by Eve Rabi
My reverie is interrupted by Reed barging in. “Show me! Show me!”
I grin and throw off my bedcovers to expose my bump. “Ready?”
He nods and kneels next to me, his eyes expectant.
I take his hand and place it over my stomach. “You say it? Say …”
“Why…?”
The baby kicks.
“I felt it! I felt it!”
I laugh. “Say it again.”
“Why!”
The baby kicks again and we roar with laughter.
“No more,” he says and covers my bump with my bedcovers. “Don’t want you to go into labor.”
“Okay.” Without thinking, I move over to make space for him in my bed.
When he stares so hard at the spot, the magnitude of my action hits me – I’m literally inviting him into my bed. Perhaps Darla is right – I’m a cheap hoe.
Just when I think he’s going to pass, he hops into my bed.
It doesn’t feel sordid or even sexual. Strange but true. He could have been a girlfriend or my sister lying next to me.
Our conversation ranges and bounces all over the place – baby, ice cream, Canadian television, books, music, sports, Darla, Omar, his life as a Canadian citizen, holiday destinations – and there never is a lull in conversation.
“Why do you call me kitty?” I ask.
“Oh that. Well, when I was little, my sister had a little kitten that was a pain in the neck. She was pretty – white, with huge, blue eyes and very playful. Won me over right away. But she was always in trouble – stuck on trees, cornered by neighbors’ dogs, ripping up stuff around the house and making my mother mad …”
He smiles as he remembers. “I was her rescuer. Sometimes, late at night, I’d hear her meowing and I would be the only one to get out of my bed and go look for her. Then she’d cuddle up with me – try to burrow into me. Sounded like a generator running. My sister would take her away, but she’d come back and scratch at my door until I opened it for her.” Gently, he tucks my hair behind my ears. “You miss, you remind me of her. Kitty.”
“Ah. So all I need is a generator?”
He smiles and hugs me.
When I look at the time, it’s past 2 a.m. We’ve been talking for four hours.
“I should go,” he says.
I prop myself up on my elbow and smile at him. My bed never felt better than with him in it and I don’t want him to leave.
He reaches up and touches my face. “You should tell me to go,” he whispers, as he draws back a curtain of my hair.
I stare, mesmerized, intoxicated by his nearness, by his masculinity. With his eyes fixed on my mouth, he reaches up and slowly draws my face down to his.
I should protest, but again my brain is suddenly AWOL.
With a low growl, he crushes my lips with his. Our kiss is deep and intense, and although I will myself to stop, I’m unable to. Instead, I find myself molding to him, nestling into him.
Soon he’s above me, cradling my head, his kisses becoming more passionate as his hands travel under my blouse and caress my breasts.
My hands slip under his shit and stroke the bare skin on his back.
It feels like I’m floating, sailing and I can’t stop. When his lips travel along my neck, I moan and angle my neck to accommodate him, eager for his lips to explore every part of me.
“Can I watch?”
At the sound of Darla’s voice, Reed and I freeze.
“Fuck!” Reed mutters, as I crash land. “I need to bolt that door shut.”
We hurriedly untangle ourselves from each other and scurry to fix our clothes.
“What? Don’t stop now,” she says. “I’m as voyeuristic as the next trannie.”
I draw the covers to my chin while Reed hastily straightens his shirt and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s 2 fucking AM! She should be sleeping.
“You wanna roger a frump, go ahead,” Darla says to Reed. “I don’t care, I just wanna watch her being trollied. Watch someone being porked.”
I groan at Darla and her weird terminology.
“You guys are so busted,” Darla says, her voice dripping with glee. “Cookie jar, huh? I can’t wait to pen this. Two sworn enemies dry-humping each other. Disgusting. But some people like that shit.”
Reed and I exchange exasperated looks.
“Goodnight, Megan,” he says in a sour voice.
“Nite, Reed,” I say, trying to keep the disappointment from my voice.
With a curt nod, he walks away.
I fling Darla an angry look. Bitch treats this room like it’s hers. Her sense of entitlement pisses me off.
Suddenly, Reed stops, turns around, and scowls at me.
I prop myself up on my elbows and look at him.
His stride towards me is purposeful, the look in his eye, defiant. When he reaches me, he swoops down and kisses me long and hard, ignoring Darla and her sarcastic running commentary.
I’m amused and thrilled at his antics.
“Whoo-hooo!” Darla says. “Shall we get some mood music? Dim the lights? Huh?”
When we draw away from each other, Reed cups my face and looks into my eyes. “You’re beautiful, kitty. Enchanting.”
Flattery will get you everywhere. I draw him down to me and we share one last warm hug before he tears himself away from me.
Almost swooning, I fall back into bed. “Wow!” I mutter. “Wow!”
“Mfff!” Darla snorts and sashays into my bathroom. “What a pansy.”
I don’t give a shit what Darla thinks. My pansy thinks I’m enchanting. Belly the size of Homer Simpson’s and yet, he thinks I’m enchanting.
How can I not feel elated?
***
With each day, my baby bump morphs into a baby mountain and contorts my abdomen into alien-like shapes, sending us into spasms of laughter.
“Awww, sweet!” says Leeanne.
“Eeeww!” says Darla.
Reed sits in bed with me and between hugs and kisses, massages my back and rubs my feet, making me feel special and cherished.
“Just a month left, then I’m a dad again. Can’t wait.”
Since Darla insists on using my bathroom every ten minutes, mainly to check her makeup, look for new lines around her eyes, or simply to strike a pose, I have little privacy.
This means that there is no chance of our relationship progressing into anything physical. It’s almost like I’m fifteen again, sitting in a room with my boyfriend and expecting my parents to barge in anytime.
Most evenings we lie in bed and talk, or we read the pregnancy book together, with him explaining stuff in layman’s terms. Sometimes I fall asleep in his arms while he is reading.
A few times, he falls asleep in my bed, and I love when that happens. I hate when he has to leave.
Recently, he’s spending just about every night in my bed. Each morning, before anyone wakes up, he quietly creeps out of my room. I don’t know how much people in the bunker know or understand about the dynamics between Reed and myself, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m not sleeping with him, I’m just sleeping in the same bed.
In spite of my cocoon of bliss, my mind is deceptive and it has me thinking constantly about the baby. I quickly try to change channels in my mind when this happens, as I know the deal – it’s Reed’s baby, not mine. But sometimes, I just can’t help it – I find myself wondering about the baby’s eyes and skin color, and about breast feeding and birthdays, Mother’s Day…
Thinking about these things – it’s like a sumo wrestler is sitting on my chest, and a frog usually lodges itself in my throat.
Actually, these days crying comes easily to me. One minute I’m happy and giggling, and the next, I’m crying because of something silly, like … Bygone has been kind enough to help me clear the kitchen table, or someone talks about their children …
“Hormones,” I mutter to Leeanne.
She stares at me, a worried look on her face. “You sure? Nothing to do with you
saying goodbye to the movements and the kicking? Saying goodbye to the dinosaur shapes?” She jerks her head towards my belly.
My response is to burst into tears.
Chapter Twenty
I’m in labor. A midwife has been brought in to deliver the baby, while Hamid is on standby.
Reed holds my hand and trembles with excitement. “Breathe, baby,” he says over and over again.
During each contraction, I yell and shout and curse and do all the things I was asked not to do.
“Breathe, baby,” Reed urges.
“Don’t fucking tell me to breathe!” I yell. “You breathe. I’m sick of breathing. It’s been four fucking hours and I don’t want to breathe anymore! I want drugs. Give me drugs. NOW!”
“Okay, okay,” he says, cowering like the pansy Darla said he was.
Leeanne holds my other hand and shakes her head in sympathy. For him.
“I could do with some drugs too,” he mutters.
“So could I!” Leeanne chuckles.
Finally, after several pushes, my baby arrives.
I mean, Reed’s baby arrives. Let’s get that right.
“A boy!” he shouts and punches the air. “A boy, Megan! A boy!” He runs over to me and gives me a quick hug, then darts back to the baby and the midwife, then back to me.
To say my son is beautiful is a major injustice. He’s angelic – a soft, velvet petal that’s floated from the heavens above and landed in my opened arms.
When I hold him, my heart immediately does the fluttering thing, which confuses me. I can’t stop looking at him, touching his soft, satin skin, kissing his tiny, rosebud lips. His cry is nothing short of melodious, his grey-blue eyes so large, they dominate his caramel face. Several times, even though it’s not necessary, I open up the blanket just to marvel at him. Ten cute chipolata toes, fat satiny thighs, minuscule, transparent fingernails, and a rounded tummy that makes you want to blow bubbles on it. “You are way prettier than any of the porcelain dolls I’ve had,” I whisper.
His response is to kick his little feet and his foot lands in the crook of my elbow. I chuckle and he jumps. Then he lets out a wail.
“Oh no, no, my precious,” I coo as I hold him to my breasts. “Don’t ever be scared. It’s mommy. I won’t hurt you, and I will never let anything happen to …”
When I realize that Reed is still in the room, staring at me, a worried look on his face, I clam up. After a few moments of awkward silence, he leaves the room.
His anxiousness irritates me. I mean, I know the deal – it’s his baby, not mine, so he can relax.
He should know me by now – I’m not the type to change my mind.
When he returns a short while later, I try to keep things light. In a false voice I say, “Look Reed, his eyes – they’re wide open.”
Reed nods and together we gaze in wonderment at the fruit of our loins. Imagine, I didn’t want to have him in the beginning. All I can say is – thank God, God doesn’t answer all our prayers.
***
I scratch my head. “What about the name Wyatt?”
My adorable baby kicks. Reed and I laugh.
“See? See? It’s fitting.”
“Yeah, that’s a great name,” Reed says. “I like it.”
“Awesome!”
Shariff surprises us with an armful of gifts. Like a proud grandfather, he carries Wyatt and clucks over him while I inspect the gifts. Tiny clothes for the baby, soft blankets and sheets, plush toys, and chocolates for me.
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. I didn’t expect this from him.
“We have to get you home soon,” Shariff says.
Reed and I jerk to look at him.
“You can’t be here with a baby. It’s not right. And I am going into retirement.” He chuckles at the word. “I’m busy arranging it. Not easy, but be patient, okay?”
“Sure. Yes, of course!” I’m almost breathless with excitement hearing this from him.
“What’s baby’s name?” Shariff asks.
“Wyatt,” Reed says proudly.
Shariff jerks back, a huge frown on his face. “That’s a ridiculous name!”
A look of confusion crosses Reed’s face while I just smile to myself.
Throughout the day, patients stream into my room and break into smiles at the sight of Wyatt.
“What’s the baby’s name?” a man asks.
Reed pretends not to have heard the question. Bloody coward.
“Eh … Wyatt,” I eventually venture.
“What? White?” They look at the chicken behind me as if he’s lost every single marble.
A succession of grim but sympathetic nods from the men makes me turn around and look at the deserter behind me. I catch him gesturing wildly towards me in a she-made-me-do-it way.
“Reed!” I chide.
The men continue their nodding as if to say, “We get you bro – the infidel is nuts just like all wiiiimon – plain crazy.”
***
As for Butchface, she lurks around my doorway and peeps into my room. When our eyes meet she scowls and hurries off.
“What the hell is her problem?” I say through gritted teeth.
“Give her a break, kitty.”
“Why?”
“Cause I heard that she lost her children too. This is probably really hard for her.”
“Lost her children?” My scowl vanishes. “What d’ya mean?”
“Well, I heard stories that when the war broke out, she and her family were fleeing Iraq in a bus full of people, when they came under military fire. A grenade landed in their bus and everyone in the bus – husband, two children, her mother, father … all were killed, except Shaida and her nine-month-old baby.
“Apparently, they found her wandering around with her baby in her arms. The baby had been dead for days. She went a bit mad for awhile. Spent a long time in an asylum. That’s why she’s here.”
“Oh my God!”
“She’s okay most times, but sometimes she has to go away and be hospitalized in a psych ward. Can’t function for long in real society. This whole baby thing – I mean, look, you’re American, you killed her family, her baby. Now you are having a baby and everyone is so happy for you. Maybe she thinks everyone has forgotten her pain, her babies. Must be hard on her.”
I stare at Reed with my jaw hanging. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“What you mean? You want me to tell you everybody’s story here? It might take forever and … why you crying, baby?”
“Shaida … she … how could we …? It’s so sad. I can’t believe I hit her and I … I call her Bitchface and sometimes Butchface and … and I don’t know how I could do that.” I bawl like a woman suffering postpartum blues because ... I am, I guess.
The next time I see Shaida at the doorway, I shout out to her. “Shaida!”
It’s the first time I’ve used her name, and she looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a Humvee.
I gesture for her to come inside.
She eyes me suspiciously.
“Come, it’s okay.”
After a brief hesitation, she slowly shuffles in, her wide eyes darting all over the place.
I hold Wyatt out to her.
At first she looks at Wyatt as if he’s a gigantic piranha, but then her face contorts with pain as she gingerly accepts my baby. Slowly, she clutches him to her breast as tears fill her eyes.
By now, I’m sobbing. “I’m so sorry, Shaida,” I blubber. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!”
She nods as tears fall all over Wyatt.
After that, she constantly carries Wyatt around and sings to him. In fact, sometimes I have to look for Wyatt because he gets passed around the bunker. It’s fascinating to see how holding Wyatt can light up a patient’s face. Even the grumpy ones.
“It’s new life,” Leeanne says, watching the men flock around my baby. “Hope, and most of all, it’s diluting hatred between two mortal enemies.”
“Well, I’m j
ust pleased that I could in a roundabout way bring smiles to people’s faces during a time of chaos and carnage,” I say.
“True,” Reed says as he surreptitiously links his fingers with mine. For a moment, we are enveloped in a bout of peace and harmony.
Until Darla shatters our concord. “But you do know they’re gonna kill your baby, right?”
“What?!” All three of us spin to look at her in horror.
“Heard that they’re just waiting for the right time.”
Fear seizes me. “Wha … whadya mean?”
“Why do you say that?” Reed demands as he shakes his fingers off mine. “Why?”
“You heard?” Leeanne’s voice is shrill.
Darla’s face is so serious, my fear mushrooms and my mouth feels like I’ve swallowed chalk.
“I heard that Shaida lost her baby because of the likes of …” she smiles and points to me. “How can she possibly let your baby live? Killing your baby will even the score – give her the peace she seeks.”
My instinct is to rush over to the men and grab my baby and never let them near him.
“Darla,” Reed repeats in a voice laced with alarm, “where … who told you this?”
Darla stares at him and after a moment of intense silence breaks into a mirthless grin. “I’m just fucking with you, Aladdin. I heard shit.”
“What?!” I gasp.
Reed and Leeanne stare at Darla, mouths agape.
“Should have seen your faces,” she flings over her shoulder as she skips off. “Priceless. Ha ha!”
None of us sigh with relief. None of us move. We stand frozen, unable to grasp that she could possibly pull such a perverted stunt.
It takes days for me to lose the paranoia after that, and I’m always wary when Wyatt’s with someone else other than Reed, myself or Leeanne.
All thanks to Darla and her insanity.
Chapter Twenty-One
Overnight, things change around me. The bunker is shrouded in an ominous air and the tension is tangible.