by M R Field
“Excellent. Looks like no appointment is needed. Then you’ll be mine once again.”
Worst fucking twenty-four hours of my life.
“Loving someone is giving them the power to break your heart, but trusting them not to.”
Julianne Moore
HAZEL
Five months later
Me: Where did u put it? Where r u?
Tesoro: Try counter top.
Me: Well it’s not.
Tesoro: It was there this mornin’ babe. I’ll b home soon; I can help find it then. Are A and T up?
Me: They’re still asleep. It’s not there. Don’t call me babe. It’s icky. You left the milk out too.
Tesoro: I did put the milk away, Farfalla. Just put it back in the fridge.
One minute later
Me: Ugh. I’m an idiot.
Tesoro: Did u put the kettle in the fridge again?
Me: Yeah.
Tesoro: It’s ok, Farfalla. Just make ur cuppa tea. I’ll b home soon. Then we can go out for ur birthday! Go for a lie down. U sound stressed.
Me: I’m sorry. This baby brain is making me loopy. I’m fine, I swear.
Tesoro: All good. I love you. The couch is pretty comfortable.
Me: Grrrr … Love you too.
Sigh. This is the third time in the last fortnight that I’ve found the kettle in the fridge … that I put in there myself. Of all the days, it had to be my birthday when I proved myself to be an idiot again. Pregnancy brain is being a right pain in my behind. Now more so than ever.
My behind has tripled in size, threatening to stop me from exiting the common doorway. Plus my feet, my poor achy feet haven’t been seen for a month. I know they’re down there, I think. I even had my toes painted a bright red.
That kettle in the fridge … what was I doing? Oh, getting a cup of tea. Sigh. I don’t know how Robbie puts up with me some days. I think I’ll cause him to have an aneurism.
I had spent a good portion of time after the scare, resting and taking it easy in bed. Or being practically tied to the bed. If Robbie felt I looked tired, pale, weak … if I wasn’t eating enough one day, if the moon was positioned to the left of the … yeah. He was on edge. He had every reason to be. When I had cramped, I’d experienced spotting and thought that I was losing our baby. Luckily, our little one was a fighter.
The police visited us in the hospital and while I was worried that they’d take Robbie away and charge him with assault, they ended up only taking him for questioning over the incident. Those hours spent with him gone, and having to rehash the assault, wreaked havoc on me. I was barely holding it together emotionally, and despite Trice and Trin coming in to keep me company, I just wanted Robbie.
Once he returned, I barely let go of him. The thought of him being charged for protecting me felt so wrong. Why should the protectors be punished? He returned only to tell me that Jerry did not utter a single word to the cops. Even while his face was covered in dried blood, and he looked bruised and battered, he remained silent. I listened in quiet disbelief as Robbie recounted his interview and threw terms at me like ’amicable contest’ from their field interview. Jerry had been warned, otherwise face possible charges. He had assured them, that he would be leaving the country shortly.
If one thing came out of that drama all those months ago, it was that Jerry had only sent me a text once. He sent a ‘thinking of you’ message with an attached photo of a movie we’d watched once. As soon as his UK number came through, I blocked it, again. I wasn’t going to let him disturb me anymore.
While bubs fought that day, her father became the fearsome warrior. He hated feeling vulnerable, and after being emotionally scarred from the baby scare, he didn’t want to take any risks. The doctors cleared me to perform for a little while, but even then, I mostly only did pieces I played on the piano. Robbie also hid my heels.
He needed a medal for dealing with my high level of crazy at the moment. My hormones were an absolute killer. I’d become this walking, talking angry woman if I was ever tired or hungry, and that was more often than not. Every night though, without fail, no matter what level my crazy had reached on the ‘blame it on the baby’ Richter scale, he’d kiss my forehead and tell me that he loved me while rubbing my belly. The veins on my behind, and my swollen feet and legs were never mentioned. On the rare occasions when he made love to me, (the specialist told him it was fine, but still it took Robbie a while to let it happen) each part of me was devoured.
I miss that contact. When I’d grumbled over my clothes not fitting, he’d told me to just “go naked.” Despite all the right gestures, all the loving touches, it was my insecure brain who couldn’t help but feel fat and frumpy, especially while everyone else had their sexy bodies. It was so frustrating to be over the moon one minute that I was growing a child and in the next, being so annoyed that your friends could skip around in outfits not made for two. Yes. Hormones. Anyone who tells you that a pregnant woman can be lethal if they are upset—run. Run as fast as you can or give her some nice chocolate.
These days, we barely have our hands on each other like we used to. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe it will help strengthen our relationship even more. Maybe it’s preparing us for parenthood.
Who am I kidding? Try telling that to my lady parts. They are throbbing harder than Jules’s Cajon drum at the moment. Yes, I am being dramatic. There is a reason I’d been so talented when I had roles in the theatre. Now, I’m a full-fledged, drama mamma. Freakin’ hormones.
For the past couple of months, our Emerald Vixen act had changed significantly. I didn’t feel comfortable parading on stage once my belly had started to show, so we turned our gig into a jazz act. Trice suggested it, eyeing off the opportunity to be what she called a “bar bitch” for a while. “Hazel.” She’d pointed out. “I’ve always played the clean, polished dancer before spicing it up with our act. Deacon said he’d show me how to twirl and I’m excited!” Robbie had offered her these shifts behind the bar, while the band and I were performing for extra cash, but she hadn’t taken him up on the offer.
Sure enough, after a small training period she was working alongside the guys on Friday and Saturday nights. During the week, she also ran her ‘sexy classes’ which sold out weeks in advance. That left Maxi, Roni, Jules and I to come up with some renditions of tunes with jazz feels to them. Robbie didn’t totally disband the idea of cabaret—instead he had a revolving door of sorts. Once a month, a new act would perform to add a bit of variety. It was Robbie’s way of keeping the club’s entertainment fresh and me off my feet.
I place the kettle back on its base and flick the switch to make a cuppa. Scratch that. It’s not real tea. Just decaffeinated tea. Just an illusion. A cheap imitation of what I used to drink. I think I need a cookie … ohh choc chip.
The kettle boils and I pour a cup, telling myself that it’s better for the baby as I crunch down on the cookie. Random thoughts lace through my mind, and my hand consciously strokes across my swollen belly. The guilt I feel for being ungrateful over the crappy tea dissipates as my hand runs back and forth across my protruding belly button, making me chuckle. Gazing down at my grey belly tank, I snigger. Trice went out and bought it a few weeks ago, along with a few other maternity tops. I was feeling fat again, and her timing was impeccable. It was bad enough not seeing my feet, but my clothing was being stretched so much that I thought it would burst. It seemed just when I bought some maternity clothes, a growth spurt would seize me after I’d barely had a chance to get my money’s worth.
Tracing the cursive script across my belly, I can’t help but chuckle. Today’s tank says, “Due in November” in sparkly black letters. The moment Robbie saw me wear it, he’d kissed me dizzy before squatting down to talk to Little One. “Only six more weeks.” His lips had been a fraction away from my belly button. “You keep growing in there.” Then he’d given my tummy a kiss and me a wink.
I sigh. He is the sweetest guy, and I just texted him like a nutter over where the
kettle was—again. I take a sip of my tea and my back hunches slightly as bubs decides to wake up, rolling slightly towards my side, taking my intestines with him or her.
“Morning baby,” I coo, rubbing my belly again with my free hand. “You enjoying my tea too?”
“Of course they do.” Trice stumbles in, her arms outstretched above her head. She reaches up towards the ceiling while stepping on her tippy-toes for a few moments. Her arms then stretch out as she gives me a mischievous grin, before she runs over and gives me a soft-ish bear hug. “Happy birthday!” she squeals. “How’s it feel to be a quarter of a century and knocked up?”
“It feels whale-ish.” I smile. Trice takes a moment to step back and read my shirt. She grins at me, and gestures to my stomach.
“Six more weeks until I’m a zia,” she says eagerly, her eyes bright and excited. “Oh!” she turns and races out of the room, yelling. “Just need to grab your present.”
The patter of her footsteps taps along the floors until she re-enters the kitchen area. “Here.” She hands a card to me.
I reach forward and kiss her cheek while muttering, “I did say, ‘no presents’.”
I hook my index finger under the seal of the envelope.
“I pretended that I didn’t hear you,” Trice says.
I lift out the card and take a moment to laugh at the old women throwing hoops at a naked old guy who has just taken Viagra. For as long as I can remember, Trice and I have bought each other rude cards, although sometimes the ones we got Trice had monkeys on them. Reaching into the card, I find a voucher for a two and a half hour pampering session at our favourite spa in the city. “I hope you can get to it before bubs comes, but if not, it’s valid for a year.”
“Oh my God!” I exclaim, holding it to my chest. “I love it. I just feel so bleh at the moment.” I pull a face. “Don’t feel like myself at all.”
“Only six more weeks, though, then you’ll be a mamma!” Trice claps her hands, her excitement cute, but seriously meddling with my Debbie Downer moment.
“I’m happy if it comes now,” I groan, feeling our baby stretch and reposition my internal organs, again.
“Not yet, honey. The boys still need to assemble the cot or bubs will be without a place to sleep.”
“Uh,” I groan, “don’t remind me. I think we need to kick their butts.” I rub my belly, hoping to coax bubs to shift over. Nope, he or she is having too much fun curling toes under my ribcage.
“Happy birthday, Hazel.” Alex strolls in and kisses me on the cheek. “Whose butt needs a kicking?” He rubs a hand across his tired face.
“Your butt and Robbie’s. My niece needs her cot!”
“Or nephew,” Alex points out.
“It’s a girl,” Trice argues. “The cosmos can’t give them a boy first up. With all the shit Robbie got up to when he was younger, this is Mother Nature’s way of saying ‘payback’.”
“Hey!” I frown, covering my bellybutton. “Little One will hear you, you big meanie.”
“Sweets, if you think Robbie is overprotective now, just wait until she gets here. You know he made all his staff get the Whooping Cough injection?”
“As well as anyone else who could potentially come into contact with you,” Alex adds as he reaches into the cupboard for the percolator. “Even the lawnmower man. He’s a bossy fucker.”
“Well, he just wants our baby to be safe.”
“She won’t feel safe if they don’t have a cot to sleep in.” Trice laughs.
“Good point.” Robbie walks across the corridor towards us, his hands filled with shopping bags. I didn’t even hear him come home. He drops the bags on the dining room table and makes his way over to me, running his eyes up and down my body. A few months ago, that look would’ve sent me running to his room and stripping. Now, it’s changed to annoyance, as I know he’s not turned on by me—he is checking that I’m alright. Again. I wrinkle my nose at him. His eyes pierce into mine as a small smirk lifts at the side of his mouth. He trimmed his hair back recently and I wasn’t happy, but now, with the short beard he has going on, I wouldn’t mind those fiery eyes and lush beard making contact directly on my lady parts. That’s always a good way to relieve stress, if he dares to touch me that way again this century. “Alex and I can start this afternoon if he’s keen after the picnic. Litte one is going to love his little bed.”
“Yep, no worries.” Alex nods as the whistle of the percolator sounds. I shuffle over to the couch to sit, narrowly missing spilling my tea. I’m uncomfortable and crabby, and today is going to be relaxing at the park. I need to settle down.
The rustle of the shopping bags sound as the guys bring the ingredients to the kitchen bench. After a while, I sense Robbie coming towards me, and I clench my eyes for a moment to quell this grumpy mood.
“Farfalla?” He rubs my shoulder and leans over the back of the couch until his hands are on my belly and his mouth is next to my ear. “All good, birthday girl?”
“Yes,” I snap, while dunking a biscuit into the milky tea.
“Did I forget something?” he asks, and I cringe, embarrassed that in the past few months, there has been more than one occasion when I’ve been awful. I sigh and shrug.
“I think I’m just frustrated,” I grumble as I shift to tilt my hip. “Bub’s using me as a punching bag, again.”
His warm breath chuckles behind my ear and despite my discomfort, I shiver.
“I wish I could help.” He rubs my belly in reverence, each fingertip marking the territory as his own.
“I wish you could too.” A sharp jab pierces my side and I wince, shifting again, leaning forward awkwardly to put my cup on the coffee table. “This baby needs to be rocked to sleep; I might have to go for a walk.” My voice lowers. “Or we could get naked and you could … give me my birthday present.”
A sharp breath tickles my ear. I use my free hand to trace across the top of my tank in an innocent gesture that is far from it.
“We have a picnic to prepare for …” he huffs against my ear. “Plus, you’ve been tired lately and …”
“Roberto Vera,” I turn and hiss, my eyes shooting over towards the hallway where I find Trice and Alex nowhere to be seen. “You use that excuse one more time, I will twist something off! I can still get horny while I’m tired. It doesn’t close up shop down there.”
He raises his eyebrow at me and smirks again. “Down there? Oh, I love it when you talk dirty to me. Say something else …”
“Vasectomy.” I flutter my eyelashes, pursing my lips.
His grin falters for a moment and a frown appears.
“I bet that got your motor going,” I tease. “You forget that the baby is ready, it’s just adding on the extra bulk until it comes out. No need to be the fun police. I can’t wait to get my body back. Bubs is free to come out whenever she likes.” I turn back around to face the TV. I’m about to lean forward when his hand on my shoulder stops me.
“Okay, Farfalla. This afternoon, when we get back, I’ll give you what you want. But for being cheeky, I’ll make you beg for it. I’ll get him to sleep when I rock into you.” My cheeks heat as I remember the last time he did that.
“Can’t wait,” I whisper, to horny to correct his gender mistake. He runs his hand down the side of my face and stands up to kiss me on the top of my head. Such a chaste gesture against the dirty thoughts that are going through my mind. I squirm against the couch cushions and then notice that his hypnotic words have lulled bubs to sleep. Probably with his or her hands over his or her ears.
“Far out, those guys have been kicking that ball for ages!” Maxi laughs, reaching forward to dip a carrot into the hummus dip.
“They’re working off the birthday cake. But for the bettering of humanity, at least they have taken their shirts off too. Maybe I’ll offer them another slice if it means we’ll get more chest action,” Trinity jokes, pushing her sunglasses farther up her nose. Her hair is almost a normal colour of blonde, until she moves her head and a
layer of red appears from beneath.
“They’re showing off, aren’t they?” I ask, shifting in a picnic chair.
“Oh yeah.” Trice grins, waving quickly at Alex. We’re sitting on the lawns in Fitzroy Gardens, enjoying the sunshine whilst the boys are kicking the football back and forth to each other, leaping for the occasional mark. The girls sit comfortably on the rug, but I know my chances of getting up off the ground are slim to none, so the chair suits me just fine. Aidan and Robbie are on one side, while Alex and Ty are on the other. Theo was meant to be here, but had bailed last minute. We continue to watch the boys outdo each other and realistically, it’s only a matter of time before—
“Seriously?” Trin groans, shaking her head. “I don’t understand why guys like to flick each other in the nuts. Why do Ty and Alex do that?”
“Ditto,” I bite into my cracker and nod.
“Like, is it an Alpha thing? Or a ‘see who can handle it’ thing?” Trin continues. “That could have been a decent mark for Ty, if Alex didn’t get him.”
“It’s a tradition,” Trice adds, shaking the juice bottle upside down and back. “They’ve been doing that to each other since the first moment they realised they had some dangly bits. Kind of tragic. I’m surprised it’s still attached.”
“Anyway …” Trice turns back from the group and faces Jules, who is right next to her, head on. “So, how’s Aidan?”
Jules’s shoulders lock as she blinks in shock at Trice. She bites her lower lip and turns to the side. “Um, he’s nice,” she stammers. “So, what did Robbie get you for your birthday?” she stalls, trying to focus her attention on me.