by Holly Rayner
Sighing, I stood up to go to the bathroom. I was completely exhausted. My pregnancy never made up its mind; one day I would be glowing like a candle, the next, I would be vomiting all day. A nagging voice in my head was saying I had blown things out of proportion. But my anger drowned it out pretty easily, telling me that if anyone should reconcile things, it was Kristos.
Back in the bedroom, I stripped down to my underthings and tucked myself in before I realized I was hot. Sighing again, I toddled over to the thermostat, wondering why it wasn’t voice activated like the house in Iron Man. I eventually got to sleep, but only after hours of trying. Apparently, anger and a jumpy baby are not a good combination at night.
By the time I got up the next morning, one of the staff members told me Kristos had already gone to work. I was in a pretty foul mood for the rest of the day, and by the time night fell, Kristos still hadn’t returned. I was beginning to wonder where he was. A part of my mind whispered that he wouldn’t be coming back. I tried to dismiss the thought, but I couldn’t help feeling a little suspicious. Eventually, I just commanded my mind to shut up. Baseless speculation wasn’t going to help anything.
At about eleven-thirty, he finally turned up, looking like he had really been through something.
“How are you?” he asked wearily, as he came into the den and sat down near me. He looked like he’d fought a war and lost.
“Sorry, I think,” I said quietly. “Where did you go”
“For a very long walk. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. We have to be parents together, so we’ve got to learn to work together. Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t patient enough with what you were going through. I know as well as anybody that nothing about living in the spotlight is easy.” He fell silent, apparently waiting for me to say something.
Deep down, I knew he was right. We did have to work together; for Jacob’s sake. On top of that, he was leading the effort to reconcile things. I quashed my anger, and said my line.
“I’m sorry too,” I responded soberly. “I shouldn’t have bitten your head off. You were just trying to help me to calm down, but I let my anger and frustration get the better of me. Truce?” I asked, offering my hand.
“Truce,” he replied, taking mine in his. “You know, I didn’t just come back here for the little guy, Emma. I just can’t stay away from you. I figure we’re going to argue and fight from time to time, but I want you to keep something in mind through all the chaos that’s probably just around the corner: I love you, and I always will.”
“Me, and the little guy too, of course,” I responded with warmth. “We love you too, and we always will.” I followed my words with a hug for good measure.
Kristos must have really meant every word he said because despite looking like he’d just pulled Dorothy out of a hurricane, he proceeded to massage my feet. He was incredible at it, kneading the pain and discomfort out of existence, and before I knew it, he was working on my legs. The longer he worked, the more my tension and anger just seemed to melt away. By the time he reached my back, the comfort I felt was almost hypnotic, and I was struggling not to drift off into a blissful sleep.
“I don’t care what you do,” I murmured dreamily, my voice sounding like it was coming from way off in the distance. “Just so long as you keep that up.”
He kept up his gentle kneading until eventually, I fell into most peaceful, undisturbed sleep I have ever had.
EIGHTEEN
A few weeks later, just as the third trimester came upon me, Kristos and I finally went to visit my parents. In hindsight, it might not have been the best time for travel, but we wanted Kristos to meet my parents before the baby came. My stomach was so big, I was having trouble keeping my balance, and Jacob was clearly running out of room because he was poking and kicking with regularity now. My back was aching, and my veins made parts of me look like a road map.
On the way over I looked down at my belly after a particularly strong kick made me gasp. “Jacob, darling, I love you very much,” I had mumbled, “but you’re going to have to come out of there soon.”
We arrived at my childhood home to find my mother looking stronger than I had expected. I was also surprised to find that she and my father actually liked Kristos. My father was enthralled by the child I was about to have, but my mother? I had never seen anything like it from her in my life. She was speaking in baby talk already. She had tons of advice she was never shy about giving. When she started talking about lactating, I had to signal Kristos to come over and rescue me.
All in all, it turned out to be an excellent trip, and we promised to do it again soon, when I didn’t feel like a planet.
When we returned to California, Kristos presented me with an idea. We were seated at the small, wooden, table in the den, drinking some fresh-squeezed orange juice.
“Remember the show you pitched, Emma? About the secretary working at the publishing company?”
“Only the thing that finally got the two of us together. How could I possibly forget that?”
“Well, I’ve been thinking about it, and I want to produce it for television. I think it has a lot of new angles to explore. We can write it together, and start production in a few months. How would you feel about that?”
I wondered if he had really just asked me that. How did I feel? My ideas were going to be on national television!
“I feel fantastic about it. I can’t wait to start!” I was suddenly full of energy and ideas. “I’ll gather my notes together, and we can work on it in the library.”
“I didn’t mean we’d have to start right now, but if you feel up to it, that’s fine by me!” Kristos agreed, with a grin.
***
From that point on, we worked on A Game of Chance whenever the two of us had a moment to spare. I had given up filming commercials for the meantime, because I needed all the energy I could get. Whenever I wasn’t preparing for the grand finale in two months’ time, I would tack on a scene, talk to our consultant, or tweak the dialogue. Kristos still had an empire to run, so he would work with me early in the morning, or late at night. One time, I asked if he could delegate any of his responsibilities, but he replied that doing so could be dangerous.
“Terrence is an excellent production assistant. He annoys me, but he’s one of the most useful people I employ. It’s just that very few people have the ability to run twelve shows at the same time without a hitch.”
That usually left me with our consultant for company, a tall, slightly plump Nigerian woman named Constance Olumidae. She had rosy cheeks, and a warm, kind face that kind of reminded me of Octavia Butler. When she was younger, she’d been a nurse at one of the largest hospitals in Washington DC, until fifteen years later, when a hospital in California offered her a substantial promotion. That, and the weather, had lured her across the country. She always wore traditional Nigerian clothes and a pair of silver reading glasses. She was older than my mother, and streaks of white ran through her hair. According to her cover letter, she had been just fifteen years old when war had come to Nigeria. She spoke slowly, in a low, sometimes crackly voice, and if you were close enough, she liked to hold your hand.
In a month, we went through two drafts for the pilot. I was struggling to keep it from wearing me down. My eyes were beginning to feel the strain, and the joints in my fingers were stiffening. Besides that, my body had started giving me the gift of Braxton Hicks contractions, and those things snuck up on you with very little warning. But every day, I saw Ellen, David, and the world they lived in bloom a little brighter, and it urged me to go on.
Kristos eventually scaled back his work commitments, delegating some of his tasks to Terrence, so that he could stay home and look after me. I asked him about it, considering what he told me before, and he replied that Jacob and I were more important than twelve shows and several billion dollars. Against the protestations of his middle managers, Kristos insisted on caring for me personally, and I didn’t argue with him, especially during the massages, which were increasin
gly becoming the only way to get me to sleep at night.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” I said one night as Kristos adjusted the thermostat yet again.
“About what, sweetheart?” he replied, taking over the fanning, and trying not to stare at my oversized chest. I could almost literally see his breath as he talked, but I was lying in my underclothes, fanning myself and guzzling iced lemonade.
“About a new show based on what you’ve been doing for me. We can call it The Billionaire Butler.”
“Okay, that a solid title,” he said laughing. “What do you have in mind for the concept?”
That caught me off guard for a moment. I had been joking, but a sudden idea popped into my head.
“A really wealthy person goes undercover to see if he or she can do a regular job for a week. If that wealthy person is successful, the show gives ten thousand dollars to the charity of their choice. If they fail, they donate the money from their own pockets. America is entertained, and a good cause is helped every episode.” I felt proud of myself for making that up on the fly. It sounded like a million-dollar idea, and I had hatched it in my underwear.
“That’s actually a good idea,” Kristos said thoughtfully. “It shouldn’t be that hard to produce either. Maybe I should hire you.” He looked appreciative.
“Later,” I said, gently patting my huge belly. “One job at a time. Besides, the final draft of the pilot is nearly done. Soon, the whole world will know our story.”
“Thanks to Twitter, most of them already do,” Kristos joked, slipping into bed beside me.
“You know what I mean!” I said with mock scorn in my voice, playfully swatting at him. Despite everything that was going on, I was starting to feel at peace.
I laid my head on Kristos’ chest and tried to get to sleep, while he pretended he wasn’t slowly freezing beneath me. In that moment, absolutely everything felt perfect, and Jacob gave a little kick that seemed to say he agreed.
NINETEEN
The rain should have been my first clue. It was pouring down like the Great Deluge. On TV, people were celebrating, because if there was anything California needed, it was water. The roads were waterlogged, but still passable, although the weather service had sent me two flash flood warning texts already. I was in my bedroom, in a yellow, flower-print maternity dress, staring at the very latest picture of my little boy.
It was difficult to remember back to eight months and three weeks ago, when he had only been as big as the head of a pin. So much had changed in my life since then, most notably me. I had my own freaking orbit, for one thing. But I wasn’t the only one that had grown exponentially; the ultrasound showed a good-sized baby boy inside me. I was getting a little anxious, but Dr. Iwata kept telling me not to worry, that everything would be fine.
A few days? That was my due date, but that was really only a guess. It could happen at any moment. When that thought hit me, I felt my heart quicken. For the past few days, Stanton had been on high alert, constantly fidgeting with his pinstripe slacks, never straying too far from the entrance to the carport. He’d been trying to hide it, but he was nearly as nervous as I was, never letting my hospital bag out of his sight. I could almost see him shuffling anxiously, keeping an eye on the rain. Tucking the latest ultrasound away, I made a mental note to tell Kristos to give him a raise.
“And how’s the baby doing this afternoon?” a crackly voice asked, followed by the sound of slow, shuffling, feet as Constance invited herself into my bedroom. She had long ago dispensed with formalities like knocking, but I hardly minded her intrusions anymore. She was wearing a long, colorful, dress and headdress and looked like some sort of West African queen. She made a beeline for the bed and sat beside me, placing her hand on my enormous belly.
“He’s fine,” I answered her, taking her hand in mine. “The kid moves like he’s plotting a jailbreak.”
“Don’t worry,” she said to my belly with a slow chuckle. “You’ll be out of there in no time at all.” She raised her gaze to meet mine. “I used to deliver children regularly when I was younger.”
“Which is why I hired you to be my personal doctor,” I replied, sounding a little tired.
“Yes, and I thank you for that. I came to tell you that I’ve set everything up in the infirmary. We’re ready in case the delivery has to take place here. You can never be too careful about these things, and with the weather outside…”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied.
I should have been, but I wasn’t. I didn’t like the idea of delivering at home. Granted, Constance was experienced, but she’d only have one more doctor to help her: Dr. Abe Meadows, a gentle, kind old man, with wild white hair that made him look like a corpulent Albert Einstein. I liked him a lot, but I wanted a team for this.
Above everything else, I knew that labor was going to hurt. My mother put me under no illusions about that. I disliked thinking about how much time my mom had spent in labor with me, and tried not to wonder how hard it would be to get Jacob to come into the world. I had never done this before, and I was secretly terrified.
“It will be okay, dear,” Constance said, as if she could read my mind. “I’ve been through it twice myself. It won’t be quite as bad as you think. We’ve been working on coping strategies, and Mr. Metroupolos and I will be with you every step of the way.” Her tone was soft, and the words were comforting, but the wind was picking up ominously outside.
As I said, the rain should have been my first clue that the universe was in a messed up mood that day. But I was too busy worrying about Jacob to notice that things outside were getting progressively worse.
I changed the subject, and spent the next hour or so listening to Constance tell me about her son and daughter, who were now grown up, with young children of their own. By the time she finished, I was feeling a great deal more relaxed, and the conversation moved, as it so often did, back to A Game of Chance.
“You need to put me in the series,” Constance was saying. “I could play Ellen’s mother. I did a little bit of drama in college, and I have a great deal of real-life experience.”
“As much as I would love that, Constance, you’ll have to audition like everyone else,” I replied, smiling at her enthusiasm, “but I’ll be sure to put in a good word with the casting director.”
That’s when the first peal of thunder roared through the skies and a notification rang out on my phone. Apparently, it was 104 degrees outside. I could hear the rain slapping against the windows, and see dark clouds rolling in to block out the sun. I suddenly felt a small contraction.
“Do you see that out there?” I asked my baby. “Could you do Mommy a favor and wait till tomorrow?”
“He’ll come when he comes,” Constance laughed sagely, drawing the curtains on the nearby windows.
A moment later, Kristos walked in, shaking his head and sporting an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement.
“You’d think he was having the baby,” he said, bending to kiss me on the cheek. “Hello, Constance,” he said, suddenly noticing she was there. She greeted him cordially and tactfully slipped out of the room. “Stanton had a panic attack,” Kristos continued.
“What?” I intoned sharply. “How did that happen?”
“Apparently, he was worried about driving conditions,” Kristos sighed. “In case you went into labor. The streets are becoming less and less safe by the minute, and the clouds are making visibility poor. He was concerned that he might not be able to get you to the hospital when the time came, and he panicked. Dr. Meadows is looking after him now. The old man says he ought to be fine in a few minutes.”
“I’m glad he’ll be alright,” I remarked, stretching my legs. “He really is sweet to care so much. You really need to give him a raise, you know that, right?”
“I know, and I will,” Kristos replied, sitting down beside me. He put an arm around my shoulder, pulling me closer, and I gave him a quick little kiss as he did.
“Just a moment!�
�� I cried, suddenly starting. “Why aren’t you worried about how I’ll get to the hospital if this damn storm keeps up?”
Kristos smiled. “Stanton has a pilot’s license; there’s a helipad on the roof, and on that helipad, there is a military-designed, storm-resistant helicopter, fueled up and ready to go. The hospital has been notified them you might arrive that way.”
“Is that safe?” I asked, trying not to seem amazed. The storm had only been raging for about four hours. How had he arranged everything so quickly? I also wondered how I’d never noticed a freaking helicopter before.
“That’s what I’ve been asking the people I know in the national weather service.”
“And how exactly do you know people in the national weather service?” I said. I figured it was a legitimate question. There was a lot about Kristos I still didn’t know—he still wouldn’t tell me how he’d managed to scrub Jacob’s ultrasound from social media.