into the world.
He loved me. I loved him. We both loved our child.
Finally, my life would be complete.
“I love you too, you bastard!” I swiped at the tears streaming down my cheeks. Razors ripped at my insides again. “Now, help me. Please
! I can’t push this baby out by myself.”
He kissed me, a brief but thorough kiss as I trembled through another body-quaking contraction. Then he gently unfurled my fingers and wove our hands together. Keeping his face directly in front of mine, he coached me through the breathing exercises we’d learned in childbirth classes. Innnnnn. Outtttt. Slow, deep, controlled breaths. Holy shit, it worked. As long as I started the instant a contraction began.
I pushed as he continually rattled off a stream of encouraging words. “That’s it, baby. A little more. Just a little more. She’s coming. Right there.”
But suddenly the monitor shrieked, and I felt the baby perform a full summersault with a twist inside my belly.
The nurse looked at the monitor. So did Kent. And Dr. Thompson.
Kent’s face tensed.
“What is it?” I shouted, grabbing my stomach. I could feel my baby’s panic. I could feel it!
“Nothing, baby. Everything is okay.” Still staring at the monitor, Kent stroked my sweat-saturated hair back from my face.
The baby squirmed again. A wild, thrashing sensation. Something was wrong. “No!” I shouted. “Something’s wrong.”
Dr. Thompson shook her head and jumped to her feet, spitting out a string of instructions. All I caught were two words: “fetal distress.”
The nurse inserted a needle into my IV.
An instant later, I was lying on my back, the bed semi-reclined. The room was dark. Where was I?
In front of my bed stretched a long counter. A nurse sat behind it, talking on a phone.
I rocked my head to the left.
“Hello,” Kent said. He smoothed my hair back. “It’s okay. Everything’s okay.”
I tried to sit up but couldn’t move.
“Don’t,” Kent warned. “Just relax. You’re okay.”
I blinked and tried to remember how I’d gotten into this room. It was as if a part of my life had been dissected away. “What happened? Where am I?”
“Recovery.”
The word confused me. Recovery? What was I recovering from? Then I remembered the squealing monitor.
The baby. The baby!
“Kent?” My heart pounded. “The baby?”
He smiled. “She’s in the nursery.”
“The nursery,” I repeated, the words not quite making sense. They sank in a split second later.
She.
Nursery.
It was a girl. A girl! And she was alive. Born. Safe.
“Is she okay?” I blurted as all the memories came flooding back to me. The frantic thrashing sensation, the panic. Something had gone wrong.
“She’s perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
“Glad to see you’re up,” the nurse said as she approached from behind the counter, a cheerful smile on her face. She checked the monitors behind me. A cuff wrapped around my arm tightened, cutting off the blood flow. “How are you feeling?”
“Confused,” I said.
“That’s completely normal. It’s the anesthesia. They had to put you under to deliver your baby, since you didn’t have an epidural.” She shoo’ed Kent away with a hand. “You. Out of here, before someone finds out I let you in.”
He gave her one of his brightest smiles. “Thank you for bending the rules.” He plunked a kiss on my forehead and whispered, “I’ll see you soon.”
The nurse lifted my gown and pressed on my belly. “That fiancé of yours is really something.”
Fiancé, was it? So he’d lied to get into the recovery room with me? Why did that not surprise me? “Yes, he is something. No doubt about that.”
“Clearly he loves you a great deal. You’re a very lucky lady.” She smoothed the sheet down. “Things are looking good. I’m going to call transport and get you moved back to your room.”
“Thank you.” I closed my eyes and listened to her hushed voice as she called for transport. I was so tired, so, so tired. I drifted off almost immediately, into a dreamless sleep in which I could hear myself breathing, could hear what was going on around me, but wasn’t totally awake. I meandered back and forth, crossing and uncrossing that hazy line between wakefulness and sleep for a while before a smiling woman wheeled a bed next to me.
“Okay, hon,” she said. “Let’s get you back to your baby.”
My head spun as I sat up and swung my legs off the recovery bed and onto the narrower bed she had parked next to it. And my whole body trembled as I scooted. The driver made small talk as we squeaked down polished-floored hallways, taking me back to the room in which I’d started my labor. There, Ransom, Mom and Kent were waiting for me. Kent was cradling a tiny wrapped bundle in his arms.
“There she is,” he said, his voice low and smooth, “There’s your mama.” He waited as I was situated, the head of the bed raised to a semi-reclined position. Then he handed that tiny bundle to me.
Instantly my heart swelled with love so profound and overpowering tears gushed from my eyes.
I was holding her at last, my baby. Our baby. She was so beautiful, dark eyes open wide, soft little mouth pouting, tiny upturned nose. As her face brushed against the blanket swaddling, she turned and opened her mouth like a tiny bird searching for food.
“I think she’s hungry,” I said.
Mom smiled. “You can feed her.”
“The anesthesia?”
“The nurse told us it’s safe. Do you need help?”
Feeling a little awkward and uncomfortable I shook my head. “No thank you.” I opened the snaps on the shoulder of my gown and placed the baby’s face next to my breast. Her head bobbed around a little until her mouth found my nipple and then she latched on and began suckling. The sensation was odd at first but within seconds it was completely natural.
“Look at that. She’s figured it out already,” Mom exclaimed.
Kent’s eyes twinkled. “Well, she is my daughter after all. Of course she’s brilliant. And beautiful, like her mother.”
“Speaking of her mother, I heard I’m engaged,”I said. “Did I miss something? Besides the birth of our daughter, that is?”
Kent chuckled. The sound was rich and his bright smile made my heart leap. At least I thought it was his smile. Maybe it was the medicines. After all, I was on some major pain killers. “You don’t remember?” He pasted on a fake pout. “I’m devastated you’ve forgotten already. You said you would marry me.”
“When? Was I under the influence of drugs?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Perhaps.”
“Then it doesn’t count.”
“But it has to,” he insisted.
“Why?”
“Because.” He bent over and placed a gentle kiss on my mouth, and my heart literally stopped beating for at least a second. Maybe two. “I love you, Shayne. I love you so much I can’t imagine spending another day without seeing your face or hearing your voice. I don’t deserve you. Not after all the hell I’ve put you through. I’m still scared. I’m terrified you’ll leave me like my ex-wife or die like my mother. My mother killed herself. And I spent the past nine months learning how to accept that her suicide wasn’t my fault. I’m still afraid. But I have no choice anymore. I can’t live without you for another minute. I. Just. Can’t. I ask, I beg, for you to accept the love I have to give, knowing I will spend the rest of my life trying to deserve your love in return. You have done so much more for me than I’ve ever done for you. You’ve saved my life. Not just that once, by the river. But every day when you give me your love. In a way I’m being selfish, asking for this. But I swear, if you say yes, I will make sure, every day, you aren’t sorry.” He slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a ring box. He lifted the lid, and the sparkle of the enormous diamond set in the simple band caught the light, nearly blinding me. Tears turned the room, including Kent’s hope-filled face, into a blurry mess of smeared colors, and I blinked several times.
He loved me. At last I had the loving man I was hoping for.
“What are you waiting for?” Ransom screeched, bou
ncing up and down. “Say yes, girl Or I’ll freaking marry him!”
I inhaled. Exhaled. “Yes, Kent. Yes. I’ll marry you.”
I watched Kent slide the ring onto my left ring finger then was piled on by an ecstatic mother and best friend before Kent and I could seal the deal with a kiss. But that was okay. We would share plenty of kisses in the future. We had a lifetime ahead of us. A lifetime of laughter. And tears. Kisses. And hugs. Crying babies. And who knew what else. But we would share it all.
Our love was, in so many way, a miracle. Just like our beautiful daughter.
When I’d first met Kent, I was scared, despite the fact that I’d thrown myself at him. In my mind, he was the older man, an experienced and capable lover, the one to lose my V-card to. But he was also a man too dangerous to love. Afterward, we both agreed there could be no future together. In an effort to forget me, he let his dick guide him, from one tramp to another.
I ran away too, more than once, hoping some time and distance would heal my broken heart. But both of us knew, I think, even then, that it was hopeless. We were like two magnets, drawn to each other. We couldn’t stay apart for long, even though we didn’t exactly fit together neatly. Rough edges had to be polished. And that was what we’d done. To each other. He made me realize how easy it was to run but how hard it was to escape. And I made him face his fears and accept that not all love led to loss.
Now we fit. At last. And our love had created something far more beautiful and perfect than either of us. Our child. Our sweet angel.
Kent sat on the bed and wove his fingers with mine. “I love you. And that’s all there is to it. I. Love. You.”
Through my tears, I looked into his eyes. There I saw everything, his hopes, his dreams, his fears. He wasn’t hiding them from me anymore. Or from himself. He’d learned how to accept them, to live despite them, just as I had.
We did deserve each other now.
The End
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