Michelle went on, a leaden look in her eyes. “My mom was saying some pretty ugly things about me. I couldn’t take it. The things she was saying—some were outright lies! She told my dad I’d been pregnant before and had an abortion! Kevin, that’s a lie!” She now had a pleading look in her eyes.
“Kevin, you have to believe me! I never got pregnant before! I never had an abortion! Why would she say that? It’s like she was trying to turn my dad against me!” She sighed, soft and long. “It wasn’t the first time she’d been cruel. Dad never knew how things were when he wasn’t around, and being a doctor meant he wasn’t around plenty. When he wasn’t there, Mom used to hit me. When I was old enough, and stronger than her, she went to hit me but I grabbed her wrist and twisted it, hard, and said “You will never hit me again!” And she didn’t. She just changed her tactics, and became manipulative. She had me convinced I was worthless, would never amount to anything, and should leave all the thinking to her. I usually did—it was easier than fighting. And losing.”
“A smart girl like you? Why would she—“
“Please let me finish,” she begged, “let me get it over with!” She paused and then continued. “But even though she’d been mean, I’d never known her to try to turn someone against me. I just thought she didn’t like me. Hearing her words, I felt betrayed. I thought back on my childhood. We were a close family. We used to go on vacation to incredible places. We used to go skiing in Colorado, we went to Hawaii once . . . but when I stood up to my mom, things changed. She turned on me. I’d caught a few glimpses of it in the past, but this was full-on distortion. So when I heard her saying such terrible lies about me, I packed up my things in the middle of the night and left without saying goodbye. I drove back to our apartment. Dad tried to call me a few times over the next week, but I wouldn’t answer. I never heard from my mom. During the week I was gone, Wayne moved his stuff out of the apartment. He really did get a job offer in Chicago, and he really did walk out on me. I didn’t lie to you. I’ve never lied to you.”
I was awash in conflicting thoughts and emotions. Part of me was processing the awful story she was telling me, feeling very badly for what she had gone through. I couldn’t imagine my parents turning against me, and I couldn’t imagine any mother lying about her daughter to turn her own family against her! For Wayne to walk out on her at the same time, while she was pregnant with his child . . . geez. That could really mess someone up.
The other part of me was thinking Is she trying to tell me she’s pregnant? How do I feel if she is?
I knew it was hard for her to tell me these things. No wonder she hadn’t told me before. It was emotionally wrenching for her to even remember what happened. (is she pregnant?)
“I was lucky, I had some very supportive friends from church. One of them moved in with me. None of them knew I was pregnant, they just thought Wayne had moved out and I was heartbroken. A few of my friends had gotten abortions, and I didn’t want them to try to talk me into having one, so I kept my pregnancy a secret. I started going to the clinic, started taking pre-natal vitamins, the whole bit. I was still mourning about Wayne, but I was excited about the baby. I hadn’t deliberately chosen my situation, but was going to make the best of it.”
She paused for a long minute. I was watching her eyes, seeing her pupils dilate and then contract. Her memories were being played out in her mind’s eye.
“Then one weekend when I was about six weeks along, while my roommate was out of town I started spotting. And I had a few mild cramps. I don’t know why. I woke up in the middle of the night cramping badly. I had started bleeding but didn’t know it. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late. I lost the baby. I should have gone to the hospital, but I didn’t really have anyone to take me. I still felt like it was this big secret I had to hide. In the morning, I stopped cramping and stopped bleeding. I made it to the clinic and they made me spend the night. I was anemic. They told me the baby was gone.”
Damn. (is she pregnant?)
“So I lost my boyfriend, my parents, and my baby, all in about a month. When I ran into friends, they acted surprised to see me. Mom had started telling people I’d gotten into drugs and was pregnant by a man who abused and controlled me. She said they tried to talk sense into me but I wouldn’t listen and refused to have anything to do with them. I told them I had no idea why she was saying those things. I told them I lived in an apartment with a girlfriend, that I wasn’t pregnant and wasn’t even dating anyone. They could sense I was telling the truth, which left them not knowing what to think. I went home and thought about it. My mom was telling people lies about me. She made it sound like she was a loving mother who was grieving over her lost daughter. She made it all my fault. My own mother, trying to turn people against me.”
“That’s awful, Michelle!” I reached out and took her hand. It was clammy. “What did you do?” I asked. (is she pregnant?)
“Remember the movie Sleepless in Seattle? There’s a scene in there where the Tom Hanks character says something like, I made myself get out of bed in the morning. I reminded myself to breathe in and out. After a while I didn’t have to remind myself to breathe. After a while I didn’t have to force myself to get out of bed. That’s what I did. Eventually I stopped fixating on how I’d screwed up so badly. I started trying to pull myself together, and after about a year of licking my wounds, I started nursing school and graduated with good grades. I’d like to think my dad was proud of me, but I never heard from him. I’ve been a nurse for years and had just accepted a job offer from St. Joseph’s. That’s what brought me here.”
I was trying to think of something to say—something like, ‘I’m glad you did,’ or ‘Thank God!’ or something, but it all sounded trite and trivial. Before I could figure anything out, she looked at me with fear in her eyes and whispered,
“Kevin, I’m pregnant.”
I sat there, staring at her. I felt like my brain was rebooting. Or maybe it wasn’t—maybe it was stuck at a DOS prompt. Or maybe I’d just experienced a mental BSOD. My mouth was probably hanging open.
That’s when my doubts disappeared and my feelings coalesced. I knew how I felt. “You’re pregnant. With my baby.” Her eyes instantly took on a hard light. I saw a fire in them that stopped me in my tracks. I realized she thought I was questioning whether or not it was mine. I may have periods of paranoid delusional jealousy, but I’m not that far gone. Of course it was mine. Duh. I inched my way across the sofa and put my arms around her. At first she struggled, as if trying to protect herself. But when I started trying to kiss her, she stopped fighting. “Michelle, I’m so sorry all the bad stuff happened to you. I’m sorry your mom betrayed you. I’m sorry Wayne walked out on you. Well, no, I guess I’m not sorry about that, but I’m sorry he hurt you so badly. But sweetheart,” I whispered, bringing my lips up to her ears, “I’m not Wayne. I’m not going to walk out on you. I’m not upset you’re pregnant. In fact, I’m thrilled!” I leaned back away from her, grabbing her hands with mine in the process. I wanted her to see the look in my eyes. “Meeting and falling in love with you is the best thing that ever happened to me. Your being pregnant is a close second.” As I said this, my face lit up in a smile. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant! This is great news! Here, feel my heart!” I placed her hand on my chest, much as she had done to me oh-so-long ago. “Feel how fast it’s beating? That’s because I’m very, very happy. I’m thrilled you’re pregnant! I never thought I’d hear . . .” Now7 it was my turn to get choked up. My eyes were brimming. I leaned in to hug her and felt her arms encircle me. “I thought you were going to tell me something bad, like you had a disease, or you didn’t love me, or you wanted me to sell Amway. I never even considered you might be pregnant! But, my God! I’m going to be a daddy! With our baby! I love you so much!”
The paranoid delusional, suspicious, neurotic part of me packed up his bags and walked out. He knew it was game over. I practically heard the door slam shut behind him.
&n
bsp; Still half-crying, she said, “So you’re not upset?”
“Yes, I’m upset! In a good way! The idea of you and me making a baby . . . it’s wonderful news! Oh, my God, this means . . . January, December, November, October . . . you’re going to have the baby in October!”
“Or maybe September, I’m not completely sure. Are you really happy about this?”
I got to my feet, ignoring the ache in my leg.
“Let’s have a toast! Can you drink? Will it hurt the baby? Or, let’s go have sex! Or, let’s tell someone! Who is there to tell? Let’s tell Doc! . . . Oh my God, I think I may just explode! Let’s dance!!” I think that’s what I said. I don’t even know if I was making sense.
But she saw the absolute joy on my face and stood up, a smile breaking across her face like the warm sun breaking through clouds on a cool Michigan spring day after a recent shower.
“So you’re really happy? You’re not just pretending?”
I gave her a huge hug. “I’m very, very happy,” I whispered in her ear.
She finally accepted the fact that not only was I not going to leave her, but I was happy with the news. She started laughing. And crying.
“I was so afraid you’d be upset,” she said, “I didn’t know what I’d do.” She smothered my face with kisses. “I’m so relieved and happy! Yes, I’m going to have your baby! I love you so much, and I wanted to be happy about it, but was scared! Oh, Kevin, thank you for not being upset. Thank you for being happy! Thank you so very much for not being gay!” She reached out and grabbed my hand and then pulled me down onto the sofa with her. Then she immediately stood back up. “I’m going to have your baby! I’m going to have our baby! I’m going to have a baby! I’m going to be a mother!!” Suddenly she sat back down and her face grew pale. “Oh my God. I’m going to be a mother. What if start acting like my mother? What if Kevin Junior or Michelle Junior hates me?!”
I pulled her back up into my arms and said, “Now whose turn is it to be a knucklehead? You’re a wonderful person, you’re going to be a wonderful mother! When did you find out?”
“I started to suspect about a month ago. I was late, but I didn’t have any way to find out. I don’t exactly carry around pregnancy tests in my bag. I told Doc about it and he told me what I already knew—missing one period doesn’t mean you’re pregnant. But I’ve missed two now, and my body feels different. My breasts are getting bigger. See?” She unbuttoned her dark blue blouse and slowly took it off. God, I love it when she does that. It was especially nice since she’d been hiding them from me for a while. She wasn’t wearing a bra (why bother?), so I was instantly treated to the sight of her full breasts. She was right, I could tell they were bigger, just as I noticed last week when I was taking the topless photos of her in the falling snow.
“Do you really think they’re bigger? I can’t really tell by looking,” I lied. “I’d better have a hands-on check.” I reached out and cupped both breasts in my hands, feeling the full weight of them. There was no doubt—what used to be a large handful was now more than a handful.”
“Careful!” she warned, “they’re very tender!”
“Do your nipples feel the same?” I said, lightly pinching them between my fingers and thumb.
“Ouch! I told you, they’re sensitive! But I’ll bet if you’re gentle your mouth and tongue would feel nice,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
I leaned over and did exactly what she suggested—I used my mouth on her nipples. And on her kitty. And even though I’d just come a half hour earlier, I was already getting hard. Then we got naked, she straddled me and we had glorious sex.
When we were back to snuggling—the second time today—she started talking again. She told me she had been having conversations with Doc about it. He asked her a lot of questions and told her not to worry so much.
So that was who she was talking to. And that’s what they were talking about. No wonder she’s been acting strange and moody. She suspected she was pregnant and thought I’d toss her out. Good grief.
I leaned back on the sofa in the dim light, my mind racing. A lot of the pieces of the puzzle about her fell into place. Why she was single. Why she didn’t talk about her parents much. Why she moved here—it was partially to escape, to start over. Then something occurred to me. “Michelle, you nut, why in the world did you give me a blow job right before you told me this?”
She blushed. “I thought it might put you in a good mood. But that’s not the only reason. For some reason, my libido keeps dipping and spiking. And tonight I really wanted to have you in my mouth. I wanted to have one last moment of intimacy before I told you, in case you threw me out. But then after you finished, I got sad, wondering if that was the last time I’d get to do that with you.”
I started laughing. “A pregnant woman gave me a blow job this afternoon. I can’t wait to put that in my journal!”
A pregnant woman gave me a blow job this afternoon.
Michelle is pregnant. With my baby. I can’t get over it. I feel love and happiness and a twinge of fear. She won’t have any medical care. No doctor or tests to run or sonogram. But women had babies long before there were sonograms or blood tests. We just have to be careful and smart.
Now she sleeps next to me. It’s been a long day. Between the oral sex, the intense conversations, the paranoia, the revelation that I’m going to be a father, and the magnificent sex afterwards, I’m all done in. Not to mention the time it’s taken me to write these thoughts down. I think I’ll go crawl into bed with Michelle. Pregnant Michelle.
At Last She Sleeps
After hours of weeping
At last she sleeps
for the people she loved
and her family she weeps
halting and tearful
her despairing recollection
Of the places they went
Before their heartless disaffection
Back when they loved her
Back when they spoke
Back when they lived
Back when she hoped
March 19th
It’s been just over a month since I wrote last. We’ve been busy, converting part of the storeroom into a nursery, raiding the houses in the neighborhood for diapers and baby food. I even found a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting.
We’re in the middle of a cold snap now, so we don’t have to worry much about zombies attacking us when we’re outside foraging. They’rfe still pretty slow. But we’re always on our guard, looking for other people. When possible, we travel through back yards to avoid the street.
I worry about entering a home and being attacked by a survivor who thinks I’m a bad guy. So when I enter a house, first I gauge the temperature. If it’s completely unheated, then obviously no one is living there. So far, every house has been pretty icy. Some of the houses’ windows have broken, from zombies or survivors or bad weather, so the elements have had free access and so have the varmints. I have to be on my guard—one moment of distraction and Michelle would somehow have to survive her pregnancy and birth without my help.
The houses all seem to fall into one of three categories. Actually, four categories, but one category is finding survivors, which hasn’t happened.
One: The house is empty. The owners bugged out.
Two: The occupants are in the house, dead at their own hand.
Three: The owners are there but they’re zombies.
I’ve come across some horrific scenes—in one house, just two streets over, I found a family of five, huddled together in bed. I saw no signs of struggle, no blood. I’m glad it’s been so many months since they died, because I’m sure the stench must have been fierce back in the fall. As it was, the house still smelled bad, but it was tolerable.
The mother and father were probably in their early forties. They held what appeared to be a baby and two kids. The kids looked to be under the age of ten. It was difficult to tell, since most of their flesh had rotted away, and it looks like some kind of varm
int got to them at one point. At least there weren’t rats like in some houses.
After making sure the house was safe, I started looking for supplies and discovered the oven was open and the gas had been left on. The parents—one or both—must have planned it. They asphyxiated peacefully, as a family. At least the house didn’t blow up.
Which might explain why some of the houses did explode or catch fire. I suppose some people may have turned the gas on, forgetting to turn off the pilot light.
But I found a treasure trove of goods in the house with the gruesome family scene. A crib, a baby bed, formula, baby food, even a lot of powdered milk and diapers. When I went back on my second trip, I even rounded up some stuffed animals and toys.
I have a lot of things to accomplish these days. Not much time for writing.
March 25th
Michelle is suffering with morning sickness. I know it’s normal and usually wears off, but Doc says it sometimes lasts all nine months. I feel sorry for Michelle, but I also feel sorry for me—for whatever reason, the smell of hot coffee makes her puke. I’ve broken the coffee habit, but when I feel desperate I go upstairs and make coffee with the French-press. I drink the coffee while peeking out the windows, then dump the grounds into one of the pots filled with dead houseplants.
When I go back downstairs, I have to brush my teeth right away. We learned by experience that even coffee on my breath is enough to send Michelle racing for a bucket to throw up in.
Love in the Age of Zombies (Book 1): My Zombie Honeymoon Page 28